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PLAYS AND POEMS

or

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE,

ACCURATELY PRINTED FROM THE TEXT OF THE CORRECTED COPIES,

LEFT BY THE LATE

SAMUEL JOHNSON, GEORGE STEEVENS, ISAAC REED,
AND EDMOND MALONE.

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THE

PLAYS AND POEMS

o F

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE,

ACCURATELY PRINTED FROM tHE TEXT OF THE CORRECTED COPIES,

LEFT BY THE LATE

SAMUEL JOHNSON, GEORGE STEEVENS, ISAAC REED,
AND ED3IOND MALONE.

-=£SS)(^3Sfll®6f)G==-

tt)3t)^ tt(a)t€jei,

CRITICAL, HISTORICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,

SELECTED FROM THE MOST EMNENT COMMENTATORS;

MR. MALONE'S VARIOUS READINGS;

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE;

A LIFE OF THE POET, BY ALEX. CHALMERS;

SHAKSPEARE 'S WILL, WITH HIS AUTOGRAPH, FROM THE ORIGINAL;

A CHRONOLOGY OF HIS PLAYS;

A LIST OF THE REMARKABLE EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS;

AN INQUIRY INTO THE PLAYS ASCRIBED TO HIM;

SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS VARIOUS PORTRAITS,

A COPIOUS GLOSSARY^

A NEW EDITION, IN ONE VOI.U11IE.

with the alto-relievo in the front op the shakspeare gallery

(pall-mall, London), representing shakspeare seated between the dramatic

muse and the genius of painting: engraved by a celebrated artist.

L E I P S I C:

PUBLISHED BY ERNEST FLEISCHER.
(No. 626, Nbw - Markbt.)

o««

18 3 3.

73/

■/S33

SREMER

CONTENTS.

NOTICES AND ARGUMENTS.

Page.

I. Dr. Johnson's Preface I

II. Sketch of the Life of Shakspeare , by Alex. Chalmers XXI

III. Appendix XXX

IV. Preliminary Remarks to the Plays and Poems XXXVI

PLAYS.

I. Tempest 1

II. Two Gentlemen of Verona 19

III. Merry Wives of VTindsor 37

IV. Twelfth Night : or, What You Will 60

V. Measure for Measure 81

VI. Much Ado about Nothing 104

VII. Midsummer-Night's Dream 126

\11I. Love's Labour's Lost , 144

rX. Merchant of Venice 167

X. As You Like It 188

XI. All's Well that Ends Well 210

XII. Taming of the Shrew 234

XIII. Winter's Tale 256

XIV. Comedy of Errors 282

XV. Macbeth 297

XVI. King John 317

XVII. King Richard H 338

XVm. Kino Henry IV. Part I 361

XIX. King Hhnry FV. Part II 886

XX. King Henry V. MlSgOOO **^

CONTENTS.

Page.

XXI. Kmo Henry VI. Part 1 440

XXII. King Henry VI. Part II 463

XXIII. King Henry VI. Part III 490

XXrV. King Richard III 516

XXV. King Henry VIII 547

XXVI. Troilus and Cressida 574

XXVII. TiMON OF Athens 603

XXVIII. Coriolanus 624

XXIX. Julius C^sar 654

XXX. Antony and Cleopatra 675

XXXI. Cymseline ,. . 704

XXXII. Titus Andronicus 734

XXXIII. pEiiicLES, Prince of Tyre 755

XXXIV. King Lear 776

XXXV. Romeo and Juliet 805

XXXVI. Hamlet , Prince of Denmark 831

XXXVII. Othello , the Moor of Venice 864

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

I. Venus and Adonis 895

n. Tarquin and Lucrece 905

m. Sonnets 921

rV. The Passionate Pilgrim 939

V. A Lover's complaint 943

NOTES AND GLOSSARY.

V. Notes 940

VI. Glossary 1050

NOTICES

AND

ARGUMENTS.

I.

DR. JOHNSON'S
PREFACE.^)

X HAT praises are without reason lavished on the
dead, and that the honours due only to excellence
are paid to antiquity, is a complaint likely to be
always continued by those, who, being able to add
nothing to truth, hope for eminence from the here-
sies of paradox ; or those, who, being forced by
disappointment upon consolatory expedients, are
willing to hope from posterity what the present
age refuses, euid flatter themselves that the regard
which is yet denied by envy, will be at last bestowed
by time.

Antiquity, like every other quality that attracts
the notice of mankind, has undoubtedly votcu^es
that reverence it, not from reason, but from preju-
dice. Some seem to admire indiscriminately what-
ever has been long preserved, without considering
that time has sometimes co-operated with chance;
cdl perhaps are more willing to honour past than
present excellence: and the mind contemplates
genius through the shades of age, as the eye sur-
veys the sun through artificial opacity. The great
contention of criticism is to fmd the faults of the
moderns, and the beauties of the ancients. While
an author is yet living, we estimate his powers by
his worst performance, and when he is dead we
rate them by his best.

To works, however, of which the excellence is
not absolute and definite, but gradual and compar-
ative ; to works not raised upon principles demon-
strative and scientific, but appealing wholly to
observation and experience, no other test can be
applied than length of duration and continuance of
esteem. What mankind have long possessed they
have often examined and compared, and if they
persist to value the possession, it is because fre-
quent comparisons have confirmed opinion in its
favour. As among the works of nature, no man can
properly call a river deep, o*r a mountain high, with-
out the knowledge of many mountains, and many
rivers; so in the productions of genius, nothing
can be styled excellent till it has been compared
with other works of the same kind. Demonstration
immediately displays its power, and h«is nothing to
hope or fear from the flux of years ; but works ten-

1) Pint printed separately in 1765.

tative and experimental must be estimated by their
proportion to the general and collective ability of
man, as it is discovered in a long succession of en-
deavours. Of the first building that was raised, it
might be with certainty determined that it was
round or square; but whether it was spacious or
lofty must have been referred to time. The Pytha-
gorean scale of numbers was at once discovered to
be perfect ; but the poems of Homer we yet know
not to transcend the common limits of human in-
telligence, but by remarking, that nation after
nation, and century after century, has been able to
do little more than transpose his incidents, new
name his characters, and paraphrase his sentiments.

The reverence due to writings that have long
subsisted arises therefore not from any credulous
confidence in the superior wbdom of past ages, or
gloomy persuasion of the degeneracy of mankind,
but is the consequence of acknowledged emd indu-
bitable positions, that what has been longest known
heist been most considered, and what is most con-
sidered is best understood.

The poet, of whose works I have undertaken
the revision, may now begin to assume the dignity
of an ancient, and claim the privilege of established
fame and prescriptive veneration. He has long out-
lived his century, the term commonly fixed as the
test of literary merit. Whatever advantages he
might once derive from personal allusions, local
customs, or temporary opinions, have for many
years been lost ; jmd every topic of merriment or
motive of sorrow, which the modes of artificial life
aftbrded him, now only obscure the scenes which
they once illuminated. The effects of favour and
competition are at an end; the tradition of his
friendships and his enmities h£is perished ; his works
support no opinion with arguments, nor supply any
faction with invectives ; they can neither indulge
vanity, nor gratify malignity ; but are read without
any other reason than the desire of pleasure, and
are therefore praised only as pleasure is obtained;
yet, thus unassisted by interest or passion, they
have passed through variations of taste and chan-
ges of manners, and, as they devolved from one
generation to another, have received new honours
at every transmission.

IV

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

Th. S.

But because human judgment, though it be gra-
dually gaining upon certainty, never becomes in-
fallible; and approbation, though long continued,
may yet be only the approbation of prejudice or
fashion ; it is proper to inquire, by what peculiari-
ties of excellence Shakspeare has gained and kept
the favour of his countrymen.

Nothing can please many, and please long, but
just representations of general nature. Particular
manners can be known to few, and therefore few
only can judge how nearly they are copied. The
irregular combinations of fanciful invention may
delight awhile, by that novelty of which the com-
mon satiety of life sends us all in quest; but the
pleasures of sudden wonder are soon exhausted,
and the mind can only repose on the stability
of truth.

Shakspeare is above all writers, at least above
all modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet
that holds up to his readers a faithfid mirror of
manners and of life. His characters are not modi-
fied by the customs of particular places, unpractised
by the rest of the world ; by the peculiarities of stu-
dies or professions, which can operate but upon
small numbers; or by the accidents of transient
fashions or temporary opinions : they are the ge-
nuine progeny of common humanity, such as the
world will always supply, and observation will al-
ways find. His persons act and speak by the in-
fluence of those general passions and principles by
which all minds are agitated, and the whole system
of life is continued in motion. In the writings of
other poets a character is too often an individual;
in those of Shakspeare it is commonly a species.

It is from this wide extension of design that so
much instruction is derived. It is this which fills the
plays of Shakspeare with practical axioms and do-
mestic wisdom. It was said of Euripides, that every
verse was a precept ; and it may be said of Shak-
speare, that from his works may be collected a sys-
tem of civil and oeconomical prudence. Yet his
real power is not shown in the splendour of partic-
ular passages, but by the progress of his fable, and
the tenor of his dialogue; and he that tries to re-
commend him by select quotations, will succeed
like the pedant in Hierocles, who, when he offered
his house to sale, carried a brick in his pocket as a
specimen.

It will not easily be imagined how much Shak-
speare excels in accommodating his sentiments to
real life, but by comparing him with other authors.
It was observed of the ancient schools of declam-
ation, that the more diligently they were frequented,
the morew^l8 the student disqualified for the world,
because he found nothing there which he shoidd
ever meet in any other place. The same remark
may be applied to every stage but that of Shak-
speare. The theatre, when it is under any other
direction, is peopled by such characters as were
never seen, conversing in a language which was

never heard, upon topics which will never arise in
the commerce of mankind. But the dialogue of this
author is often so evidently determined by the in-
cident which produces it, and is pursued with so
much ease and simplicity, that it seems scarcely to
claim the merit of fiction, but to have been gleaned
by diligent selection out of common conversation,
and common occurrences.

Upon every other stage the universal agent is
love, by whose power all good and evil is distrib-
uted, and every action quickened or retarded.
To bring a lover, a lady, and a rival into the fable ;
to entangle them in contradictory obligations, per-
plex them with oppositions of interest, and harass
them with violence of desires inconsistent with each
other; to make them meet in rapture, and part in
agony; to fill their mouths with hyperbolical joy
and outrageous sorrow ; to distress them as nothing
human ever was distressed; to deliver them as
nothing human ever was delivered, is the business
of a modern dramatist. For this, probability is vio-
lated, life is misrepresented, and language is de-
praved. But love is only one of many passions, and
as it has no great influence upon the sum of life, it
has little operation in the dramas of a poet, who
caught his ideas from the living world, and exhib-
ited only what he saw before him. He knew, that
any other passion, as it was regular or exorbitant,
was a cause of happiness or calamity.

Characters thus ample and general were not
easily discriminated and preserved, yet perhaps no
poet ever kept his personages more distinct from
each other. I will not say with Pope, that every
speech may be assigned to the proper speaker, be-
cause many speeches there are which have nothing
characteristical ; but, perhaps, though some may be
equally adapted to every person, it will be difficult
to find any that can be properly transferred from
the present possessor to another claimant. The
choice is right, when there is reason for choice.

Other dramatists can only gain attention by hy-
perbolical or aggravated characters, by fabulous
and unexampled excellence or depravity, as the
writers of barbarous romances invigorated the
reader by a giant and a dwarf; and he that should
form his expectation of human afiliirs from the play,
or from the tale, would be equally deceived. Shak-
speare has no heroes ; his scenes are occupied only
by men, who act and speak as the reader thinks
that he should himself have spoken or acted on the
same occasion ; even where the agency is superna-
tural, the dialogue is level with life. Other writers
disguise the most natural passions and most fre-
quent incidents ; so that he who contemplates them
in the book will not know them in the world : Shak-
speare approximates the remote, and familiarizes
the wonderful ; the event which he represents will
not happen, but if it were possible, its effects would
probably be such as he has assigned ; and it may
be said, that he has not only shown human nature

T//. S.

DR. JOHxXSOiVS PREFACE

as it acts in real exigencies, but as it would be
found in trials, to which it cannot be exposed.

This therefore is the praise of Shakspeare, that
his drama is the mirror of life; that he who has
mazed his imagination, in following the phantoms
which other writers raise up before him, may here
be cured of his delirious ecstacies, by reading hu-
man sentiments in human language; by scenes
from which a hermit may estimate the transactions
of the world, and a confessor predict the progress
of the passions.

His adherence to general nature has exposed
him to the censure of critics, who form their judg-
ments upon narrower principles. Dennis and Ry-
mer think h's Romans not sufGciently Roman, and
Voltaire censures his kings as not completely royal.
Dennis is offended, that Menenius, a senator of
Rome, should play the buffoon ; anti Voltaire per-
haps thinks decency violated when the Danish
usurper is represented as a drunkard. But Shak-
speare always makes nature predominate over acci-
dent; and if he preserves the essential character, is
not very careful of distinctions superinduced and
adventitious. His story requires Romaus or kings,
but he thinks only on men. He knew that Rome,
like every other city, had men of all dispositions ;
and wanting a buffoon, he went iuto the senate-
house for that which the senate-house would cer-
tainly have afforded him. He was inclined to show
an usurper and a murderer not only odious, but
despiciible; he therefore added drunkenness to his
other qualities, knowing that kings love wine like
other men, and that wine exerts its natural power
upon kings. These are the petty cavils of petty
ounds ; a poet overlooks the casual distinction of
country and condition, as a painter, satisfied with
the figure, neglects the drapery.

The censure which he has incurred by mixing
comic and tragic scenes, as it extends to all his
works, deserves more consideration. Let the fact
be first stated, and then examined.

Shakspeare's plays are not in the rigorous and
critical sense either tragedies or comedies, but com-
positions of a distinct kind; exhibiting the real
state of sublunary nature, which partakes of good
and evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless va-
riety of proportion and innumerable modes of com-
bination; and expressing the course of the world,
in which the loss of one is the gain of another; in
which, at the same time, the reveller is hasting
to his wine, and the mourner burying his friend;
in which the malignity of one is sometimes de-
feated by the frolic of another: and many mis-
chiefs and many benefits are done and hindered
without design.

Out of this chaos of mingled purposes and ca-
sualties, the ancient poets, according to the laws
which custom had prescribed, selected some the
crimes of men, and some their absurdities; some
the momentous vicissitudes of life, and some the

lighter occurrences ; some the terrors of distress,
and some the gaieties of prosperity. Thus rose
the two modes of imitation, known by the names
I o{ tragedy and comedy^ compositions intended to
promote different ends by contrary means, and
considered as so little allied, that I do not recollect
among the Greeks or Romans a single writer who
attempted both.

Shakspeare has united the powers of exciting
laughter and sorrow not only in one mind, but in
one composition. Almost all his plays are divided
between serious and ludicrous characters, and in
the successive evolutions of the design, sometimes
produce seriousness and sorrow, and sometimes
levity and laughter.

That this is a practice contrary to the rules of
criticism will be readily allowed ; but there is al-
ways an appeal open from criticism to nature. The
end of writing is to instruct ; the end of poetry is
to instruct by pleasing. That the mingled drama
may convey all the instruction of tragedy or co-
medy cannot be denied, because it includes both
in its alternations of exhibition, and approaches
nearer than either to the appearance of life, by
showing how great machinations and slender de-
signs may promote or obviate one another, and
the high and the low co-operate in the general sysr-
tem by unavoidable concatenation.

It Is objected, that by this change of scenes the
passions are interrupted in their progression, and
that the principal event, being not advanced by a
due gradation of preparatory incidents, wants at
last the power to move, which constitutes the per-^
fection of dramatic poetry. This reasoning is so
! specious, that it is received as true even by those
who in daily experience feel it to be false. The in-
jj terchanges of mingled scenes seldom fail to pro-
1 duce the intended vicissitudes of passion. Fiction
'I cannot move so much, but that the attention may
be easily transferred; and though it must be al-
lowed that pleasing melancholy be sometimes in-
terrupted by unwelcome levity, yet let it be consi-
dered likewise, that melancholy is often not pleas-
ing, and that the disturbance of one man may be
the relief of another ; that different auditors have
different habitudes ; and that, upon the whole, all
pleasure consists in variety.

The players, who in their edition divided our
author's works into comedies, histories, and trage-
dies, seem not to have distinguished the three kinds,
by any very exact or definite ideas.

An action which ended happily to the principal

persons, however serious or distressful through its

intermediate incidents, in their opinion constituted

a comedy. This idea of a comedy continued long

amongst us, and plays were written, which, by

changing the catastrophe, were tragedies to-day,

and comedies to-morrow.

[j Tragedy was not in those times a poem of more

I general dignity or elevation than comedy ; it re-.

i. A*

VI

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

Tn.S.

quired only a calamitous conclusion, with which the
common criticism of that age was satisfied, what-
ever lighter pleasure it afforded in its progress.

History was a series of actions, with no other
than chronological succession, independent on each
other, and witJiout any tendency to introduce and
regulate the conclusion. It is not always very
nicely distinguished from tragedy. There is not
much nearer approach to unity of action in the tra-
gedy oi Antony and Cleopatra, than in the history
of Richard the Second. But a history might be
continued through many plays ; as it had no plan,
it had no limits.

Through all these denominations of the drama,
Shakspeare's mode of composition is the same;
an interchange of seriousness and merriment, by
which the mind is softened at one time, and exhi-
larated at another. But whatever be his purpose,
whether to gladden or depress, or to conduct the
story, without vehemence or emotion, through
tracts of easy and familiar dialogue, he never fails
to attain his purpose; as he commands us, we laugh
or mourn, or sit silent with quiet expectation, in
tranquillity without indifference.

When Shakspeare's plan is understood, most of
the criticisms of Rymer and Voltaire vanish away.
The play of Hamlet is opened, without impro-
priety, by two centinels; lago bellows at Braban-
tio's window, without injury to the scheme of the
play, though in terms which a modern audience
would not easily endure; the character ofPolonius
is seasonable and useful; and the Gravediggers
themselves may be heard with applause.

Shakspeare engaged in dramatic poetry with
the world open before him ; the rules of the an-
cients were yet known to few; the public judgment
was unformed ; he had no example of such fame as
might force him upon imitation, nor critics of such
authority as might restrain his extravagance: he
therefore indulged his natural disposition, and his
disposition, as Rymer has remarked, led him to co-
medy. In tragedy he often writes with great ap-
pearance of toil and study, what is written at last
with little felicity; but in his comic scenes, he seems
to produce without labour, what no labour can im-
prove. In tragedy he is always struggling after
some occasion to be comic, but in comedy he seems
to repose, or to luxuriate, as in a mode of thinking
congenial to his nature. In his tragic scenes there
is always something wanting, but his comedy often
surpasses expectation or desire. His comedy pleases
by the thoughts and the language, and his tragedy
for the greater part by incident and action. His
tragedy seems to be skill, his comedy to be instinct.

The force of his comic scenes has suffered little
diminution from the changes made by a century
and a half, in manners or in words. As his person-
ages act upon principles arising from genuine
passion, very little modified by particidar forms,
their pleasures and vexatious are communicable

to all times and to all places ; they are natural, and
therefore durable: the adventitious pectdiarities of
personal habits, are only superficial dies, bright
and pleasing for a little while, yet soon fading to a
dim tinct, without any remains of former lustre;
but the discriminations of true passion are the co-
lours of nature; they ])ervade the whole mass, and
can only perish with the body that exhibits them.
The accidental compositions of heterogeneous
modes are dissolved by the chance which combined
them ; but the uniform simplicity of primitive qual-
ities neither admits increase, nor suffers decay.
The sand heaped by one flood is scattered by ano-
ther, but the rock always continues in its place.
The stream of time, which is continually washing
the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes without
injury by the adamant of Shakspeare.

If there be, what I believe there is, in every na-
tion, a style which never becomes obsolete, a certain
mode of phraseology so consonant and congenial
to the analogy and principles of its respective lan-
guage, as to remain settled and unaltered; this
style is probably to be sought in the common inter-
course of life, among those who speak only to be
understood, without ambition of elegance. The
polite are always catching modish innovations, and
the learned depart from established forms of speech,
in hope of finding or making better; those who
wish for distinction forsake the vulgar, when the
vulgar is right : but there is a conversation above
grossness and below refinement, where propriety
resides, and where this poet seems to have ga-
thered his comic dialogue. He is therefore more
agreeable to the ears of the present age than any
other author equally remote, and among his other
excellencies deserves to be studied as one of the
original masters of our language.

These observations are to be considered not as
unexceptionably constant, but as containing gene-
ral and predominant truth. Shakspeare's familiar
dialogue is affirmed to be smooth and clear, yet
not wholly without ruggedness or difficulty : as a
country may be eminently fruitful, though it has
spots unfit for cultivation : his characters are praised
as natural, though their sentiments arc sometimes
forced, and their actions improbable ; as the earth
upon the whole is spherical, though its surface is
varied with protuberances and cavities.

Shakspeare with his excellences has likewise
faults, and faults sufficient to obscure and over-
whelm any other merit. I shall show them in the
proportion in which they appear to me, without
envious malignity or superstitious veneration. No
question can be more innocently discussed than a
dead poet's pretensions to renown ; and little re-
gard is due to that bigotry which sets candour
higher than truth.

His first defect is that to which may be imputed
most of the evil in books or in men. He sacrifices
virtue to convenience, and is so much more care-

Til. S.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE

vn

fill to please than to instruct, that he seems to write
without any moral purpose. From his writings in-
deed a system of social duty may be selected, for
he that thinks reasonably must think morally; but
his precepts and axioms drop casually from him ;
he makes no just distribution of good or evil, nor
is always careful to show in the virtuous a disap-
probation of the wicked; he carries his persons in-
dilFerentiy through right and wrong, and at the
close dismisses them without further care, and
haves their examples to operate by chance. This
laultthe barbarity of his age cannot extenuate; for
it is always a writer's duty to make the world better,
and justice is a virtue independent on time or place.
The plots are often so loosely formed, that a
very slight consideration may improve them, and
so carelessly pursued, that he seems not always
fully to comprehend his own design. He omits op-
portunities of instructing or delighting, which the
train of his story seems to force upon him, and
apparently rejects those exhibitions which would
be more affectiug, for the sake of those which are
more easy.

It may be observed, that in many of his plays the
latter part is evidently neglected. When he found
himself near the end of his work, and in view of
his reward, he shortened the labour, to snatch the
profit. He therefore remits his efforts where he
should most vigorously exert them, and his catas-
trophe is improbably produced or imperfectly re-
presented.

He had no regard to distinction of time or place,
but gives to one age or nation, without scrtiple, the
customs, institutions, and opinions of another, at
the expence not only of likelihood, but of possibil-
ity. These faults Pope has endeavoured w ith more
zeal than judgment, to transfer to his imagined in-
terpolators. We need not to wonder to find Hector
quoting Aristotle, w hen we see the loves of The-
seus and Hyppolyta combined with the Gothic my-
thology of fairies. Shakspeare, indeed, was not the
only violator of chronology, for in the same age
Sidney, who wanted uot the advantages of learning,
has, in his Arcadia^ confounded the pastoral with
the feudal times, the days of innocence, quiet, and
security, with those of turbulence, violence, and
adventure.

In his comic scenes, he is seldom very successful,
when he engages his characters in reciprocations
of smartness and contests of sarcasm ; their jests
are commonly gross, and their pleasantry licen-
tious; neither his gentlemen nor his ladies have
miich delicacy, nor ,are sufficiently distinguished
from his clowns by any appearance of refined man-
ners . Whether he represented the real conversation
of his time is not easy to determine; the reign of
Elizabeth is commonly supposed to have been a
time of stateliness, formality, and reser> e, yet per-
haps the relaxations of that severity were not very
elegant. There must, however, have been always

some modes of gaiety preferable to others, and a
writer ought to choose the best.

In tragedy his performance seems constantly to
be worse, as his labour is more. The eflFusions of
passion, which exigence forces out, are for the
most part striking and energetic ; but w henever he
solicits his invention, or strains his faculties, the
offspring of his throes is tumour, meanness, tedious-
ness, and obscurity.

In narration he affects a disproportionate pomp
of diction, and a wearisome train of circumlocution,
and tells the incident imperfectly in many words,
which might have been more plainly delivered in
few. Narration in dramatic poetry is naturally
tedious, as it is imanimated and inactive, and ob-
structs the progress of the action; it should there-
fore always be rapid, and enlivened by frequent
interruption. Shakspeare found it an incumbrance,
and instead of lightening it by brevity, endeavoured
to recommend it by dignity and splendor.

His declamations or set speeches are commonly
cold and weak, for his power was the power of na-
ture ; when he endeavoured, like other tragic wri-
ters, to catch opportunities of amplification, and
instead of inquiring what the occasion demanded,
to show how much his stores of knowledge could
supply, he seldom escapes without the pity or re-
sentment of his reader. .

It is incident to him to be now and then en-
tangled with an unwieldy sentiment, which he can-
not well express, and will not reject ; he struggles
with it a while, and if it continues stubborn, com-
prises it in words such as occur, and leaves it to be
disentangled and evolved by those who have more
leisure to bestow upon it.

Not that always where the language is intricate,
the thought is subtle, or the image always great
where the line is bulky; the equality of words to
things is very often neglected, and trivial senti-
ments and vulgar ideas disappoint the attention,
to which they are recommended by sonorous epi-
thets and swelling figures.

But the admirers of this great poet have most
reason to complain when he approaches nearest to
his highest excellence, and seems fully resolved to
sink them in dejection and mollify them with ten-
der emotions by the fall of greatness, the ilanger
of innocence, or the crosses of love. What he does
best, he soon ceases to do. He is not long soft and
pathetic without some idle conceit, or contemptible
equivocation. He no sooner begins to move, than
he counteracts himself; and terror and pity, as
they are rising in the mind, are checked and blasted
by sudden frigidity.

A quibble is to Shakspeare, what luminous va-
pours are to the traveller; he follows it at all ad-
ventures; it is sure to lead him out of his way, and
sure to engulf him in the mire. It has some malig-
nant power over his mintl, and its fascination*
are irresistible. Whatever be the dignity or pro-

YlU

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE

Th.S.

fundity of his disquisitions, whether he be enlarging
knowledge, or exalting affection, whether he be
amusing attention with incidents, or enchanting it
in suspense, let but a quibble spring tip before him,
and he leaves his work unfiuished. A quibble is the
golden apple for which he will always turn aside
from his career, or stoop from his elevation. A
quibble, poor and barren as it is, gave him such
delight, that he was content to purchase it by the
sacrifice of reason, proj)riety, and truth. A quibble
was to him the fatal Cleopatra for which he lost
the world, and was content to lose it.

It will be thought strange, that, in enumerating
the defects of this writer,! have not yet mentioned
his neglect of the unities; his violation of those
laws which have been instituted and established
by the joint authority of poets and of critics.

For his other deviations from the art of writing
I resign him to critical justice, without making any
other demand in his favour, than that which must
be indulged to all human excellence; that his vir-
tues be rated with his failings; but, from the cen-
sure which this irregularity may bring upon him, I
shall, with due reverence to that leai'ning which 1
must oppose, adventure to try how I can defend him.

His histories, being neither tragedies nor come-
dies, are not subject to any of their laws; nothing
more is necessary to all the praise which they ex-
pect, than that the changes of action be so pre-
pared as to be understood, that the incidents be
various and affecting, and the characters consistent,
natural, and distinct. No other unity is intended,
and therefore none is to be sought.

In his other works he has well enough preserved
the unity of action. He has not, indeed, an intrigue
regularly perplexed and regidarly unravelled ; he
does not endeavour to hide his design only to dis-
cover it, for this is seldom the order of real events,
and Shakspeare is the poet of nature: but his plan
has commonly what Aristotle requires, a beginning,
a middle, and an end ; one event is concatenated
with another, and the conclusion follows by easy
consequence. There are perhaps some incidents
that might be spared, and in other poets there is
much talk that only fills up time upon the stage;
but the general system makes gradual advances,
and the end of the play is the end of expectation.

1 o the unities of time and place he has shown
no regard : and ])erhaps a nearer view of the prin-
ciples on which they stand will diminish their value,
and withdraw from them theveneration which, from
the time of Corneille, they have very generally re-
ceived, by discovering that they have given more
trouble to the poet, than pleasure to the auditor.

The necessity of observing the unities of time
ar.d jdace arises from the supposed necessity of
making the drama credible. The critics hold it im-
possible, that an action of months or years can be
possibly believed to pass in three hours; or that
the spectator can sui)pose himself to sit in the thea-

tre, while ambassadors go and return between dis-
tant kings, while armies are levied and towns be-
sieged, while an exile wanders and returns, or till
he whom they saw courting his mistress, shall la-
ment the untimely fall of his son. The mind revolts
from evident falsehood, and fiction loses its force
when it departs from the resemblance of reality.

From the narrow limitation of time necessarily
arises the contraction of place. The spectator, who
knows that he saw the first act at Alexandria, can-
not suppose that he sees the next at Rome, at a
distance to which not the dragons of Medea could
in so short a time, have transported him ; he knows
with certainty that he has not changed his place;
and he knows that place cannot change itself; that
what was a house cannot become a plain; that
what was Thebes can never be Persei)olis.

Such is the triumphant language with which a
critic exults over the misery of an irregular poet,
and exults commonly without resistance or re})!y.
It is time therefore to tell him, by the authority of
Shakspeare, that he assumes, as an unquestionable
principle, a position, which, while his breath is
forming it into words, his understanding pronoim-
ces to be false. It is false, that any representation
is mistaken for reality; that any dramatic fable in
its materiality was ever credible, or, for a single
moment, was ever credited.

The objection arising from the impossibility of
passing the first hour at Alexandria, and the next
at Rome, supposes, that when the j)lay opens, flic
spectator really imagines himself at Alexandria,
and believes that his walk to the theatre has been
a voyage to Egypt, and that he lives in the days of
Antony and Cleopatra. Surely he that imagines
this may imagine more. He that can take the stage
at one time for the palace of the Ptolemies, may
take it in half an hour for the promontory of
Actium. Delusion, if delusion be admitted, has no
certain limitation; if the spectator can be once
persuaded, that his old acquaintance are Alexander
and Ca!sar, that a room illiuninated with candles is
the plain of Pharsalia, or the banks of Granicus, he
is in a state of elevation above the reach of reason,
or of truth, and from the heights of empyrean poe-
try, may despise the circumscriptions of terrestrial
nature. There is no reason why a mind thus wan-
dering in ecstasy should count the clock, or why an
hour should not be a century in that calenture of
the brains that can make the stage a field.

The truth is, that the spectators are always in
their senses, and know, from the first act to the
last, that the stage is only a stage, and that the
players are only players. They come to hear a cer-
tain number of lines recited with just gqsture and
elegant modulation. The lines relate to some ac-
tion, and an action must be in some place; but the
different actions that complete a story may be in
places very remote from each other: and where is
the absurdity of allowing that space to represent first

TiF.S.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

IX

Athens, and then Sicily, which waa always known to
be neither Sicily nor Athens, but a modern theatre ?

By supposition, as place is introduced, time may
be extended; the time required by the fable elapses
for the most part between the acts; for, of so
much of the action as is represented, the real and
poetical duration is the same. If, in the first act,
preparations for war against Mithridates are repre-
sented to be made in Home, the event of the war
may, without absurdity, be represented, in the ca-
tastrophe, as happening in Pontus ; we know that
there is neither war, nor preparation for war; we
know that we are neither in Home nor Pontus:
that neither Mithridates nor Lucullus are before
us. The drama exhibits successive imitations of suc-
cessive actions, and why may not the second imi-
tation represent an action th;it happened years af-
ter the first; if it be so connected with it, that no-
thing but time can be supposed to intervene ? Time
is, of all modes of existence, most obsequious to
the imagination; a lapse of years is as easily con-
ceived as a passage of hours. In contemplation we
easily contract the time of real actions, and there-
fore willingly permit it to be contracted when we
only see their imitation.

It will be asked, how the drama moves, if it is
not credited. It is credited with all the credit due
to a drama. It is credited, whenever it moves, as a
just picture of a real original ; as representing to
the auditor what he would himself feel, if he were
to do or suffer what is there feigned to be suffered
or to be done. The reflection that strikes the heart
is not, that the evils before us are real evils, but
that they are evils to which we ourselves may be
exposed. If there be any fallacy, it is not that we
fancy the players, but that we fancy ourselves un-
hap[>y for a moment ; but we rather lament the pos-
sibility than suppose the presence of misery, as a
mother weeps over her babe, when she remembers
that death may take it from her. The delight of
tragedy proceeds from our consciousness of fiction ;
if we thought murders and treasons real, they would
please no more.

Imitations produce pain or pleasure, not because
they are mistaken for realities, but because they
bring realities to mind. \Vheu the imagination is
recreated l>y a painted lantlscape, the trees are not
supposed capable to give us shade, or the fountains
coolness; but we consider, how we should be
pleased with such fountains playing beside us, and
such woods waving over us. We are agitated in
reading the history o( Henry the Fi/'tli, yet no man
takes his book for the field of Agincourt. A drama-
tic exhibition is a book recited with concomitants
that increase or diminish its effect. Familiar co-
medy is often more powerfid on the theatre, than
in the page; imperial tragedy is always less. The
humour of Petruchio may be heightened by grim-
ace; but what voice or what gesture can hope to
add dignity or force to the soliloquy of Cato?

A play read affects the mind like a play acted.
It is therefore evident, that the action is not sup-
posed to be real ; and it follows, that between the
acts a longer or shorter time may be allowed to
pass, and that no more account of space or dura-
tion is to be taken by the auditor of a drama, than
by the reader of a narrative, before whom may
pass in an hour the life of a hero, or the revolutions
of an empire.

Whether Shakspeare knew the unities, and re-
jected them by design, or deviated from them by
happy ignorance, it is, I think, impossible to decide,
and useless to inquire. We may reasonably sup-
pose, that, when he rose to notice, he did not want
the counsels and admonitions of scholars and crit-
ics, and that he at last deliberately persisted in a
practice, which he might have begun by chance.
As nothing is essential to the fable, but unity of
action, and as the unities of time and place arise
evidently from false assumptions, and, by circum-
scribing the extent of the drama, lessen its variety,
I cannot think it much to be lamented, that th^y
were not known by him, or not observed : nor, if
such another poet could arise, should I very vehe-
mently reproach him, that his first act passed at
Venice, and his next in Cyprus. Such violations of
rules merely positive, become the comprehensive
genius of Shakspeare, and such censures are suit-
able to the minute andslender criticism of Voltaire:

"Non usque adeo perntiscuit imis

Longus suiTiina dies, ut non, si voce Metelli

Serventur leges, nialint a Civsare toll!."

Yet when I speak thus slightly of dramatic rides,
I cannot but recollect how much wit and learning
may be produced against me ; before such authori-
ties I am afraid to stand; not that I think the pre-
sent question one of those that are to be decided
by mere authority, but because it is to be suspected,
that these precepts have not been so easily received,
but for better reasons than I have yet been able to
find. The result of my inquiries, in which it would
be ludicrous to boast of impartiality, is, that the
imities of time and place are not essential to a just
drama; that though they may sometimes conduce
to pleasure, they are always to be sacrificed to the
nobler beauties of variety and instruction; and that
a play, written with nice observation of critical
rules, is to be contemplated as an elaborate curios-
ity, as the product of superfluous and ostentatious
art, by w hich is shown, rather what is possible, than
what is necessar)-.

He that, without dimintition of any other excel-
lence, shall preserve all the unities unbroken, de-
serves the like applause with the architect, who
shall display all the orders of architecture in a ci-
tadel, without any deduction from its strength: but
the principal beauty of a citadel is to exclude the
enemy ; and the greatest graces of a play arc to
copy nature, and instruct life.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

Tir. S.

Perhaps, what I have here not dogmatically but
deliberately written, may recall the principles of
the drama to a new examination. I am almost
frighted at my own temerity; and when I estimate
the fame and the strength of those that maintain
the contrary opinion, am ready to sink down in re-
verential silence ; as ^Eneas withdrew from the de-
fence of Troy, when he saw Neptune shaking the
■wall, and Juno heading the besiegers.

Those whom my arguments cannot persuade to
give their approbation to the judgment of Shak-
speare, will easily, if they consider the condition of
his life, make some allowance for his ignorance.

Every man's performances, to be rightly esti-
mated, must be compared to the state of the age
in which he lived, and with his own particular op-
portunities ; and though to a reader a book be not
worse or better for the circumstances of the author,
yet as there is always a silent reference of human
works to human abilities, and as the enquiry, how
far man may extend his designs, or how high he may
rate his native force, is of far greater dignity than
in what rank we shall place any particular perform-
ance, curiosity is always busy to discover the in-
struments, as well as to survey the workmanship,
to know how much is to be ascribed to original
powers, and how much to casual and adventitious
help. The palaces of Peru or MexicQ were certainly
mean and incommodious habitations, if compared
to the houses of European monarchs; yet who
could forbear to view them with astonishment, who
remembered that they were built without the use
of iron ?

The English nation, in the time of Shakspeare,
was yet struggling to emerge from barbarity. The
philology of Italy had been transplanted hither in
the reign of Henry the Eighth; and the learned
languages had been successfully cultivated by Lilly,
Linacre, and More ; by Pole, Cheke, and Gardi-
ner; and afterwards by Smith, Clerk, Haddon,
and Ascham. Greek was now taught to boys in the
principal schools; and those who united elegance
with learning, read, with great diligence, the Italian
and Spanish poets. But literature was yet confined
to professed scholars, or to men and women of
high rank. The public was gross and dark; and to
be able to read and write, was an accomplishment
still valued for its rarity.

Nations, like individuals, have their infancy. A
people newly awakened to literary curiosity, being
yet unacquainted with the true state of things,
knows not how to judge of that which is proposed
as its resemblance. Whatever is remote from com-
raoti appearances is always welcome to vulgar, as
to childish credulity; and of a country unenlight-
ened by learning, the whole people is the vulgar.
The study of those who then aspired to plebeian
learning was laid out upon adventures, giants,
dragons, and enchantments. The Death of Arthur
was the favourite volume.

The mind, which has feasted on the luxurious
wonders of fiction, has no taste of the insipidity of
truth. A play which imitated only the common oc-
currences of the world, would, upon the admirers
of Palmerin and Guy of Warwick, have made
little impression; he that wrote for such an au-
dience was under the necessity of looking round
for strange events and fabulous transactions, and
that incredibility, by which maturer knowledge is
oflfended, was the chief recommendation of writ-
ings, to unskilful curiosity.

Our author's plots are generally borrowed from
novels; and it is reasonable to suppose, that he
chose the most popular, such as were read by many,
and related by more ; for his audience could not
have followed him through the intricacies of the
drama, had they not held the thread of the story in
their hands.

The stories, which we now find only in remoter
authors, were in his time accessible and familiar.
The fable of As you like it, which is supposed to
be copied from Chaucer's Gamelyn, was a little
pamphlet of those times ; and old Mr. Cibber re-
membered the tale of Hamlet in plain English
prose, which the critics have now to seek in Saxo
Grammaticus.

His English histories he took from English chro-
nicles and English ballads ; and as the ancient wri-
ters were made known to his countrymen by ver-
sions, they supplied him with new subjects; he di-
lated some of Plutarch's lives into plays, when they
had been translated by North.

His plots, whether historical or fabulous, are al-
ways crowded with incidents, by which the atten-
tion of a rude people was more easily caught than
by sentiment or argumentation; and such is the
power of the marvellous, even over those who de-
spise it, that every man finds his mind more strongly
seized by the tragedies of Shakspeare than of
any other writer; others please us by particular
speeches, but he always makes us anxious for the
event, and has perhaps excelled all but Homer in
securing the first purpose of a writer, by exciting
restless and unquenchable curiosity, and compelling
him that reads his work to read it through.

The shows and bustle with which his plays
abound have the same original. As knowledge ad-
vances, pleasure passes from the eye to the ear, but
returns, as it declines, from the ear to the eye.
Those to whom our author's labours were exhib-
ited had more skill in pomps or processions than
in poetical language, and perhaps wanted some
visible and discriminated events, as comments on
the dialogue. He knew how he should most please ;
and whether his practice is more agreeable to na-
ture, or whether his example has prejudiced the
nation, we still find that on our stage something
must be done as well as said, and inactive declam-
ation is very coldly heard, however musical or
elegant, passionate or sublime.

Tn.S.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE

XI

Voltaire expresses his wonder, that our author's |
extravagancies are endured by a nation, which has
seen the tragedy of Cato. Let him be answered,
that Addison speaks the language of poets, and
Shakspeare of men. We find in 6'a/o innumerable
beauties wluch enamour us of its author, but we
see nothing that acquaints us with human senti-
ments or human actions ; we place it with the fairest
and noblest progeny which judgment propagates
by conjunction with learning ; but Othello is the
vigorous and vivacious offspring of observation im-
Mregnated by genius. Cato affords a splendid ex-

Itition of artificial and fictitious manners, and de-

ji\ers just and noble sentiments, in diction easy,

elevated, and harmonious, but its hopes and fears

"mmunicate no vibration to the heart; the com-

M.sition refers us only to the writer; we pronounce

the name of Cato, but we think on Addison.

The work of a correct and regular writer is a
garden accurately formed and diligently planted,
varied with shades and scented with flowers ; the
composition of Shakspeare is a forest, in which
oaks extend their branches, and pines tower in the
air, interspersed sometimes with weeds and bram-
bles, and sometimes giving shelter to myrtles and
to roses; filling the eye with awful pomp, and gra-
t i tying the mind with endless diversity. Other poets
tli?play cabinets of precious rarities, minutely
finished, wrought into shape, and polished into
lirightness. Shakspeare opens a mine which con-
tains gold and diamonds in unexhaustable plenty,
though clouded by incrustations, debased by impur-
ities, and mingled with a mass of meaner minerals.

It has been much disputed, whether Shakspeare
owed his excellence to his own native force, or
whether he had the common helps of scholastic
education, the precepts of critical science, and the
examples of ancient authors.

There has always prevailed a tradition, that
Shakspeare wanted learning, that he had no regu-
lar education, nor much skill in the dead langua-
ges. Jonson, his friend, affirms, that he had small
Latin^ and less Greek; who, besides that he had
no imaginable temptation to falsehood, wrote at a
time when the character and acquisitions of Shak-
speare were known to multitudes. His evidence
ought therefore to decide the controversy, unless
some testimony of equal force could be opposed.

Some have imagined, that they have discovered
deep learning in many imitations of old writers;
but the examples which I have known urged, were
drawn from books translated in his time ; or were
such easy coincidences of thoughts, as will happen
to all who consider the same subjects; or such re-
marks on life or axioms of morality as float in con-
versation, and are transmitted through the world in
proverbial sentences.

1 have found it remarked, that in this important
sentence. Go before, I'll follow, we read a trans-
lation of, / prae, tequar. I have been told, that

when Caliban, after a pleasing dream, says, /crtVrf
to sleep again, the author imitates Anacreon, who
had, like every other man, the same wish on the
same occasion.

There are a few passages which may pass for
imitations, but so few, that the exception only con-
firms the rule ; he obtained them from accidental
quotations, or by oral communication, and as he
used what he had, would have used more if he had
obtained it.

The Comedy of Errors is confessedly taken
from the Mencechmi ofPlautus; from the only play
of Plautus which was then in English. What can
be more probable, than that he who copied that,
would have copied more; but that those which
were not translated were inaccessible ?

W hether he knew the modern languages is un-
certain. That his plays have some French scenes
proves but little ; he might easily procure them to
be written, and probably, even though he had
known the language in the common degree, he
could not have written it \vithout assistance. In the
story of Romeo and Juliet he is observed to have
followed the English translation, where it deviates
from the Italian ; but this on the other part proves
nothing against his knowledge of the original. He
was to copy, not what he knew himself, but what
was known to his audience.

It is most likely that he had learned Latin suffi-
ciently to make him acquainted with construction,
but that he never advanced to an easy perusal of
the Roman authors. Concerning his skill in modem
languages, I can find no sufficient ground of de-
termination; but as no imitations of French or Ita-
lian authors have been discovered, though the Ita-
lian poetry was then high in esteem, I am inclined
to believe, that he read little more than English,
and chose for hb fables only such tales as he found
translated.

That much knowledge is scattered over his
works is very justly observed by Pope, but it is of-
ten such knowledge as books did not supply. He
that will understand Shakspeare, must not be con-
tent to study him in the closet, he must look for his
meaning sometimes among the sports of the field,
and sometimes among the manufactures of (he shop.

There is, however, proof enough that he was a
very diligent reader, nor was our language then so
indigent of books, but that he might very liberally
indulge his curiosity without excursion into foreign
literature. Many of the Roman authors were trans-
lated, and some of the Greek; the Reformation
had filled the kingdom with theological learning;
most of the topics of human disquisition had found
English writers ; and poetry )iad been cultivated,
not only with diligence, but succe-^s. This was a
stock of knowledge sufficient for a mind so capable
of appropriating and improving it.

But the greater part of his excellence was the
product of his own genius. He found the English

xu

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE

Th.S.

stage in a state of the utmost rudeness ; no essays
either in tragedy or comedy had appeared, from
which it could be discovered to what degree of de-
light either one or other might be carried. Neither
character nor dialogue were yet understood. Shak-
speare may be truly said to have introduced them
both amongst us, and in some of his hapj>ier scenes
to have carried them both to the utmost height.

By what gradations of improvement he pro-
ceeded, is not easily known; for the chronology of
his works is yet unsettled. Rowe is of opinion, that
perhaps toe are not to look for his beginnings like
those of other writers, in his least perfect works;
art had so little, and nature so large a share in
what he did, that for aught I know, says he, the
performances of his youth, as they icere the most
vigorous, were the best. But the power of nature
is only the power of using to any certain purpose
the materials which diligence procures, or oppor-
tunity supplies. Nature gives no man knowledge,
and when images are collected by study and ex-
perience, can only assist in combining or applying
them. Shakspeare, however favoured by nature,
could impart only what he had learned ; and as he
must encrease his ideas, like other mortals, by gra-
dual acquisition, he, like them, grew wiser as he
grew older, could display life better, as he knew it
more, and instruct with more efficacy, as he was
himself more amply instructed.

There is a vigilance of observation and accuracy
of distinction which books and precepts cannot
confer; from this almost all original and native ex-
cellence proceeds. Shakspeare must have looked
upon mankind with perspicacity, in the highest de-
gree curious and attentive. Other writers borrow
their characters from preceding writers, and diver-
sify them only by the accidental appendages of
present manners ; the dress is a little varied, but
the body is the same. Our author had both matter
and form to provide ; for, except the characters of
Chaucer, to whom I think he is not much indebted,
there were no writers in English, and perhaps not
many in other modern languages, which showed
life in its native colours.

The contest about the original benevolence or
malignity of man had not yet commenced. Specu-
lation had not yet attempted to analyse the mind,
to trace the passions to their sources, to unfold the
seminal principles of vice and virtue, or sound the
depths of the heart for the motives of action. All
those enquiries, which from that time that human
nature became the fashionable study, have been
made sometimes with nice discernment, but often
with idle subtilty, were yet unattempted. The
tales, with which the infancy of learning was satis-
fied, exhibited only the superficial appearances of
action, related the events, but omitted the causes,
and were formed for such as delighted in wonders
rather than in truth. Mankind was not then to be
studied in the closet; he that would know the

world, was under the necessity of gleaning his own
remarks, by mingling as he could in its business
and amusements.

Boyle congratulated himself upon his high birth,
because it favoured his curiosity, by facilitating his
access. Shakspeare had no such advantage; he
eame to London a needy adventurer, and Hved for
a time by very mean employments. Many works of
genius and learning have been performed in states
of life that appear very little favourable to thought
or to enquiry: so many, that he who considers
them is inclined to think that he sees enterprize
and perseverance predominating over all external
agency, and bidding help and hindrance vanish be-
fore them. The genius of Shakspeare was not to
be depressed by the weight of poverty, nor limited
by the narrow conversation to which men in want
are inevitably condemned: the incumbrances of
his fortune were shaken from his mind, as dew
drops from a lion's mane.

Though he had so many difficulties to encoun-
ter, and so little assistance to surmount them, he
has been able to obtain an exact knowledge of
many modes of life, and many casts of native dis-
positions; to vary them with great multiplicity ; to
mark them by nice distinctions ; and to show them
in full view by proper combinations. In this part of
his performances he had none to imitate, but has
himself been imitated by all succeeding writers ; and
it may be doubted, whether from all his successors
more maxims of theoretical knowledge, or more
rules of practical prudence, can be collected, than
he alone has given to his countr3\

Nor was his attention confined to the actions of
men; he was an exact surveyor of the inanimate
world; his descriptions have always some pecjiliar-
ities, gathered by contemplating things as they
really exist. It may be observed, that the oldest
poets of many nations preserve their reputation,
and that the following generations of wit, after a
short celebrity, sink into oblivion. The first, who-
ever they be, must take their sentiments and de-
scriptions immediately from knowledge; the re-
semblance is therefore just, their descriptions are
verified by every eye, and their sentiments acknowl-
edged by every breast. Those whom their fame
invites to the same studies, copy partly them,
and partly nature, till the books of one age gain
such authority, as to stand in the place of nature
to another, and imitation, always deviating a little,
becomes at last capricious and casual. Shakspeare,
whether life or nature be his subject, shows plainly,
that he has seen with his own eyes ; he gives the
image which he receives, not weakened or distorted
by the intervention of any other mind; the igno-
rant feel his representations to be just, and the
learned see that they are complete.

Perhaps it would not be easy to find any author,
except Homer, who invented so much as Shak-
speare, who so much advanced the studies which

Tir. S.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE

xni

he cultivated, or effused so much novelty upon hU
age or country. The form, the characters, the lan-
guage, and the shows of the English drama are his.
He seems, says Dennis, to have been the very ori-
ginal of our English tragical harmony, that is,
the harmony of blank verse, diversijied often by
dissyllable and trisyllable terminations. For the
diversity distinguishes it from heroic harmony,
and by bringing it nearer to common use makes
it more proper to gain attention, and more fit for
action and dialogue. Such verse tee make when
tee are writing prose ; tee make such verse in com-
mon conversation.

1 know not w hether this praise is rigorously just
The dissyllable termination, which the critic rightly
appropriates to the drama, is to be found, though,
1 think, not in Gorboduc, which is confessedly be-
fore our author; yet in Hieronymo, of which the
date is not certain, * ) but w hich there is reason to
believe at least as old as his earliest plays. This
however is certain, that he is the first who taught
either tragedy or comedy to please, there being no
theatrical piece of any older writer, of which the
name is known, except to antiquaries and collec-
tors of books, which are sought because they are
scarce, and would not have been scarce had they
been much esteemed.

To him we must ascribe the praise, unless Spen-
ser may divide it with him, of having first disco-
vered to how much smoothness and harmony the
English language could be softened. He has
[•eeches, perhaps sometimes scenes, which have
.ill the delicacy of Rowe, without his effeminacy.
He endeavours indeed commonly to strike by the
force and vigour of his dialogue, but he never ex-
ecutes his purpose better than when he tries to
smooth by softness.

Yci it must be at last confessed, that as we owe
every thing to him, he owes something to us ; that,
if much of his praise is paid by perception and
judgment, much is likewise given by custom and
veneration. We fix our eyes upon his graces, and
turn them from his deformities, and endure in him
what we should in another loath or despise. If we
endured without praising, respect for the father of
our drama might excuse us ; but 1 have seen, in the
book of some modern critic, a collection of anoma-
lies, which show that he has corrupted language
by every mode of depravation, but which his ad-
mirer has accumulated as a monument of honour.

He has scenes of undoubted and perpetual ex-
cellence, but perhaps not one play, which, if it
were now exhibited as the work of a contemporary
writer, would be heard to the conclusion. 1 am in-
deed far from thinking, that his works were wrought
to his own ideas of perfection ; when they were such
as would satisfy the audience, they satisfied the
writer. It is seldom that authors, though more stu-

t) It appears to have been acted before 15M.

dioiu of fame than Shakspeare, rise much above
the standard of their own age; to add a little to
what is best will always be sufficient for present
praise, and those who find themselves exalted into
fame, are willing to credit their encomiasts, and to
spare the labour of contending with themselves.

It does not appear, that Shakspeare thought his
works worthy of posterity, that he levied any ideal
tribute upon future times, or had any fiirther pro-
spect than of present popularity and present profit.
When his plays had been acted, his hope was at an
end ; he solicited no addition of honour from the
reader. He therefore made no scruple to repeat
the same jests in many dialogues, or to entangle
different plots by the same knot of perplexity,
which may be at least forgiven him, by those who
recollect, that of Congreve's fotir comedies, two
are concluded by a marriage in a mask, by a de-
ception, which perhaps never happened, and which,
whether likely or not, he did not invent.

So careless was this great poet of future fame,
that, though he retired to ease and plenty, while
he was yet little declined into the vale of years,
before he coidd be disgusted with fatigue, or dis-
abled by infirmity, he made no collection of his
works, nor desired to rescue those that had been
already published from the depravations that ob-
scured them, or secure to the rest a better destiny,
by giving them to the world in their genuine state.

Of the plays which bear the name of Shakspeare
in the late editions, the greater part were not pub-
lished till about seven years after his death, and
the few which appeared in his life are apparently
thrust into the world without the care of the author,
and therefore probably without his knowledge.

Of all the publishers, clandestine or professed,
the negligence and unskilfulness has by the late
revisers been suflTiciently shown. The faults of all
are indeed numerous and gross, and have not only
corrupted many passages perhaps beyond recovery,
but have brought others into suspicion, which are
oidy obscured by obsolete phraseology, or by the
writer's imskilfulness and affectation. To alter is
more easy than to explain, and temerity is a more
common quality than diligence. Those who saw
that they must employ conjecture to a certain de-
gree, were willing to indulge it a little further. Had
the author published his own works, we should
have sat quietly down to disentangle his intricacies,
and clear his obscurities ; but now we tear w hat we
cannot loose, and eject what we happen not to
understand.

The faults are more than could have happened
without the concurrence of many causes. The style
of Shakspeare was in itself ungrammatical, per-
plexed, and obscure; his works were transcribed
for the players by those who may be supposed to
have seldom understood them; they were tran.^
mitted by copiers equally unskilfid, who still raul
tipHed errors ; they were perhaps sometimes mu-

XIV

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE

Tn. S.

tilatcd by the actors, for the sake of shortening the
speeches: and were at last printed without correc-
tion of the press.

In this state they remained, not as Dr. Warbur-
ton supposes, because they were unregarded, but
because the editor's art was not yet applied to mo-
dern languages, and our ancestors were accustomed
to so much negligence of English printers, that
they could very patiently endure it. At last an
edition was undertaken by Rowe ; not because a
poet was to be published by a poet, for Rowe seems
to have thought very little on correction or explan-
ation, but that our author's works might appear
like those of his fraternity, with the appendages of
a life and recommendatory preface. Rowe has
been clamorously blamed for not performing what
he did not undertake, and it is time that justice be
done him, by confessing, that though he seems to
have had no thought of corruption beyond the prin-
ter's errors, yet he has made many emendations, if
they were not made before, which his successors
have received without acknowledgment, and which,
if they had produced them, would have filled pages
and pages with censures of the stupidity by which
the faults were committed, with displays of the ab-
surdities which they involved, with ostentatious ex-
positions of the new reading, and self-congratu-
lations on the happiness of discovering it.

As of the other editors I have preserved the pre-
faces, I have likewise borrowed the author's life
from Rowe, though not written with much elegance
or spirit ; it relates, however, what is now to be
known, and therefore deserves to pass through all
succeeding publications.

The nation had been for many years content
enough with Mr. Rowe's performance, when Mr.
Pope made them acquainted with the true state of
Shakspeare's text, showed that it was extremely
corrupt, and gave reason to hope that there were
means of reforming it. He collated the old copies,
which none had thought to examine before, and
restored many lines to their integrity; but by a very
compendious criticism, he rejected whatever he dis-
liked, and thought more of amputation than of cure.

1 know not why he is commended by Dr. War-
burton for distinguishing the genuine from the spu-
rious plays. In this choice he exerted no judgment
of his own ; the plays which he received, were given
by Hemings and Condel, the first editors; and
those which he rejected, though, according to the
licentiousness of the press in those times, they were
printed during Shakspeare's life, with his name,
had been omitted by his friends, and were never ad-
ded to his works before the edition of 1664, from
which they were copied by the later printers.

This was a work which Pope seems to have
thought unworthy of his abilities, being not able to
suppress his contempt of the dull duty of an edi"
tor. He understood but half his undertaking. The
duty of a collator is indeed dull, yet, like other te-

dious tasks, is very necessary ; but an emendatory
critic would ill discharge his duty, without qualities
very different from dulness. In perusing a cor-
rupted piece, he must have before him all possibil-
ities of meaning, with all possibilities of expression.
Such must be his comprehension of thought, and
such his copiousness of language. Out of many
readings possible, he must be able to select that
which best suits with the state, opinions, and modes
of language prevailing in every age, and with his
author's particular cast of thought, and turn of ex-
pression. Such must be his knowledge, and such his
taste. Conjectural criticism demands more than
humanity possesses, and he that exercises it with
most praise, has very frequent need of indulgence.
Let us now be told no more of the dull duty of an
editor.

Confidence is the common consequence of suc-
cess. They whose excellence of any kind has been
loudly celebrated, are ready to conclude, that their
powers are universal. Pope's edition fell below his
own expectations, and he was so much oflFended,
when he was found to have left any thing for others
to do, that he passed the latter part of his life in a
state of hostility with verbal criticism.

I have retained all his notes, that no fragment
of so great a writer may be lost; his preface, valu-
able alike for elegance of composition and justness
of remark, and containing a general criticism on
his author, so extensive that little can be added,
and so exact, that little can be disputed, every edi-
tor has an interest to suppress, but that every
reader would demand its insertion.

Pope was succeeded by Theobald, a man of
nanow comprehension, and small acquisitions, with
no native and intrinsic splendor of genius, with
little of the artificial light of learning, but zealous
for minute accuracy, and not negligent in pursuing
it. He collated the ancient copies, and rectified
many errors. A man so anxiously scrupulous might
have been expected to do more, but what little he
did was commonly right.

In his reports of copies and editions, he is not to
be trusted without examination. He speaks some-
times indefinitely of copies, when he has only one.
In his enumeration of editions, he mentions the
two first folios as of high, and the third folio as of
middle authority; but the truth is, that the first is
equivalent to all others, and that the rest only de-
viate from it by the printer's negligence. Whoever
has any of the folios has all, excepting those diver-
sities which mere reiteration of editions will pro-
duce. I collated them all at the beginning, but
afterwards used only the first.

Of his notes I have generally retained those
which he retained himself in his second edition, ex-
cept when they were confuted by subsequent an-
notators, or were too minute to merit preservation.
I have sometimes adopted his restoration of a com-
ma, without inserting the panegyric in which he

Tr/.S.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

XV

celebrated himself for his achievement. The ex-
uberant excrescence of his diction I have often
lopped, his triumphant exultations over Pope and
Howe 1 have sometimes suppressed, and his con-
temptible ostentation 1 have frequently concealed;
but I have in some places shown him, as he would
have shown himself for the reader's diversion, that
the inflated emi)tiness of some notes may justify or
excuse the contraction of the rest.

Theobald, thus weak and ignorant, thus mean
and faithless, thus petulant and ostentatious, by the
good luck of having Pope for his enemy, has es-
caped, and escaped alone, with reputation, from
this undertaking. So willingly does the world sup-
port those who solicit favour, against those who
•inmand reverence; and so easily is he praised,
.. Iiom no man can envy.

Our author fell then into the hands of Sir Tho-
mas Hanmer, the Oxford editor, a man, in my oi)iu-
ion, eminently qualified by nature for such studies.
He had, what is the first requisite to emendatory
criticism, that intuition by which the poet's intention
is immediately discovered, and that dexterity of in-
tellect which despatches its work by the easiest
means. He had undoubtedly read nuich: his ac-
quaintance with customs, opinions, and traditions,
seems to have been large ; and he is often learned
without show. He seldom passes what he does not
understand, without an attempt to find or to make
a meaning, and sometimes hastily makes what a
little more attention would have found. He is soli-
citous to reduce to grammar, what he could not be
sure that his author intended to be grammatical.
>!iakspeare regarded more the series of ideas than
of words ; and his language, not being designed for
the reader's desk, was all that he desired it to be,
if it conveyed his meaning to the audience.

Hanmer's care of the metre has been too vio-
lently censured. He found the measure reformed
in so many passages, by the silent labours of some
editors, with the silent acquiescence of the rest,
that he thought himself allowed to extend a little
further the licence, which had already been carried
so far without reprehension; £md of his corrections
in genend, it must be confessed, that they are often
just, and made commonly with the least possible
violation of the text.

But by inserting his emendations, whether in-
vented or borrowed, into the page, without any
notice of varying copies, he has appropriated the
labour of his predecessors, and made his own edi-
tion of little authority. His confidence, indeed,
both in himself and others, was too great ; he sup-
poses all to be right that was done by Pope and
Theobald; he seems not to suspect a critic of falli-
bility, and it was but reasonable that he should
claim what he so hberally granted.

As he never writes without careful enquiry and
diligent consideration, I have received all his notes,
and believe that every reader will wish for more.

Of the last editor it is more difficult to speak.
Respect is due to high place, tenderness to living
reputati«)n, and veneration to genius and learning;
but he cannot be justly oflFended at that liberty of
which he has himself so frequently given an exam-
ple, nor very solicitous what is thought of notes
which he ought never to have considered as part of
his serious employments, and which, I suppose,
since the ardour of composition is remitted, he no
longer numbers among his happy effusions.

The original and predominant error of his com-
mentary, is acquiescence in his first thoughts ; that
precipitation which is produced by consciousness
of quick discernment; and that confidence which
presumes to do, by surveying the surface, what la-
bour only ctm perform, by penetrating the bottom.
His notes exhibit sometimes per^'erse interpreta-
tions, and sometimes improbable conjectures ; he at
one time gives the author more profundity of mean-
ing than the sentence admits, and at another dis-
covers absurdities, where the sense is plain to every
other reader. But his emendations are likewise
often happy and just : and his interpretation of ob-
scure passages learned and sagacious.

Of his notes, I have commonly rejected those,
against which the general voice of the public has
exclaimed, or which their own incongruity imme-
diately condemns, and w hich, I suppose, the author
himself would desire to be forgotten. Of the rest,
to part 1 have given the highest approbation, by
inserting the offered reading in the text; part I
have left to the judgment of the reader, as doubt-
ful, though specious; and part I have censured
without reserve, but I am sure without bitterness of
malice, and, I hope, without wantonness of insult

It is no pleasure to me, in revising my volumes,
to observe how much paper is wasted in confuta-
tion. \\ hoever considers the revolutions of learning,
and the various questions of greater or less import-
ance, upon which wit mid reason have exercised
their powers, must lament the unsuccessfulness of
enquiry, and the slow advances of truth, when he
reflects, that great part of the labour of every wri-
ter, is only the destruction of those that went be-
fore him. The first care of the builder of a new
system is to demolish the fabrics which are stand-
ing. The chief desire of him that comments an
author, is to show how much other commentators
have corrupted and obscured him. The opinions
prevalent in one age, as truths above the reach of
controversy, are confuted and rejected in another,
and rise again to reception in remoter times. Thus
the human mind is kept in motion without progress.
Thus sometimes truth and error, and sometimes
contrarieties of error, take each other's place by re-
ciprocal invasion. The tide of seeming knowledge
which is poured over one generation, retires and
leaves another naked and barren ; the sudden me-
teors of intelligence, which for a while appear to
shoot their beams into the regions of obscurity, on

XVI

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

Tir. S.

a sudden withdraw their lustre, and leave mortals
again to grope their way.

These elevations and depressions of renown,
and the contradictions to which all improvers of
knowledge must for ever be exposed, since they
are not escaped by the highest and brightest of
mankind, may surely be endured with patience by
critics and annotators, who can rank themselves
but as the satellites of their authors. How canst
thou beg for life, says Homer's hero ^) to his cap-
tive, when thou knowest that thou art now to suffer
only w hat must another day be suffered by Achilles ?

Dr. Wjgrburton had a name sufficient to confer
celebrity on those who could exalt themselves into
antagonists, and his notes have raised a clamour
too loud to be distinct. His chief assailants are the
authors of The Canons of Criticism, *) and of
The Revisal of Shakspeare' s Text; *) of whom
one ridicules his errors with airy petulance, suitable
enough to the levity of the controversy; the other
attacks them with gloomy malignity, as if he were
dragging to justice an assassin or incendiary. The
one stings like a fly, sucks a little blood, takes a
gay flutter, and returns for more ; the other bites
like a viper, and would be glad to leave inflam-
mations and gangrene behind him. When I think
on one, with his confederates, I remember the dan-
ger of Coriolanus, who was afraid that girls with
spits, and boys with stones, should slay him in
puny battle ; when the other crosses my imagina-
tion, I remember the prodigy in Macbeth :

•'A falcon tow'ring in his pride of place.
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kiU'd."

Let me however do them justice. One is a wit,
and one a scholar. They have both shown acuteness
sufficient in the discovery of faults, and have both
advanced some probable interpretations of obscure
passages; but when they aspire to conjecture and
emendation, it appears how falsely we all estimate
our own abilities, and the little which they have
been able to perform might have taught them more
candour to the endeavours of others.

Before Dr. Warburton's edition, CrtVica/ Observ-
ations on Shakspeare had been published by Mr.
Upton, a man skilled in languages, and acquainted
with books, but who seems to have had no great
vigour of genius or nicety of taste. Many of his ex-
planations are curious and useful, but he, likewise,
though he professed to oppose the licentious con-
fidence of editors, and adhere to the old copies, is
unable to restrain the rage of emendation, though
bis ardour is ill seconded by his skill. Every cold
empiric, when his heart is expanded by a success-
ful experiment, swells into a theorist, and the la-
borious collator at some unlucky moment frolics
in conjecture.

3) "Achilles." Orig.

4) Mr. Edward*.
6) Mr. Heath.

Edit. 1763.

Critical, historical, and explanatory Notes
have been likewise published upon Shakspeare by
Dr. Grey, whose diligent perusal of the old English
writers has enabled him to make some useful ob-
servations. What he undertook he has well enough
performed, but as he neither attempts judicial nor
emendatory criticism, he employs rather his me-
mory than his sagacity. It were to be wished that
all would endeavour to imitate his modesty, who
have not been able to surpass his knowledge.

I can say with great sincerity of all my predeces-
sors, what I hope will hereafter be said of me, that
not one has left Shakspeare without improvement,
nor is there one to whom I have not been indebted
for assistance and information. Whatever I have
taken from them, it was my intention to refer to its
original author, and it is certain, that what I have
not given to another, I believed when [ wrote it to
be my own. In some perhaps I have been anti-
cipated; but if I am ever found to encroach upon
the remarks of any other commentator, I am will-
ing that the honour, be it more or less, should be
transferred to the first claimant, for his right, and
his alone, stands above dispute; the second can
prove his pretensions only to himself, nor can him-
self always distinguish invention, with sufficient
certainty, from recollection.

They have all been treated by me with candotir,
which they have not been careful of observing to
one another. It is not easy to discover from what
cause the acrimony of a scholiast can naturally pro-
ceed. The subjects to be discussed by him are of
very small importance; they involve neither pro-
perty nor liberty; nor favour the interest of sect or
party. The various readings of copies, and dif-
ferent interpretations of a passage, seem to be
questions that might exercise the wit, without en-r
gaging the passions. But whether it be, that small
things make mean men proud, and veuiity catches
small occasions; or that all contrariety of opinion,
even in those that can defend it no longer, makes
proud men angry; there is often found in com-
mentaries a spontaneous train of invective and con-
tempt, more eager and venomous than is vented
by the most furious controvertist in politics against
those whom he is hired to defame.

Perhaps the lightness of the matter may con-
duce to the vehemence of the agency; when the
truth to be investigated is so near to inexistence,
as to escape attention, its bulk is to be enlargetl
by rage and exclamation : that to which all would
be indifferent in its original state, may attract
notice when the fate of a name is appended to
it. A commentator has indeed great temptations
to supply by turbulence what he wants of dignity,
to beat his little gold to a spacious surface, to
work that to foam which no art or diligence can
exalt to spirit.

The notes which I have borrowed or written are
either illustrative, by which difficidties arc ex-

Tu. S.

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

XVII

plained; or judicial, by which faults and beauties
are remarked ; or emendatoiy, by which deprav-
ations are correctetl.

The explanations transcribed from others, if I
do not subjoin any other interpretation, I sup-
po.«e cominonly to be right, at least 1 intend by
acquiescence to confess, that 1 have nothing better
to propose.

After the labours of all the editors, I found many
passages which appeared to me likely to obstruct
the greater number of readers, and thought it my
duty to facilitate their passage. It is impossible
for an expositor not to write too little for some,
and too much for others. He can only judge what
b necessiuy by his own experience ; and how long
soever he may deliberate, will at last explain many
lines which the learned will think impossible to be
mbtaken, and omit many for which the ignorant
will want his help. These are censures merely re-
lative, and must be quietly endured. I have en-
deavoured to be neither superfluously copious, nor
scrupulously reserved, and hope that I have made
my author's meaning accessible to many, who be-
fore were frighted from perusing him, and contrib-
uted something to the pubUc by diffusing inno-
cent and rational pleasure.

The complete explanation of an author not sys-
tematic and consequential, but desultory and vag-
rant, abounding in casual allusions and light hints,
is not to be expected from any single scholiast.
All personal refiections,when names are suppressed,
must be in a few years irrecoverably obliterated ;
and customs, too minute to attract the notice of
law, such as modes of dress, formalities of convers-
ation, rules of visits, disposition of furniture, and
practices of ceremony, which naturally find places
in familiar dialogue, are so fugitive and unsub-
stantial, that they are not easily retained or reco-
vered. What can be known will be collected by
chance, from the recesses of obscure and obsolete
papers, perused commonly with some other view.
Of this knowledge every man has some, and none
has much ; but when an author has engaged the
public attention, those who can add any thing to
his illustration, communicate their discoveries, and
time produces what had eluded diligence.

To time 1 have been obliged to resign many
passages, which, though I did not understand them,
will perhaps hereafter be explained, having, 1 hope,
illustrated some, which others have neglected or
mistaken, sometimes by short remarks, or marginal
directions, such as every editor has added at his
will, and often by comments more laborious than
the matter will seem to deserve; but that which is
most difficult is not always most important, and
to an editor nothing is a trifle by which his author
is obscured.

The poetical beauties or defects I have not been
very diligent to observe. Some plays have more,
and some fewer judicial observations, not in pro-

portion to their difference of merit, but because 1
give this part of my design to chance and to ca-
price. The reader, I believe, is seldom pleased to
find his opinion anticipated; it is natural to delight
more in what we find or make, than in what we re-
ceive. Judgment, like other faculties, is improved
by practice, and its advancement b hindered by
submission to dictatorial decbions, as the memory
grows torpid by the use of a table-book. Some
initiation is however necessary ; of all skill, part U
infused by precept, and part is obtained by habit ;
I have therefore shown so much as may enable the
candidate of criticism to discover the rest.

To the end of most plays 1 have added short
strictures, containing a general censure of faults,
or prabe of excellence ; in w hich 1 know not how
much I have concurred with the current opinion ;
but I have not by any affectation of singularity
deviated from it. Nothing is minutely and partic-
ularly examined, and therefore it is to be supposed,
that in the plays which are condenmed there is
much to be praised, and in those which are praised
much to be condemned.

The part of criticism in which the whole suc-
cession of editors has laboured with the greatest
diligence, which has occasioned the most arrogant
ostentation, and excited the keenest acrimony, is
the emendation of corrupted passages, to which
the public attention having been first drawn by the
violence of the contention between Pope and Theo-
bald, has been continued by the persecution, which,
with a kind of conspiracy, has been since rabed
against all the publbhers of Shakspeare.

That many passages have passed in a state of
depravation through all the editions is indubitably
certain ; of these, the restoration b only to be at-
tempted by collation of copies, or sagacity of con-
jecture. The collator's province is safe and easy,
the conjecturer's perilous and difficult. Yet as the
greater part of the plays are extant only in one
copy, the peril miwt not be avoided, nor the diffi-
culty refused.

Of the readings which this enuilation of amend-
ment has hitherto produced, some from the labours
of every publisher I have advanced into the text ;
those are to be considered as in my opinion suffi-
ciently supported; some I have rejected without
mention, as evidently erroneous ; some I have left
in the notes without censure or approbation, as
resting in equipoise between objection and de-
fence ; and some, which seemed specious but not
right, I have inserted with a subsequent animad-
version.

Having classed the observations of others, I
was at last to try what 1 could substitute for their
mbtakes, and how 1 could supply their omissions.
I collated such copies as 1 could procure, and
wished for more, but have not found the collectors
of these rarities very communicative. Of the edi-
tions which chance or kindness put into my hands

XVIIl

BR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

Th. S.

I have given an enumeration, that I may not be
blamed for neglecting what 1 had not the power
to do.

By examining the old copies, I soon found that
the later publishers, with all their boasts of dili-
gence, suffered many passages to stand unauthor-
ized, and contented themselves with Rowe's regu-
lation of the text, even where they knew it to be
arbitrary, and with a little consideration might
have found it to be wrong. Some of these altera-
tions are only the ejection of a word for one that
appeared to him more elegant or more intelligible.
These corruptions I have often silently rectified ;
for the history- of our language, and the true force
of our words, can only be preserved, by keeping
the text of authors free from adulteration. Others,
and those very frequent, smoothed the cadence,
or regulated the measure ; on these 1 have not ex-
ercised the same rigour; if only a word was trans-
posed, or a particle inserted or omitted, I have
sometimes suff"ered the line to stand ; for the in-
constancy of the copies is such, as that some liber-
ties may be easily permitted. But this practice I
have not suffered to proceed far, having restored
the primitive diction wherever it could for any rea-
son be preferred.

The emendations, which comparison of copies
supplied, I have inserted in the text; sometimes,
where the improvement was slight, without notice,
and sometimes with an account of the reasons of
the change.

Conjecture, though it be sometimes unavoidable,
I have not wantonly nor licentiously indulged. It
has been my settled principle, that the reading of
the ancient books is probably true, and therefore
is not to be disturbed for the sake of elegance,
perspicuity, or mere improvement of the sense.
For though much credit is not due to the fidelity,
nor any to the judgment of the first publishers, yet
they who had the copy before their eyes were more
likely to read it right, than we who read it only by
imagination. But it is evident that they have often
made strange mistakes by ignorance or negligence,
and that therefore something may be properly at-
tempted by criticism, keeping the middle way be-
tween presumption and timidity.

Such criticism 1 have attempted to practise, and
where any passage appeared inextricably per-
plexed, have endeavoured to discover how it may
be recalled to sense, with least violence. But my
first labour is, always to turn the old text on every
side, and try if there be any interstice, through
which light can find its way ; nor would Huetius
himself condemn me, as refusing the trouble of re-
search, for the ambition of alteration. In this mo-
dest industry I have not been unsuccessful. 1 have
rescued many lines from the violations of temerity,
and secured many scenes from the inroads of cor-
rection. I have adopted the Roman sentiment, that
it is more honourable to save a citizen, than to kill

an enemy, and have been more careful to protect
than to attack.

I have preserved the common distribution of the
plays into acts, though I believe it to be in almost
all the plays void of authority. Some of those
which are divided in the later editions have no di-
vision in the first folio, and some that are divided
in the folio have no division in the preceding co-
pies. The settled mode of the theatre requires four
intervals in the play, but few, if any, of our author's
compositions can be properly distributed in that
manner. An act is so much of the drama as passes
without intervention of time, or change of place.
A pause makes a new act. In every real, and there-
fore in every imitative action, the intervals may be
more or fewer, the restriction of five acts being
accidental and arbitrary. This Shakspeare knew,
and this he practised; his plays were written, and
at first printed in one unbroken continuity, and
ought now to be exhibited with short pauses, inter-
posed as often as the scene is changed, or any con-
siderable time is required to pass. This method
would at once quell a thousand absurdities.

In restoring the author's works to their integ-
rity, I have considered the punctuation as wholly
in my power ; for what could be their care of co-
lons and commas, who corrupted words and sen-
tences? Whatever could be done by adjusting
points, is therefore silently performed, in some
plays with much diligence, in others with less ; it
is hard to keep a busy eye steadily fixed upon eva-
nescent atoms, or a discursive mind upon evanes-
cent truth.

The same liberty has been taken with a few par-
ticles, or other words of slight effect. I have some-
times inserted or omitted them without notice. 1
have done that sometimes which the other editors
have done always, and which indeed the state of
the text may sufficiently justify.

The greater part of readers, instead of blaming
us for passing trifies, will wonder that on mere
trifles so much labour is expended, with such im-
portance of debate, and such solemnity of diction.
To these I answer with confidence, that they are
judging of an art which they do not understand ;
yet cannot much reproach them with their ignor-
ance, nor promise that they would become in ge-
neral, by learning criticism, more useful, happier,
or wiser.

As I practised conjecture more, I learned to
trust it less ; and after 1 had printed a few plays,
resolved to insert none of my own readings in the
text. Upon this caution I now congratulate my-
self, for every day encreases my doubt of my
emendations.

Since I have confined my imagination to the
margin, it must not be considered as very repre-
hensible, if 1 have suffered it to play some freaks
in its own dominion. There is no danger in conjec-
ture, if it be proposed as conjecture; and while the

Til. S.

DR: JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

XIX

text remains uninjured, those changes may be
safely offered, which are not considered even by
hun that offers them as necessary or safe.

If my readings are of little value, they have not
been ostentatiously displayed or importiaiately ob-
truded. I could have written longer notes, for the
art of writing notes is not of difficult attainment.
The work is performed, first by railing at the stu-
pidity, negligence, ignorance, and asinine tciste-
lessuess of the former editors, showing, from all
that goes before and all that foMows, the inele-
gance and absurdity of the old reading ; then by
proposing something, which to superficial readers
would seem specious, but which the editor rejects
with indignation ; then by producing the tnie read-
ing, with a long paraphrase, and concluding with
loud acclamations on the discovery, and a sober
wish for the advancement and prosperity of ge-
nuine criticism.

All this may be done, and perhaps done some-
times without impropriety. But I have always sus-
pected that the reading is right, which requires
many words to prove it wrong ; and the emenda-
tion wrong, that cannot without so much labom: ap-
jiear to be right. The justness of a happy restora-
tion strikes at once, and the moral precept may be
well applied to criticism, quod dubitas nefeceri».

To dread the shore which he sees spread with
wrecks, is natural to the sailor. I had before my
eye so many critical adventures ended in miscar-
riage, that caution was forced upon me. I encoun-
tered in every page wit struggling with its own so-
phistrj', and learning confused by the multiplicity
of its views. I w as forced to censure those whom I
admired, and could not but reflect, while I was
dispossessing their emendations, how soon the same
fate might happen to my own, and how many of
the readings which I have corrected may be by
some other editor defended and established.

"Critics I saw, that others' names efface.
And fix their own, with labour in the place;
Their own, like others, soon their place resign'd,
Or disappear'd, and left the tirst behind." Popb.

That a conjectural critic should often be mis-
taken,cannot be wonderful, either to others, or him-
self, if it be considered, that in his art there is no
system, no principal and axiomatical truth that re-
gulates subordinate positions. His chance of error
is renewed at every attempt ; an oblique view of
the passage, a slight misapprehension of a phrase,
a casual inattention to the parts connected, is suf-
ficient to make him not only fail, but fail rithcu-
lously ; and when he succeeds best, he produces
perhaps but one reading of many probable, and he
that suggests another will always be able to dis-
pute his claims.

It is an unhappy state, in which danger is hid
under pleasure. The allurements of emendation
are scarcely resistible. Conjecture has all the joy

and all the pride of invention, and he that has once
started a happy change, is too much delighted to
consider what objections may rise against it.

Yet conjectural criticism has been of great use
in the learned world ; nor is it my intention to de-
preciate a study, that has exercised so many mighty
minds, from the revival of learning to our ow n age,
from the Bishop of Aleria *) to English Bentley.
The critics on ancient authors have, in the exercise
of their sagacity, many assistances, which the edi-
tor of Shakspeare is condemned to want. They
are employed upon grammatical and settled lan-
guages, whose construction contributes so much
to perspicuity, that Homer has fewer passages
miintelligible than Chaucer. The words have not
only a known regimen, but invariable quantities,
which direct and confine the choice. There are
commonly more manuscripts than one; and they
do not often conspire in the same mistakes. Yet
Scaliger could confess to Salmasius how little sa-
tisfaction his emendations gave him. lUudutit no-
bis conjecturcB nostm, quorum nos pudet, posted-
quant in meliores codices incidimus. And Lipsius
could complain, that critics Avere making faults, by
trying to remove them, Ut olim vitiiSy ita nunc
remediis laboratur. And indeed, when mere con-
jecture is to be used, the emendations of Scaliger
and Lipsius, notwithstanding their wonderful sa-
gacity and erudition, are often vague and dispu-
table, like mine or Theobald's.

Perhaps I may not be more censured for doing
wrong, than for doing little; for raising in the pub-
lic expectations, which at last I have not answered.
The expectation of ignorance is indefinite, and
that of knowledge is often tyrannical. It is hard
to satisfy those who know not what to demand, or
those who demand by design what they thiidi. im-
possible to be done. I have indeed disappointed
no opinion more than my own ; yet I have endea-
voured to perform my task with no slight solici-
tude. Not a single passage in the whole work has
appeared to me corrupt, which I have not at-
tempted to restore ; or obscure, which I have not
endeavoured to illustrate. In many I have failed
like others ; and from many, after all my efforts,
I have retreated, and confessed the repulse. I have
not passed over, with affected superiority, what is
equally difficult to the reader and to myself, but
where 1 could not instruct him, have owned my
ignorance. I might easily have accumulated a
mass of seeming learning upon easy scenes; but it
ought not to be imputed to negligence, that where
nothing was necessary, nothing hcis been done,
or that, where others have said enough, I have said
no more.

Notes are often necessary, but they are neces-
sary evils. Let him, that is yet unacquainted with
the pow ers of Shakspeare, and who desires to fed

6} Joha Andreas.

B

XX

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE.

Th. S.

the highest pleasure that the drama can give, read
every play from the first scene to the last, with ut-
ter negligence of all his commentators. When his
fancy is once on the wing, let it not stoop at correc-
tion or explanation. When his attention is strongly
engaged, let it disdain alike to tui-n aside to the
name of Theobald and of Pope. Let him read on
through brightness and obscurity, through integ-
rity and corruption; let him preserve his compre-
hension of the dialogue, and his interest in the fa-
ble. And when the pleasures of novelty have
ceased, let him attempt exactness, and read the
commentators.

Particular passages are cleared by notes, but
the general eflFect of the work is weakened. The
mind is refrigerated by interruption ; the thoughts
are diverted from the principal subject; the reader
is weary, he suspects not why; and at last throws
away the book which he has too diligently studied.

Parts are not to be examined till the whole has
been surveyed; there is a kind of intellectual re-
moteness necessary for the comprehension of any
great work in its full design and in its true propor-
tions ; a close approach shows the smaller niceties,
but the beauty of the whole is discerned no longer.

It is not very grateful to consider how little the
succession of editors has added to this author's
power of pleasing. He was read, admired, studied,
and imitated, while he was yet deformed with all
the improprieties which ignorance and neglect
could accumulate upon him ; while the reading was
yet not rectified, nor his allusions understood ; yet
then did Dryden pronounce, "thatShakspeare was
the man, who, of all modern and perhaps ancient
poets, had the largest and most comprehensive
soul. All the images of nature were still present to
him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily :
when he describes any thing, you more than see it,

you feel it too. Those, who accuse him to have
wanted learning, give him the greater commend-
ation ; he was naturally learned ; he needed not
the spectacles of books to read nature ; he looked
inwards, and found her there. I cannot say he is
every where alike ; were he so, I should do him in-
jury to compare him with the greatest of mankind.
He is many times flat and insipid ; his comic wit
degenerating into clenches, his serious swelling
into bombast. But he is always great, when some
great occasion as presented to him ; no man can
say, he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did
not then raise himself as high above the rest
of poets,

" 'Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi.' "

It is to be lamented, that such a vtriter should
want a commentary; that his language should be-
come obsolete, or his sentiments obscure. But it is
vain to carry wishes beyond the condition of hu-
man things; that which must happen to all, has
happened to Shakspeare, by accident and time;
and more than has been suffered by any other wri-
ter since the use of types, has been suffered by him
through his own negligence of fame, or perhaps
by that superiority of mind, which despised its own
performances, when it compared them with its
powers, and judged those works unworthy to be
preserved, which the critics of following ages were
to contend for the fame of restoring and explaining.

Among these candidates of inferior fame, I am
now to stand the judgment of the public : and wish
that I could confidently produce my commentary
as equal to the encouragement which I have had
the honour of receiving. Every work of this kind
is by its nature deficient, and I should feel little
solicitude about the sentence, were it to be pro-
nounced only by the skilful and the learned.

SKETCH

OF T II K

LIFE OF S H A K S P E A R E,

ALEX. CHALMERS.

William Shakspkark was bora at Stratford-upon-
Avon, in Warwickshire, on the 23d day of April,
1564. Of the rank of his family it is not easy to
form an opinion. Mr. Rowe says, that according to
the register and certain public writings relating to
Stratford, his ancestors were "of good figure and
"fashion" in that town, and are mentioned as "gentle-
"men;" but the result of the late as well as early
inquiries made by Mr. Malone is, that the epithet
gentleman was first applied to the poet, and even
to him at a late period of his life. Mr. Malone's
inclination to elevate Shakspeare's family cannot be
doubted, yet he is obliged to confess that, after thirty
years' labour, he could find no evidence to support it.

His father, John Shakspeare, according to Mr. Ma-
lone's conjecture, was born in or before the year
15S0. John Shakspeare was not originally ofStrat-
ford, but, perhaps, says Mr. Malone, of Snitterfield,
which is but three miles from Stratford. He came
to Stratford not very long after the year 1550.
Former accounts have reported him to have been a
considerable dealer in wool, but Mr. Malone has dis-
covered that he was a glover; and, to add import-
ance to this discovery, ^) he has given us a historical
dissertation upon the state of the glove trade in
queen Elizabeth's time. But, notwithstanding the
flourishing state of that trade in Stratford, and a
conjecture, that John Shakspeare furnished his cus-
tomers with "leathern hose, aprons, belts, points,
jerkins, pouches, wallets, satchels, and purses," Mr.
Malone confesses, that from all this, the poet's fa-
ther derived but a scanty maintenance.

John Shakspeare had been, in 1568, an officer or
bailiff (high-bailiff or mayor) of the body corporate
of Stratford, and chief alderman in 1571. At one
time, it is said that he possessed lands and tenements
to the amount of 500/., the reward of his grandfa-
ther's faithful and approved services to king Henry VH.

1) "On the subject of the trade of John Shakspeare, 1
"am not under the necCHsity of relying on conjecture, being
"enabled, after a very tedious and troublesome search, to
"shut up this long agitated question for ever." Malone's
Life of Shakspeare, vol.ii. p. 70. of his new edition of Shak-
speare's Plays and Poems, 21 vols. 8vo. 1821. It does not
appear where any question about the trade of John Shak-
speare was ever agitated. His being a dealer in mooI was
first asserted by Mr. Rowe, and silently acquiesced in by
all succeeding editors and commentators, Mr. Malone not
excepted, until he discovered that John's trade was that of
a glover; and then, in his imagination, he had the honour
of shutting up a long agitated question for ever.

n.

This might account for his being elected to the ma-
gistracy, had it not been asserted upon very doubt-
ful authority; but Mr. Malone is of opinion, that these
"faithful and approved services" must be meant of
some of the ancestors of his wife, one of the Ardens.

Whatever may have been his former wealth, it
appears to have been greatly reduced in the latter
part of his life, as it is found in the books of the
corporation, that in 1579 he was excused the trif-
ling weekly tax of fourpence, levied on all the alder-
men; and that in 1586 another alderman was ap-
pointed j« his room, in consequence of his declining
to attend on the business of that office.

His wife, to whom he was married in 1557, was
the youngest daughter and heiress of Robert Arden,
of Wellingcote or Wilmecote, in the county of W^ar-
wick, by Agnes Webb his wife. Mary Arden's for-
tune, Mr. Malone has discovei'ed, amounted to one
hundred and ten pounds thirteen shillings and four-
pence !

Mr. Arden is styled a "gentleman of worship,"
and the family of Arden is very ancient. Robert Ar-
den of Bromich, Esq., is in the list of the Warwick-
shire gentry, returned by the commissioners in the
twelfth year of king Henry V., A. D. 1433. Edward
Arden was sheriff of the county in 1568. The wood-
land part of this county was anciently called Ardern,
afterwards softened to Arden, and hence the name.

It was formerly said that John Shakspeare had
ten children, and it was inferred, that the providing
for so large a family must have embarrassed his
circumstances; but Mr. Malone has reduced them to
eight, five of whom only attained to the age of ma-
turity,— four sons and a daughter. Our illustrious
poet was the eldest of the eight, and received his
education, however narrow or liberal, at the free-
school founded at Stratford.

From this he appears to have been placed in the
office of some country attorney, or the seneschal of
some manor cOurt, where, it is highly probable, he
picked up those technical law phrases that frequently
occur in his plays, and which could not have been
in common use unless among professional men. It
has been remarked, but the remark will probably
be thought of no great value, that he derives none
of his allusions from the other learned professions.
Of amusements, his favourite appears to have^ been
falconry. Very few, if any of his plays, are without
some allusions to that sport ; and archery, likewise,
appears to have engaged much of his attention.

Mr. Capell conjectures, that his early marriage
prevented his being sent to one of the universities.

XXII

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE

Th.S.

It appears, however, as Dr. Farmer observes, that
his early life was incompatible with a course of
education; and it is certain that "his contemporaries,
"friends and foes, nay, and himself likewise, agree
"in his want of what is usually termed literature."
It is, indeed, a strong argument in favour of Shak-
speare's illiterature, that it was maintained by all
his contemporaries, many of whom have bestowed
every other merit upon him, and by his successors,
who lived nearest to his time, when "his memory
"was green:" and that it has been denied only by
Gildon, Sewell, and others, down to Upton, who
could have no means of ascertaining the truth, Mr.
Malone seems inclined to revive their opinion, but
finds it impossible.

In his eighteenth year (1582) or perhaps a little
sooner, he married Anne Hathaway, who was se-
ven years and a half older than himself. She was
the daughter of one Hathaway, who is said to have
been a substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood of
Stratford. Of his domestic economy or professional
occupation at this time, we have no information;
but if we may credit former accounts, by Rowe,
Ac, it would appear, that both were in a consider-
able degree neglected, in consequence of his asso-
ciating with a gang of deer-stealers.

It is said, that being detected with them in rob-
bing the park, that is, stealing deer out of the park
of sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, near Stratford,
he was so rigorously prosecuted by that gentleman
as to be obliged to leave his family and business,
whatever that might be, and take shelter in London.
Sir Thomas, on this occasion, was exasperated by
a ballad which Shakspeare wrote, (probably his first
essay in poetry,) of which the following stanza was
communicated to Mr. Oldys : —

"A parliemente member, a justice of peace,
"At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse,
"If lowsie is Lucy, as some voli^e miscalle it,
"Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it:

"He thinks himself greate,

"Yet an asse in his state
"We allowe by his ears but with asses to mate.
"If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it,
"Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it."

In our preceding edition, we remarked that these
lines do no great honour to our poet, and the satire
was probably unjust; for, although some of his ad-
mirers have exclaimed against sir Thomas as a "vain,
"weak, and vindictive magistrate," he was certainly
exerting no very violent act of oppression in pro-
tecting his property against a young man who was
degrading the commonest rank of life, and who had
at this time bespoke no indulgence by any display
of superior talents. It was also added, that the
ballad must have made some noise at sir Thomas's
expence, for the author took care it should be af-
fixed to his park gates, and liberally circulated
among his neighbours.

In defence of Shakspeare, Mr. Malone attempts to
prove that our poet could not have offended sir
Thomas Lucy by stealing his deer: first, because
(granting for a moment that he did steal deer) steal-
ing deer was a common youthful frolic, and there-
fore could not leave any very deep stain on his
character: secondly, it was a practice wholly un-
mixed with any sordid or lucrative motive, for the
venison thus obtained was not sold, but freely par-
ticipated at a convivial board: thirdly, that the
ballad Shakspeare is said to have written in ridicule
of sir Thomas Lucy is a forgery : and lastly, that
sir Thomas Lucy had no park, and no deer.

After this very singular defence of Shakspeare,
which occupies thirty of Mr. Malone's pages, besides
some very prolix notes, he appears to be perplexed
to know what to do with Shakspeare's resentment
against sir Thomas Lucy. That he had a resent-
ment against this gentleman is certain, and that he
retained it for many years is equally certain, for
he gave vent to it in 1601, when he wrote "The
"Merry Wives of Windsor," about a year after sir
Thomas's death.

Mr. Malone, after allowing that various passages
in the first scene of the above-mentioned play, af-
ford ground for believing that our author, on some
account or other, had not the most profound respect
for sir Thomas, adds, "the dozen white luces, how-
"ever, which Shallow is made to commend as 'a
"good coat,' was not sir Thomas Lucy's coat of
"arms: though Mr. Theobald asserts that it is found
"on the monument of one of the family, as repre-
"sented by Dugdale. No such coat certainly is found,
"either in Dugdale's Antiquities of Warwickshire,
"or in the church of Charlecote, where I in vain
"sought for it. It is probable that the deviation
"from the real coat of the Lucies, which was gules,
^three lucies hariant, argent, was intentionally made
"by our poet, that the application might not be too
"direct, and give offence to sir Thomas Lucy's son,
"who, when this play was written, was living, and
"much respected, at Stratford."

As the deer-stealing story has hitherto been told
in order to account for Shakspeare's arrival in Lon-
don, it might have been expected that Mr. Malone
would have been enabled to substitute some other
reason, and to precede the arrival of our poet with
some circumstances of more importance and of
greater dignity; but nothing of this kind is to be found.
We have lost the old tradition, with all its feasible
accompaniments, but have got nothing in return. All
that Mr. Malone ventures to conjecture, is, that when
Shakspeare left Stratford, "he was involved in some
"pecuniary difficulties."

On his arrival in London, which was probably
in the year 1586, when he was only twenty-two
years old, he is said to have made his first ac-
quaintance in the play-house, to which idleness or
taste may have directed him, and where his neces-
sities, if tradition may be credited, obliged him to
accept the office of call-boy, or prompter's assistant.
This is a menial whose employment it is to give
the performers notice to be ready to enter, as often
as the business of the play requires their appear-
ance on the stage. Pope, however, relates a story
communicated to him by Rowe, but which Rowe
did not think deserving of a place in the life which
he wrote, that must a little retard the advancement
of our poet to the office just mentioned. According
to this story, Shakspeare's first employment was to
wait at the door of the play-house, and hold the
horses of those who had no servants, that they might
be ready after the performance. But "I cannot,"
says his acute commentator, Mr. Steevens, "dismiss
"this anecdote without observing that it seems to
"want every mark of probability. Though Shak-
"speare quitted Stratford on account of a juvenile
"irregularity, we have no reason to suppose that he
"had forfeited the protection of his father, who was
"engaged in a lucrative business, or the love of his
"wife, who had already brought him two children,
"and was herself the daughter of a substantial yeo-
"man. It is unlikely, therefore, when he was be-
"yond the reach of his prosecutor, that he should
"conceal his plan of life, or place of residence, from
"those who, if he found himself distressed, could not

II.

Tn. S.

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE

xxin

"fail to afford him such supplies as would have set
"him above the necessity of holding horses for sub-
"sistence. Mr. Malone has remarked, in his 'At-
"tempt to ascertain the Order in which the Plays
"of Shakspeare were written,' that he might have
"found an easy introduction to the stage: for Tho-
"mas Green, a celebrated comedian of that period,
"was his townsman, and perhaps his relation. The
"genius of our author prompted him to write poetry;
"his connexion with a player might have given his
"productions a dramatic turn; or his own sagacity
"might have taught him that fame was not incom-
"patible with profit, and that the theatre was an
"avenue to both. That it was once the general
"custom to ride on horseback to the play I am like-
"wise yet to learn. The most popular of the thea-
"tres were on the Bankside; and we are told by
"the satirical pamphleteers of that time, that the
"usual mode of conveyance to these places of amuse-
"ment was by water, but not a single writer so
"much as hints at the custom of riding to them, or
"at the practice of having horses held during the
"hours of exhibition. Some allusion to this usage,
"(if it had existed,) must, I think, have been dis-
"covered in the course of our researches after con-
"temporary fashions. Let it be remembered, too,
"that we receive this tale on no higher authority
"than that of Gibber's Lives of the Poets, vol. i.
"p. 130, Sir William Davenant told it to Mr. Bet-
"terton, who communicated it to Mr, Rowe, who,
"according to Dr. Johnson, related it to Mr. Pope."

Mr. Malone concurs in opinion that this story
stands on a very slender foundation, while he dif-
fers with Mr. Steevens as to the fact of gentlemen
going to the theatre on horseback. With respect
to Shakspeare's father "being engaged in a lucra-
"tive business," we may remark that this could not
have been the case at the time our author came to
London. He is said to have arrived in London in
1586, the year in which his father resigned the of-
fice of alderman, and was in decayed circumstances.

But in whatever situation he was first employed
at the theatre, he appears to have soon discovered
those talents which afterwards made him

"The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage!"

Some distinction he probably first acquired as an
actor, although Mr, Rowe was not able to discover
any character in which he appeared to more ad-
vantage than that of the ghost in Hamlet, The in-
structions given to the players in that tragedy, and
other passages of his works, show an intimate ac-
quaintance with the skill of acting, and such as is
scarcely surpassed in our own days. He appears
to have studied nature in acting as much as in writ-
ing, Mr. Malone, however, does not believe that he
played parts of the first rate, though he probably
distinguished himself by whatever he performed; and
the distinction which he obtained could only be in
his own plays, in which he would be assisted by
the novel appearance of author and actor combined.
Before his time, it does not appear that any actor
could avail himself of the wretched pieces repre-
sented on the stage.

Mr. Rowe regrets that he cannot inform us which
was the first play he wrote, nor is that a point yet
determined. Mr. Malone in his first edition, appears
to have attained something conclusive; but in his
last edition, he has changed the dates of so many
of the plays, that we can only refer to the lists
given at the end of his History of the Stage. The
progress of Shakspeare's taste or genius, it seems
to be impossible to ascertain with any certainty.

His plays, however, must have been not only po-
pular, but approved by persons of the higher order,
as we are certain that he enjoyed the gracious fa-
vour of queen Elizabeth, who was very fond of the
stage; and the particular and affectionate patronage
of the earl of Southampton, to whom he dedicated
his poem of "Venus and Adonis," and his "Rape
"of Lucrece." On sir William Davenant's authority,
it has been asserted that this nobleman at one time
gave him a thousand pounds to enable him to com-
plete a purchase. This anecdote Mr. Malone thinks
extravagantly exaggerated, and considers it as far
more likely that he might have presented the poet
with an hundred pounds in return for his dedications.

At the conclusion of the advertisement prefixed to
Lintot's edition of Shakspeare's poems, it is said,
"that most learned prince and great patron of learn-
"ing, king James the First, was pleased with his
"own hand to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shak-
"speare: which letter, though now lost, remained
"long in the hands of sir William D'Avenant, as a
"credible person now living can testify." Dr. Far-
mer with great probability supposes, that this letter
was written by king James in return for the com-
pliment paid to hun in Macbeth. The relator of
this anecdote Was Sheffield, duke of Buckingham.
These brief notices, meagre as they are, may show
that our author enjoyed high favour in his day.
Whatever some may think of king James as a
"learned prince," his patronage, as well as that of
bis predecessor, was sufficient to give celebrity to
the founder of a new stage. It may be added, that
Shakspeare's uncommon merit, his candour, and good-
nature are supposed to have produced him the ad-
miration and acquaintance of every person distin-
guished for such qualities. It is not difficult indeed
to suppose that Shakspeare was a man of humour
and a social companion, and probably excelled in
that species of minor wit not ill adapted to con-
versation, of which it could have been wished he
had been more sparing in his writings.

How long he acted has not been discovered, but
he continued to write till the year 1614. During
his dramatic career he acquired a property in the
theatre, -) which he must have disposed of when
he retired, as no mention of it occurs in his will.
His connexion with Ben Jonson has been variously
related. It is said that when Jonson was unknown
to the world, he offered a play to the theatre, which
was rejected after a very careless perusal, but that
Shakspeare having accidentally cast his eye on it,
conceived a favourable opinion of it, and afterwards
recommended Jonson and his writings to the public.
For this candour he is said to have been repaid by
Jonson, when the latter became a poet of note, with
an envious disrespect, Jonson acquired reputation
by the variety of his pieces, and endeavoured to
arrogate the supremacy in dramatic genius. Like
a B'rench critic, he insinuated Shakspeare's incor-
rectness, his careless manner of writing, and his
want of judgment; and, as he was a remarkable
slow writer himself, he could not endure the praise
frequently bestowed on Shakspeare, viz, that he
seldom altered or blotted out what he had written,
Mr. Malone says, that "not long after the year 1 600,
"a coolness arose between Shakspeare and him,
"which, however he may talk of his almost idola-
"trous affection, produced, on his part, from that
"time to the death of our author ainl for many

2) In 1603 he and several others obtained a licence from
king James to exhibit comedies, tragedies, histories, dec.
at the Globe Theatre and elsewhere.

n.

XXIV

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE

Th.S.

"years afterwards, much clumsy sarcasm and many
"malevolent reflections." But from these, which were
until lately the commonly received traditions on this
subject, the learned Dr. Farmer was inclined to de-
part, and to think Jonson's hostility to Shakspeare
absolutely groundless: and this opinion has been
amply confirmed by more recent critics.

Jonson had only one advantage over Shakspeai^e,
that of superior learning, which might, in certain
situations, give him a superior rank, but could ne-
ver promote his rivalship with a man who attained
the highest excellence without it. Nor will Shak-
speare suffer by its befng known, that all the dra-
matic poets before he appeared were scholars. Greene,
Lodge, Peele, Marlow, Nashe, Lily, and Kid, had
all, says Mr. Malone, a regular university education ;
and, as scholars in our universities, frequently com-
posed and acted plays on historical subjects. ^)

The latter part of Shakspeare's life was spent in
ease, retirement, and the conversation of his friends.
He had accumulated considerable property, which
Gildon (in his "Letters and Essays" in 1694,) stated
to amount to SOOl. per finnum; a sum at least equal
to 1000^. in our days ; but Mr. Malone doubts whe-
ther all his property amounted to much more than
200/. per annum, which yet wag a considerable
fortune in those times; and it is supposed that he
might have derived 2001. per annum from the thea-
tre while connected with it.

He retired about four years (1611 or 1612) be-
fore his death, to a house in Stratford, of which it
has been thought important to give the history. It
was built by sir Hugh Clopton, a younger brother
of an ancient family in that neighbourhood. Sir
Hugh was sheriir of London in the reign of Ri-
chard in., and lord mayor in that of Henry VII.
By his will he bequeathed to his elder brother's
son his manor of Clopton, &c., and his house by
the name of the Great House in Stratford. ■*) A
good part of the estate was in possession of Edward
Clopton, Esq. and sir Hugh Clopton, Knt. in 1733.
The principal estate had been sold out of the Clop-
ton family for above a century, at the time when
Shakspeare became the purchaser; who, having re-
paired and modelled it to his own mind, changed
the name to New Place, which the mansion-house,
afterwards erected in the room of the poet's house,
retained for many years. The house and lands be-
longing to it continued in the possession of Shak-
speare's descendants to the time of the Restoration,
when they v>ere repurchased by the Clopton family.
Here in May 1742, when Mr. Garrick, Mr. Macklin,
and Mr. Delane, visited Stratford, they were hos-
pitably entertained under Shakspeare's mulberry-
tree by sir Hugh Clopton. He was a barrister-at-
law, was knighted by king George I., and died in
the 80th year of his age, in Dec. 1751. His ex-
ecutor, about the year 1752, sold New Place to the
Rev. Mr. Gastrell, a man of large fortune, who re-
sided in it but a few years in consequence of a dis-
agreement with the inhabitants of Stratford : as he
resided part of the year at Lichfield, he thought he
was assessed too highly in the monthly rate towards

8) This was the practice in Milton's days, "One of his
"objections to academical education, as it was then conducted,
"is, that men designed for orders in the church were per-
"mitted to act plays," Ac. Johnson's Life^of Milton.

4) The account of this house in Malone's Shakspeare,
1821, is the same which appeared in his edition of 1790, but
which he probably would have corrected, had he seen some
further information on the subject, by Mr. Whclcr, in Gent.
Mag. vol. Ixxix. and vol. Ixxx.

the maintenance of the poor; but being very pro-
perly compelled by the magistrates of Stratford to
pay the whole of what was levied on him, on the
principle that his house was occupied by his serv-
ants in his absence, he peevishly declared, that
that house should never be assessed again; and soon
afterwards pulled it down, sold the materials, and
left the town. He had some time before cut down
Shakspeare's mulberry-tree, ^) to save himself the
trouble of showing it to those whose admiration oi
our great poet led them to visit the classic ground
on which it stood. That Shakspeare planted this
tree appears to be sufficiently authenticated. Where
New Place stood is now a garden. — Before con-
cluding this history, it may be necessary to mention
that the poet's house was once honoured by the
temporary residence of Henrietta Maria, queen to
Charles L Theobald has given an inaccurate ac-
count of this, as if she had been obliged to take
refuge in Stratford from the rebels; but that was
not the case. She marched from Newark, June 16,
1643, and entered Stratford triumphantly about the
22d of the same month, at the head of 3000 foot
and 1,500 horse, with 150 waggons and a train of
artillery. Here she was met by prince Rupert, ac-
companied by a large body of troops. She resided
about three weeks at our poet's house, which was
then possessed by his grand-daughter, Mrs. Nash,
and her husband.

During Shakspeare's abode in this house, his plea-
surable wit, and good-nature, says Mr. Rowe, en-
gaged him the acquaintance, and entitled him to the
friendship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood.
This may readily be believed, for he was entitled
to their respect. He had left his native place, poor,
and almost unknown. He returned ennobled by
fame, and enriched by fortune.

Mr. Rowe gives us a traditional story of a miser,
or usurer, named Combe, who, in conversation with
Shakspeare, said, he fancied the poet intended to
write his epitaph if he should survive him, and
desired to know what he meant to say. On this
Shakspeare gave him the following, probably ex-
tempore: —

"Ten in the hundred lies here engrav'd,
"'Tis au hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd ;
"If any man ask, Mho lies in this torabe?
"Oh! ho! quoth the devil, 'tis my Johu-a-Combe."

The sharpness of the satire is said to have stung
the man so severely that he never forgave it. These
lines, however, or some which nearly resembled them,
appeared in various collections, both before and af-
ter the time they were said to have been composed ;
and the inquiries of Mr. Steevens and Mr. Malone
satisfactorily prove that the whole story is a fabric-
ation. Betterton is said to have heard it when he
visited Warwickshire on purpose to collect anecdotes
of our poet, and probably thought it of too much
importance to be nicely examined. We know not
whether it be worth adding of a story which we

5) "As the curiosity of this house and tree brought much
"fame, and more company and profit to the town, a certain
"manj on some disgust, has pulled the house down, so as
"not to leave one stone upon another, and cut down the
"tree, and piled it as a stack of firewood, to the great vex«
"ation, loss, and disappointment of the inhabitants; how-
"ever, an honest silversmith bought the whole stack of
"wood, and makes many odd things of this wood for the
"curious." Letter in Annual Register, 1760. Of Mr. Gastrell
and his Lady, see Boswcll's Life of Dr. Johnson, vol. ii.
p. 456. edit. 1822. 4 vol.

n.

Tir. S.

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE.

XXV

have rejected, that a usurer, in Shakspeare's time,
(lid not mean one who took exorbitant, but any in-
terest or usance for money, and that ten in the
hundred, or ten per cent, was then the ordinary
interest of money. It would have been of more
consequence, however, to have here recorded the
opinion of Mr. Malone, in his first edition, that
Shakspeare, during his retirement, wrote the play
of Twelfth Night; but unfortunately, in his last
edition, he carried the date of this play back to the
year 1607.

Shakspeare died on his birth-day, Tuesday, April
23, 1616, when he had exactly completed his fifty-
second year, *) and was buried on the north side
of the chancel, in the great church at Stratford,
where a monument is placed in the wall, on which
he is represented under an arch, in a sitting pos-
ture, a cushion placed before him, with a pen in his
right hand, and his left rested on a scroll of paper.
The following Latin distich is engraved under the
cushion: —

Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem,
Terra tegit, populus moeret, Olympui habet.

"The first syllable in 'Socratem,' says Mr. Stee- |
"vens, is here made short, which cannot be allowed, j
"Perhaps we should read 'Sophoclem.' Shakspeare \
"is then appositely compared with a dramatic author
"among the ancients: but still it should be reraera-
"bered that the eulogium is lessened while the me-
"tre is reformed; and it is well known that some
"of our early writers of Latin poetry were uncom-
"monly negligent in their prosody, especially in pro-
"per names. The thought of this distich, as Mr.
"Toilet observes, might have been taken from the
"Faery Queene of Spenser, B. II. c. ix. st. 48., and
"c. X. St. 3.

"To this Latin inscription on Shakspeare may be
"added the lines which are found underneath it on
"his monument: —

"Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast 1
"Read, if thuu cauiit, whom envious death hath placed
"Within this mouument; Shakspeare, Mith whom
"Quick nature dy'd; whose name doth deck the tomb
"Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ
"Leaves living art but page to serve his wit."

"Obiit An°. Dni. 1616.

St. 53, die 23 Apri."

"It appears from the verses of Leonard Digges,
"that our author's monument was erected before
"the year 1623. It has been engraved by Vertue,
"and done in mezzotinto by Miller."

On his grave-stone underneath are these lines, in
an uncouth mixture of small and capital letters : —

"Good Friend for lesus SAKE forbeare
"To dice T-E Dust EucIoAsed HERe
"Blese be T-E Man ^ spares T-Ea Stones
"And curst be He ^ moves my Bones."

It is uncertain whether this request and impre-
cation were written by Shakspeare, or by one of
his friends. They probably allude to the custom of
removing skeletons after a certain time, and depo-

6) The only notice we have of his person is from Aubrey,
who says, "he Ma^ a handsome well-shaped man," and adds,
"verie good company, and of a very ready, and pleasant,
"aad smooth wit."

siting them in charnel-houses; and similar execra-
tions are found in many ancient Latin epitaphs.
Shakspeare's remains, however, have been ever care-
fully protected from injury. ')

VVe have no account of the malady which at no
very advanced age closed the life and labours of
this unrivalled and incomparable genius.

His family consisted of two daughters, and a son
named Hamnet, who died in 1596, in the twelfth
year of his age. Susannah, the eldest daughter,
and her father's favourite, was married, June 5,
1607, to Dr. John Hall, a physician, who died Nov.
1635, aged 60. Mrs. Hall died July 11, 1649, aged m.
They left only one child, Elizabeth, born 1607-8,
and married April 22, 1626, to Thomas Nashe, Esq.,
who died in 1647, and afterwards to sir John Bar-
nard, of Abingdon, in Northamptonshire, but died
without issue by either husband. Judith, Shak-
speare's youngest daug^iter, was married, February
10, 1615-16, to a Mr. Thomas Quiney, and died
February 1661-62, in her 77th year. By Mr. Qui-
ney she had three sons, Shakspeare, Richard, and
Thomas, who all died unmarried, and here the des-
cendants of our poet became extinct.

Sir Hugh Clopton, who was born, two years af-
ter the death of lady Barnard, which happened in
1669-70, related to Mr. Macklin, in 1742, an old
tradition, that she had carried away with her from
Stratford many of her grandfather's papers. On
the death of sir John Barnard, Mr. Malone thought
"these must have fallen into the hands of Mr. Ed-
"ward Bagley, lady Barnard's executor, and if any
"descendant of that gentleman be now living, in his
"cu^ody they probably remain." But Mr. Malone,
in his last edition, tacitly confesses, that he has
been able to make no discovery of such descendant,
or such papers.

To this account of Shakspeare's family we have
now to add, that among Oldys's papers is another
traditional story of our illustrious poet's having been
the father of sir William Davenant. Oldys's relation
is thus given:

"If tradition may be trusted, Shakspeare often
"baited at the Crown Inn or Tavern in Oxford, in
"his journey to and from London; the landlady was
"a woman of great beauty and sprightly wit, and
"her husband, Mr. John Davenant (afterwards mayor
"of that city,) a grave melancholy man; who, as
"well as his wife, used much to delight in Shak-
"speare's pleasant company. Their son, young Will.
"Davenant, (afterwards sir William,) was then a
"little school-boy in the town, of about seven or
"eight years old, and so fond also of Shakspeare,
"that whenever he heard of his arrival, he would
"fly from school to see him. One day an old towns-
"man observing the boy running homeward almost
"out of breath, asked him whither he was posting
"in that heat and hun-y. H<j answered, to see his
"^orf-father Shakspeare. There's a good boy, said
"the other, but have a care that you don't take God's
"name in vain. This story Mr. Pope told me at
"the earl of Oxford's table, upon occasion of some
"discourse which arose about Shakspeare's monument,
"then newly erected in Westminster Abbey."

This story appears to have originated with An-
thony Wood, and it has been thought a presumption
of its being true, that, after careful examination,
Mr. Thomas Warton was inclined to believe it. Mr.

T) Mr. Malone's causing the bust to be painted white
has been severely censured; he did not live to defend it.
See this and other inlormaliou respecting this bust in Gent.
Mag. vol. Ixxxv. and Ixxsvi.

II.

XXVI

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE.

Tn. S.

Steevens, however, treats it with the utmost con-
tempt, but does not perhaps argue with his usual
attention to experience when he brings sir William
Davenant's "heavy, vulgar, unmeaning face," as a
proof that he could not be Shakspeare's son.

In the year 1741 a monument was erected to our
poet in Westminster Abbey, by the direction of the
earl of Burlington, Dr. Mead, Mr. Pope, and Mr.
Marty n. It was the work of Scheemaker, (who re-
ceived 300/. for it,) after a design of Kent, and
was opened in January of that year, one hundred
and twenty-five years after the death of him whom
it commemorates, and whose genius appears to have
been forgotten during almost the whole of that long
period. The performers of each of the London thea-
tres gave a benefit to defray the expences, and the
dean and chapter of Westminster took nothing for
the ground. The money received by the perform-
ance at Drury-lane theatre amounted to above 200/.,
but the receipts at Covent-garden did not exceed 100/.

From these imperfect notices, which are all we
have been able to collect from the labours of his
biographers and commentators, our readers will per-
ceive that less is known of Shakspeare than of al-
most any writer who has been considered as an
object of laudable curiosity. Nothing could be more
highly gratifying than an account of the early stu-
dies of this wonderful man, the progress of his pen,
bis moral and social qualities, his friendships, his
failings, and whatever else constitutes personal his-
tory. But on all these topics his contemporaries
and his immediate successors have been equally si-
lent, and if aught can be hereafter discovered, it
must be by exploring sources which have hitherto
escaped the anxious researches of those who have
devoted their whole lives, and their most vigorous
talents, to revive his memory and illustrate his wri-
tings. In the sketch we have given, if the dates of
his birth and death be excepted, what is there on
which the reader can depend, or for which, if he
contend eagerly, he may not be involved in contro-
versy, and perplexed with contradictory opinions
and authorities?

It is usually said that the life of an author can
be little else than a history of his works; but this
opinion is liable to many exceptions. If an author,
indeed, has passed his days in retirement, his life
can afford little more variety than that of any other
man who has lived in retirement; but if, as is ge-
nerally the case with writers of great celebrity, he
has acquired a pre-eminence over his contemporaries,
if he has excited rival contentions, and defeated the
attacks of criticism or of malignity, or if he has
plunged into the controversies of his age, and per-
formed the part either of a tyrant or a hero in li-
terature, his history may be rendered as interesting
as that of any other public character. But what-
ever weight may be allowed to this remark, the
decision will not be of much consequence in the case
of Shakspeare. Unfortunately, we know as little
of his writings as of his personal history. The in-
dustry of his illustrators for the last fifty years is
such as, probably, never was surpassed in the an-
nals of literary investigation; yet so far are we
from information of the conclusive or satisfactory
khid, that even the order in which his plays were
written rests principally on conjecture, and of some
plays usually printed among his works, it is not yet
determined whether he wrote the whole or any part.

Much of our ignorance of every thing which it
would be desirable to know respecting Shakspeare's
works, must be iniputed to the author himself. If
we look merely at the state in which he left his ^

productions, we should be apt to conclude, either
that he was insensible of their value, or that while
he was the greatest, he was at the same time the
humblest dramatic writer the world ever produced s
"that he thought his works unworthy of posterity,
"that he levied no ideal tribute upon future times,
"nor had any further prospect than that of present
"popularity and present profit." ^) And such an
opinion, although it apparently partakes of the ease
and looseness of conjecture, may not be far from
probability. But before we allow it any higher me-
rit, or attempt to decide upon the affection or in-
difference with which he reviewed his labours, it
may be necessary to consider their precise nature,
and certain circumstances in his situation which af-
fected them; and, above all, we must take into our
account the character and predominant occupations
of the time in which he lived, and of that which
followed his decease.

With respect to himself, it does not appear that
he printed any one of his plays, and only eleven of
them were printed in his life-time. The reason as-
signed for this is, that he wrote them for a partic-
ular theatre, sold them to the managers when only
an actor, reserved them in manuscript when himself
a manager, and when he disposed of his property
in the theatre, they were still preserved in manu-
script to prevent their being acted by the rival
houses. Copies of some of them appear to have
been surreptitiously obtained, and published in a
very incorrect state; but we may suppose that it
was wiser in the author or managers to overlook
this fraud, than to publish a correct edition, and so
destroy the exclusive property they enjoyed. It is
clear therefore that any publication of his plays by
himself would have interfered, at first with his own
interest, and afterwards with the interest of those
to whom he made over his share in them. But even
had this obstacle been removed, we are not sure
that he would have gained much by publication. If
he had no other copies but those belonging to the
theatre, the business of correction for the press must
have been a toil which we are afraid the taste of
the public at that time would have very poorly re-
warded. We know not the exact portion of fame
he enjoyed ; it might be the highest which dramatic
genius could confer, but dramatic genius was a new
excellence, and not well understood. His claims
were, probably, not heard beyond the jurisdiction
of the master of the revels, certainly not much be-
yond the metropolis. When he died, the English
public was approaching to a period in which mat-
ters of higher moment were to engage attention,
and in which his works were nearly buried in ob-
livion, and not for more than a century afterwards,
ranked among the productions of which the nation
had reason to be proud.

Such, however, was Shakspeare's reputation, that
we are told his name was put to pieces which he
never wrote, and that he felt himself too confident
of popular favour to undeceive the public. This
was a singular resolution in a man who wrote so
unequally, that even at this day, the test of inter-
nal evidence must be applied to his doubtful pro-
ductions with the greatest caution. But still how
far his character would have been elevated by an
examination of his plays in the closet, in an age
when the refinements of criticism were not under-
stood, and the sympathies of taste were seldom felt,
may admit of a question. "His language," says Dr.
Johnson, "«o/ being designed for the reader's desk,

8) Dr. Johnson's FrefaceL

n.

Th.S.

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE

xxvn

"was all that he desired it to be if it conveyed his
"meaning to the audience.

Shakspeare died in 1616, and seven years after-
wards appeared the first edition of his plays, pub-
lished at the charge of four booksellers; a circum-
stance from which Mr. Malone infers, "that no sin-
"gle publisher was at that time willing to risk his
"money on a complete collection of our author's
"plays." This edition was printed from the copies
in the hands of his fellow-managers Heminge and
Condell, which had been in a series of years fre-
quently altered through convenience, caprice, or
ignorance. Heminge and Condell had now retired
from the stage, and, we may suppose, thought they
were guilty of no injury to their successors, in print-
ing what their own interest only had formerly with-
held. Of this, although we have no documents
amounting to demonstration, we may be convinced,
by adverting to a circumstance, which will, in our
days, appear very extraordinary, namely, the de-
clension of Shakspeare's popularity. We have seen
that the publication of his works was accounted a
doubtful speculation; and it is yet more certain, so
much had the public taste turned from him in quest
of variety, that for several years after his death
the plays of Fletcher were more frequently acted
than his, and during the whole of the seventeenth
century they were made to give place to perform-
ances, the greater part of which cannot now be en-
dured. During the same period only four editions
of his works were published, all in folio; and per-
haps this unwieldy size of volume may be an ad-
ditional proof that they were not popular; nor is it
thought that the impressions were numerous.

These circumstances, which attach to our author
and to his works, must be allowed a plausible weight
in accounting for our deficiencies in his biography
and literary career, but there were circumstances
enough in the history of the times to suspend the
progress of that more regular drama of which he
had set the example, and may be considered as the
founder. If we wonder why we know so much less
of Shakspeare than of his contemporaries, let us
recollect that his genius, however highly and justly
we now rate it, took a direction which was not
calculated for permanent admiration either in the
age in which he lived, or in that which followed.
Shakspeare was a writer of plays, a promoter of
an amusement just emerging from barbarism; and
an amusement which, although it has been classed
among the schools of morality, has ever had such
a strong tendency to deviate from moral purposes,
that the force of law has in all ages been called in
to preserve it within the bounds of common decency.
The church has ever been unfriendly to the stage.
A part of the injunctions of queen Elizabeth is par-
ticularly directed against the printing of plays; and,
according to an entry in the books of the Stationers'
Company, in the 41st year of her reign, it is or-
dered, that no plays be printed except allowed by
persons in authority. Dr. Farmer also remarks, that
in that age poetry and novels were destroyed pub-
licly by the bishops, and privately by the puritans.
The main transactions, indeed, of that period could
not admit of much attention to matters of amuse-
ment. The Reformation required all the circum-
spection and policy of a long reign to render it so
firmly established in popular favour as to brave the
caprice of any succeeding sovereign. This was ef-
fected in a great measure by the diffusion of re-
ligious controversy, which was encouraged by the
church, and especially by the puritans, who were
the immediate teachers of the lower classes, were

listened to with veneration, and usually inveighed
against all public amusements, as inconsistent with
the Christian profession. These controversies con-
tinued during the reign of James I., and were in a
considerable degree promoted by him, although he,
like Elizabeth, was a favourer of the stage, as an
appendage to the grandeur and pleasures of the
court. But the commotions which followed in the
unhappy reign of king Charles I., when the stage
was totally abolished, are alone sufficient to account
for the oblivion thrown on the history and works
of our great bard.

From this time no inquiry was made, until it was
too late to obtain any information more satisfactory
than the few hearsay scraps and contested traditions
above detailed. "How little," says Mr. Steevens,
"Shakspeare was once read, may be understood
"from Tate, who, in his dedication to the altered
"play of King Lear, speaks of the original as an
"obscure piece, recommended to his notice by a
"friend: and the author of the Tatler having oc-
"casion to quote a few lines out of Macbeth, was
"content to receive them from D'Avenant's alteration
"of that celebrated drama, in which almost every
"original beauty is either awkwardly disguised, or
"arbitrarily omitted." ')

In fifty years after his death, Dryden mentions,
that he was then become "a little obsolete." In the
beginning of the last century. Lord Shaftesbury
complains of his "rude unpolished style, and his an-
"tiquated phrase and wit." It is certain that, for
nearly a hundred years after his death, partly owing
to the immediate revolution and rebellion, and partly
to the licentious taste encouraged in Charles the
Second's time, and perhaps partly to the incorrect
state of his works, he was almost entirely neglected.
Mr. Malone has justly remarked, "that if he had
"been read, admired, studied, and imitated, in the
"same degree, as he is now, the enthusiasm of some
"one or other of his admirers in the last age would
"have induced him to make some inquiries concern-
"ing the history of his theatrical career, and the
"anecdotes of his private life." ' ")

His admirers, however, if he had admirers in
that age, possessed no portion of such enthusiasm.
That curiosity, which in our days has raised bio-
graphy to the rank of an independent study, was
scarcely known, and where known, was confined
principally to the public transactions of eminent cha-
racters, principally divines, of whom a few brief
notices were prefixed to their works; but we are
not sure that any of these are of an older date than
1616. And if, in addition to the circumstances al-
ready stated, we consider how little is known of
the personal history of Shakspeare's contemporaries,
we may easily resolve the question, why, of all men
who have ever claimed admiration by genius, wis-
dom, or valour, who have eminently contributed to
enlarge the taste, promote the happiness, or increase
the reputation of their country, we know the least
of Shakspeare; and why, of the few particulars
which seem entitled to credit, when simply related,
and in which there is no manifest violation of pro-
bability or promise of importance, there is scarcely
one which has not swelled into a controversy. After
a careful examination of all that modern research
has discovered, we know not how to trust our cu-
riosity beyond the limits of those barren dates which
afford no personal history. The nature of Shak-

9) Mr. Steevens's Advertiaemcnt to the Reader, first
printed in 1773.

10) Mr. Malone's Preface to hi« edition, 1790.

XXVUI

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE

Th. S.

speare's writings prevents that appeal to internal
evidence, which in other cases has been found to
throw light on character. The purity of his morals,
for example, if sought in his plays, must be mea-
sured against the licentiousness of his language, and
the question will then be, how much did he write
from inclination, and how much to gratify the taste
of his hearers? How much did he add to the age,
and how much did he borrow from it? Pope says,
"he was obliged to please the lowest of the people,
"and to keep the worst of company:" this must
have been Pope's conjecture. Managei's are some-
times obliged to please the lowest of the people :
and, in our days, they have not unfrequently yielded
to or created a corrupt taste; but we know not
that writers are under a similar obligation; and of
Shakspeare's keeping the worst of company, we have
no existing proof. With regard to the amusements
of his leisure hours, we have many allusions in his
works to the sports of the field, and falconry ap-
pears to have been a particular favourite. Generally
speaking, there is every reason to think, that he
soon acquired and maintained a respectable cha-
racter. He came to London poor and unknown,
and he left it with a high reputation, and took his
seat with the men of rank and opulence in his na-
tive county.

The only life which has been prefixed to all the
editions of Shakspeare of the eighteenth century,
is that drawn up by Mr. Rowe, and which he mo-
destly calls, "Some Account, &c." In this we have,
what Rowe could collect when every legitimate
source of information was closed, a few traditions
that were floating nearly a century after the author's
death. Some inaccuracies in his account have been
detected in the valuable notes of Mr. Steevens, and
in that part of a new but imperfect life of Shak-
speare, published in Mr. Malone's last edition. In
other parts also of their respective editions, they
have scattered a few brief notices which we have
incorporated in the present sketch. The whole,
however, is unsatisfactory. Shakspeare, in his pri-
vate character, in his friendships, in his amusements,
in his closet, in his family, is no whei-e before us :
and such was the nature of the writings on which
his fame depends, and of that employment in which
he was engaged, that being in no important respect
connected with the history of his age, it is in vain
to look into the latter for any information con-
cerning him.

Mr. Capell is of opinion that he wrote some prose
works, because "it can hardly be supposed that he,
"who had so considerable a share in the confidence
"of the Earls of Essex and Southampton, could be
"a mute spectator only of controversies in which
"they were so much interested." This editor, how-
ever, appears to have taken for granted a degree
of confidence with these two statesmen which he
ought first to have proved. Shakspeare might have
enjoyed the confidence of their social hour, but it
is mere conjecture that they admitted him into the
confidence of their state affairs. Mr. Malone, the
most frequent conjecturer of all Shakspeare's ad-
mirers, but whose opinions are entitled to a higher
degree of credit than those of Mr. Capell, thinks
that our author's prose compositions, if they should
be discovered, would exhibit the same perspicuity,
the same cadence, the same elegance and vigour,
which we find in his plays.

It is unfortunate, however, for all wishes and all
conjectures, that not a line of Shakspeare's manu-
scripts is known to exist, and his prose writings
are no where hinted at. We are in possession of

printed copies only of bis plays and poems, and
those so depraved by carelessness or ignorance, that
all the labour of all his commentators has not yet
been able to restore them to more than a probable
purity. Many of the difficulties which originally
attended the perusal of them yet remain, and will
require, what it is now scarcely possible to expect,
greater sagacity and more happy conjecture than
have hitherto been employed.

Of Shakspeare's Pokms, it is perhaps necessary
that some notice should be taken in an account of
his life, although they have never been favourites
with the public, and have seldom been reprinted
with his plays. Shortly after his death, Mr. Malone
informs us, a very incorrect impression of them was
issued out, which in every subsequent reprint was
implicitly followed, until he published a coirect edi-
tion, or what he supposed to be such, in 1780, with
illustrations. But the peremptory decision of his
compeer, Mr. Steevens, on the merits of these poems,
must be our apology for omitting them in the pre-
sent abridgment of the labours of these critics. "We
"have not reprinted the Sonnets, Ac. of Shakspeare,
"because the strongest act of parliament that could
"be framed would fail to compel readers into their
"service. Had Shakspeare produced no other works
"than these, his name would have reached us with
"as little celebrity as time has conferred on that of
"Thomas Watson,- an older and much more elegant
"sonnetteer."

The elegant preface of Dr. Johnson gives an ac-
count of the attempts made in the early part of the
last century to revive the memory and reputation
of our poet, by Rowe, Pope, Theobald, Hanmer,
and Warburton, whose respective merits he has cha-
racterised with candour, and with singular felicity
of expression. Shakspeare's works may be over-
loaded with criticism, for what writer has excited
so much curiosity, and so many opinions? but John-
son's preface is an accompaniment worthy of the
genius it celebrates. — His own edition followed in
1765, and a second, in conjunction with Mr. Stee-
vens, 1773. The third edition of the joint editors
appeared in 1785, the fourth in 1793, in 15 vols.,
and the last and most complete, in 1803, in 21 vol-
umes octavo. Mr. Malone's edition was published
in 1790, in 10 vols, ci'own octavo, and soon became
scarce. His original notes and improvements were,
however, incorporated in the editions of 1793 and
1803, by Mr. Steevens. Mr. Malone's last edition,
a posthumous work, which appeared in 1821, was
edited by Mr. James Boswell, the second son of the
biographer of Johnson, who appears to have been
fully in the confidence of Mr. Malone. To this is
prefixed a new life of Shakspeare, which, although
extending to more than five hundred pages, con-
ducts Shakspeare only to London, without giving
us any more information of his subse«]uent progress
than we had before in the notes which Steevens
and Malone had formerly contributed to Rowe's life.
Mr. Malone, after more than twenty years' labour,
had not advanced farther, nor did he leave any ma-
terials from which his editor could attempt a con-
tinuation.

To follow Mr. Malone in enumerating the copies
of Shakspeare dispersed through England, would
now be impossible. In one form or other his plays
have been, for the last twenty years, almost con-
tinually in the press. Nor among the honours paid
to his genius, ought we to forget the very magni-
ficent edition undertaken by Messrs. Boydell and
Nicol. Still less ought it to be forgotten how much
the reputation of Shakspeare was revived by the

II.

Tn.S.

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE.

XXIX

unrivalled excellence of Garrick's performance. His
share in directing the public taste towards the study
of Shakspeare, was perhaps greater than that of
any individual in his time, and such was his zeal,
and such his success in this laudable attempt, that
he may be forgiven for his injudicious alterations
of some of the plays, as well as for the foolish mum-
mery of the Stratford jubilee.

VVhen public opinion had begun to assign to Shak-
speare the very high rank he was destined to hold,
he became the promising object of fraud and im-
posture. This we have already observed, he did
not wholly escape in his own time, and he had the
spirit or policy to despise it. ' ' ) It was reserved
for modern impostors, however, to avail themselves
of the obscurity in vyhich his history is involved. In
1751 a book was published, entitled, "A Compen-
"dious or briefe examination of certayne ordinary
"Complaints of diuers of our Countrymen in those
"our days: which although they are in some Parte
"unjust and frivolous, yet are they all by way of
"dialogue throughly debated and discussed by Wil-
"liam Shakspeare, Gentleman." This had been ori-
ginally published in 1581, but Dr.Farmer has clearly

11) Mr. Malone has given a list of 14 plays ascribed
to Shakspeare, cither by the editors of the two later folios,
or by the compilers of ancient catalogues. Of these Pericles
has found advocates for its admissiou into his works.

proved that W. S. gent, the only authority for at-
tributing it to Shakspeare in the reprinted edition,
meant William Stafford, gent. — Theobald, the
same accurate critic informs us, was desirous of
palming upon the world a play called "Double False-
"hood," for a posthumous one of Shakspeare. In
1770 was reprinted at Feversham, an old play called
"The Tragedy of Arden of Feversham, and Black
"Will," with a preface attributing it to Shakspeare,
without the smallest foundation. But these were
trifles compared to the atrocious attempt made in
1795-6. when, besides a vast mass of prose and
verse, letters, Ac, pretendedly in the handwriting
of Shakspeare and his correspondents, an entire play,
entitled Vortigern, was not only brought forward
to the astonishment of the public, but actually per-
formed on Drury-lane stage. It would be unneces-
sary to expatiate on the merits of this play, which
Mr. Steevens has very happily characterized as "the
"performance of a madman, without a lucid inter-
val," or to enter more at large into the history of
a fraud so recent, and so soon acknowledged by
the authors of it. It produced, however, an inter-
esting controversy between Mr. Malone and Mr.
George Chalmers, which, although mixed with some
unpleasant asperities, was extended to inquiries into
the history and antiquities of the stage, from which
future historians and critics may derive considerable
information.

II.

APPENDIX.

No, I.
SHAKSPEARE'S WILL,*

FROM THE ORIGINAL,
I^ THE OFFICE OF THE PHEROGATIVE COURT OF CANTEHBURY.

Vicesimo quinto die Martii, ') Antio Regni Domini
nostri Jacobi nunc Regis Anglice, ^c decimo
guarto, et Scotia quadragesimo nono. Anno Do-
mini 1616.

In the name of God, Amen. I William Shakspeare,
of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of Warwick,
gent, in perfect health and memory (God be praised !)
do make and ordain this my last will and testament
in manner and form following; that is to say:

First, I commend my soul into the hands of God
my Creator, hoping, and assuredly believing through
the only merits of Jesus Christ my Saviour, to be
made partaker of life everlasting; and my body to
the earth whereof it is made.

Item, I give and bequeath unto my daughter Ju-
dith, one hundred and fifty pounds of lawful English
money, to be paid unto her in manner and form
following: that is to say, one hundred pounds in
discharge of her marriage portion within one year
after my decease, with consideration after the rate
of two shillings in the pound for so long time as
the same shall be unpaid unto her after my decease;
and the fifty pounds residue thereof, upon her sur-
rendering of, or giving of such sufficient security
as the overseers of this my will shall like of, to
surrender or grant, all her estate and right that
shall descend or come unto her after my decease,
or that she now hath, of, in, or to, one copyhold
tenement, with the appurtenances, lying and being
in Stratford-upon-Avon aforesaid, in the said county
of Warwick, being parcel or holden of the manor
of Rowington, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, and
her heirs for ever. *)

Item, I give and bequeath unto my said daugh-
ter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds more, if
she, or any issue of her body, be living at the end
of three years next ensuing the day of the date of
this my will, during which time my executors to
pay her consideration from my decease according to

1) Our poet's will appears to have been drawn up in
February, though not executed till the following month;
for February was first written, and afterwards struck out,
and March written over it. — Mai,onb.

2) This Was found to be unnecessary, as it was ascer-
tained that the copyhold descended to the eldest daughter
by the custom of the manor. — Mai.one, edit. 1821.

3) — to my niece — ] Elizabeth Hall was our poet's grand-
daughter. So, in Othello, Act I. sc. 1. lago says to Braban-
tio: "You'll have your nephewt neigh to you;" meaning his
grand-children. — Mai<o>e.

the rate aforesaid: and if she die within the said
term without issue of her body, then my will is,
and I do give and bequeath one hundred pounds
thereof to my niece ') Elizabeth Hall, and the fifty
pounds to be set forth by my executors during the
life of my sister Joan Hart, and the use and profit
thereof coming, shall be paid to my said sister Joan,
and after her decease the said fifty pounds shall re-
main amongst the children of my said sister, equally
to be divided amongst them ; but if my said daugh-
ter Judith be living at the end of the said three
years, or any issue of her body, then my will is,
and so I devise and bequeath the said hundred and
fifty pounds to be set out by my executors and
overseers for the best benefit of her and her issue,
and the stock not to be paid unto her so long as
she shall be married and covert baron; but my will
is, that she shall have the consideration yearly paid
unto her during her life, and after her decease the
said stock and consideration to be paid to her chil-
dren, if she have any, and if not, to her executors
or assigns, she living the said term after my de-
cease: provided that if such husband as she shall
at the end of the said three years be married unto,
or at any [time] after, do sufficiently assure unto
her, and the issue of her body, lands answerable to
the portion by this my will given unto her, and to
be adjudged so by my executors and overseers, then
my will is, that the said hundred and fifty pounds
shall be paid to such husband as shall make such
assurance, to his own use.

Item, I give and bequeath unto my said sister
Joan twenty pounds, and all my wearing apparel,
to be paid and delivered within one year after my
decease; and I do will and devise unto her the
house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford, wherein
she dwelleth, for her natural life, under the yearly
rent of twelvepence.

Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons,
William Hart, — Hart, '») and Michael Hart, five
pounds a piece, to be paid within one year after
my decease.

Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Elizabeth
Hall all my plate (except my broad silver and gilt
bowl,) ^) that I now have at the date of this my will.

Item, I give and bequeath unto the poor of Strat-
ford aforesaid ten pounds; to Mr. Thomas Combe ^)
my sword; to Thomas Russel, esq. five pounds; and

4) — Hart,'\ It is singular that neither Shakspeare nor
any of his family should have recollected the Christian
name of his nephew, who was born at Stratford but eleven
years before the making of his will. His Christian name
was Thomas; and he was baptized in that town, July 24,
1605. — Malonb.

5) — except my broad silver and gilt bowl,"] This bowl,
as we afterwards find, our poet bequeathed to his daugh-
ter Judith. — HAR^Ess.

6) — Mr. Thomas Combe] This gentleman was baptized
at Stratford, Feb. 9, 1588-9, to that he was twenty-seven

m.

Th.S.

APPENDIX.

XXXI

to Francis Collins ^) of the borough of Warwick,
in the county of Warwick, gent, thirteen pounds
six shillings and eight-pence, to be paid within one
year after my decease.

Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet [Hamnet]
Sadler ^) twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy
him a ring; to William Reynolds, gent, twenty-six
shillings eight-pence, to buy him a ring; to my god-
son, William Walker, ') twenty shillings in gold; to
Anthony Nash, '") gent, twenty-six shillings eight-
pence; and to Mr. John Nash,") twenty-six shil-
lings eight-pence; and to my fellows, John He-
mynge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, *2)
twenty-six shillings eight-pence apiece, to buy them
rings.

Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise, unto my
daughter, Susannah Hall, for better enabling of her
to perform this my will, and towards the perform-
ance thereof, all that capital messuage or tenement,
with the appurtenances, in Stratford aforesaid, called
The New Place, wherein I now dwell, and two
messuages or tenements, with the appurtenances,
situate, lying, and being in Henley-street, within
the borough of Stratford aforesaid ; and all my barns,
stables, orchards, gardens, lands, tenements, and
hereditaments whatsoever, situate, lying, and being,
or to be had, received, perceived, or taken, within
the towns, hamlets, villages, tields, and grounds of
Stratford-upon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and
Welcombe, '^) or in any of them, in the said county
of Warwick; and also all that messuage or tene-
ment, with the appurtenances, wherein one John

}'car8 old at the time of Shakspeare'a death. He died at
Stratford iu July 1657, aged 68; and hia elder brother WU-
liam died at the same place, Jan. 30, 1666-7, aged 80. Mr.
Thomas Combe by hia will, made June 20, 1656, directed his
esecutora to convert all hia personal property into money,
and to lay it out in the purchase of landa, to be settled on
WUliam Combe, the eldest son of John Combe of Allchurch
in the county of Worcester, gent, and hia heirs-male ; re-
mainder to hia two brothers successively. Where, therefore,
our poet's eword has wandered, I have not been able to
discover, I have taken the trouble to ascertain the ages of
Shakapeare'a frienda and relations, and the time of their
deaths, becauae we are thus enabled to judge how far the
traditions concerning him which were communicated to Mr.
Rowe in the beginning of thia century, are worthy of cre-
dit. — Malone.

7) — to Francis Collitu — ] This gentleman was, I be-
lieve, baptized at Warwick. He died the year after our
poet, and waa buried at Stratford, Sept. 27, 1617, on which
day he died. — Malone, edit. 1821.

8) — to Hamnet Sadler] This gentleman waa godfather
to Shakspeare's only son, who waa called after him. Mr.
Sadler, I believe, waa born about the year 1550, and died
at Stratford-upon-Avon, in October 1624. Hia wife, Judith
Sadler, who waa godmother to Shakspeare'a youogeat daugh-
ter, waa buried there, March 23, 1613-14. Our poet probably
was godfather to their son WUliam, who was baptized at
Stratford, Feb. 5, 1597-8. — Malone.

9) — to my godson, iFilliam Walker^ William, the son
of Henry Walker, was baptized at Stratford, Oct. 16, 1608.
I mention thia circumatance, becauae it ascertaiua that our
author waa at hia native town in the autumn of that year.
Mr. William Walker waa burled at Stratford, March 1,
1679-80. — Malonb.

10) — to Anthony Nash^ He was father of Mr. Thomas
Naah, who married our poet's grand-daughter, Elizabeth
Hall. He lived, I believe, at Welcombe, where hia estate
lay; and was buried at Stratford, Nov. 18, 1622. — Malo>e.

11) — to Mr. John Nash,] Thia gentleman died at Strat-
ford, and waa buried there, Nov. 10, 1623. — Malone.

Robinson dwelletb, situate, lying, and being, in the
Blackfriars in London near the Wardrobe ; * *) and
all other my lands, tenements, and hereditaments
whatsoever: to have and to bold all and singular
the said premises, with their appurtenances, unto
the said Susanna Hall, for and during the terra of
her natural life; and after her decease to the first
son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs-
males of the body of the said first son lawfully is-
suing; and for default of such issue, to the second
son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs-
males of the body of the said second son lawfully
issuing; and for default of such heirs, to the third
son of the body of the said Susanna lawfully issu-
ing, and to the heirs-males of the body of the said
third son lawfully issuing; and for default of such
issue, the same so to be and remain to the fourth,
fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her body, lawfully
issuing one after another, and to the heirs-males of
the bodies of the said fourth, fifth, sixth, and se-
venth sons lawfully issuing, in such manner as it is
before limited to be and remain to the first, second,
and third sons of her body, and to their heirs-males ;
and for default of such issue, the said premises
to be and remain to my said niece Hall, and the
heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing; and for
default of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and
the heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing; and
for default of such issue, to the right heirs of me
the said William Shakspeare for ever.

Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed,
with the furniture. ^*)

12) — to my fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and
Henry Cundell,] These our poet'a fellows did not very long
survive him. Burbage died in March, 1619; Cundell in De-
cember, 1627 ; and Heminge in October, 1630. — Malone.

13) — Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe,] The
landa of Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, here de-
vised, were, in Shakspeare'a time, a continuation of one
large field, all in the parish of Stratford. Bishopton ia two
milea from Stratford, and Welcombe one. For Bishopton,
Mr. Theobald erroneously printed Bushaxton, and the error
hats been continued in all the subsequent editions. The word
in Shakspeare'a original will ia spelt Bushopton, the vulgar
pronunciation of Bishopton. — I searched the Indexes in the
Rolla Chapel from the year 1589 to 1616, with the hope of
finding an enrolment of the purchase-deed of the estate here
devised by our poet, and of ascertaining ita extent and value ;
but it waa not enrolled during that period, nor could I
find any inquisition taken after hia death, by which ita value
might have been ascertained. I suppose it waa conveyed
by the former owner to Shakspeare, not by bargain and
sale, but by a deed of feoffment, which it waa not neceaaary
to enroll. — Malone.

14) — that messuage or tenement — in the Blackfriars
in London near the Wardrobe:] Thia waa the house
which waa mortgaged to Henry Walker. — By the Ward-
robe ia meant the King'a Great Wardrobe, a royal houae,
near Puddle- Wharf, purchased by King Edward the Third
from air John Beauchamp, who built it. King Richard III.
waa lodged in thia houae, in the second year of hia reign.
See Stowe'a Survey, p. 693, edit. 1618. After the fire of Lon-
don thia office waa kept in the Savoy : but it ia now abol-
ished. — Malone.

15) — my second best bed, with the furniture.] Thua Shak-
apeare'a original will. — It appears, in the original will of
Shakspeare (now in the Prerogative-office, Doctora' Com-
mons,) that he had forgot hia wife; the legacy to her being
expreaaed by an interlineation, as well aa those to Heminge,
Burbage, and CondeU. — The will is written on three sheets
of paper, the last two of which are undoubtedly subscribed
with Shakapeare's own hand. The first indeed has hia name

ni.

XXXII

APPENDIX.

Th. S.

//em, I give and bequeath to my said daughter,
Judith, my broad silver gilt bowl. All the rest of
my goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and house-
hold stuif whatsoever, after my debts and legacies
paid, and my funeral expenses discharged, I give,
devise, and bequeath to my son-in-law, John Hall,
gent, and my daughter, Susanna, his wife, whom I
ordain and make executors of this my last will and
testament. And I do entreat and appoint the said
Thomas Russell, esq. and Francis Collins, gent, to
be overseers hereof. And do revoke all former wills,
and publish this to be my last will and testament.
In witness whereof I have hereunto put my hand,
the day and year first above written.

By me

y^/V^^U^

Witneii to the ■puhluhing hereof.

Fra. CoUyns, Hamnet Sadler,

Julius Shaw, Robert Whatcott.

John Robinson,

Prohatum fuit testamentum Kitprascriptum apud
London, coram Magistro William Byrde, Le-
gum Doctore, ^-p. vicesimo secundo die mensis
Junii, Anno Domini, 1616; juramento Johannia
Hall unius ex. cui, ^-e. de bene, ^-c. jurat, re-
tervata potestate, ^c. Susanna Hall, alt. ex.
4-c. earn cum venerit, ^c. petitur, ^c.

No. ir.

CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

IN WHICH

THE PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE

ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN, ACCORDING

TO THE ARRANGEMENTS OF

CHALMERS, MALONE, AND DR. DRAKE.

Chalmers and Malone reject Titus Andronicusy
and Pericles, as spurious. Dr. Drake does not no-
tice the former play, but, on the authority of Dry-
den, admits the latter as genuine, and supposes it
to have been produced in 1590. The dates which
they severally ascribe to the remaining plays are
as follows:

Chalin. Mai. Drake.

1. The Comedy of Errors 1591 — 1592 — 1591

2. Love's Labour Lost 1592 — 1594 — 1591

8. Romeo and Juliet 1592 — 1596 — 1593

4. Henry VL the First Part .... 1593 — 1589 — 1592

5. Henry VL the Second Part . . . 1595 — 1591 — 1592

6. Henry VI. the Third Part .... 1595 — 1591

7. The Two Gentlemen of Verona . 1595 — 1591 — 1595

8. Richard HI 1595 — 1593 - 1595

9. Richard II 1596 — 1593 — 1596

10. The Merry Wives of Windsor , 1596 — 1601 — 1601

11. Heury IV. the First Part .... 1596 — 1597 — 1596

12. Henry IV. the Second Part . . . 1597 — 1599 — 1596

13. Henry V 1597 — 1599 — 1599

14. The Merchant of Venice ..... 1597 — 1594 — 1597

15. Hamlet 1597 — 1600 - 1697

in the margin, but it differs somewhat in spelling as well
as manner, from the two signattires that follow. — Malone
and Steevens.

16.

17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.

Chalm.

King John 1598 -

A Midsummer-Night's Dream . . 1598 -
The Taming of the Shrew .... 1598 -
All's Well that Ends Well .... 1599 -
Much Ado About Nothing .... 1599 -

As You Like It 1599 -

Troilus and Cressida 1600 -

Timun of Athens 1601 -

The Winter's Tale 1601 -

Measure for Measure 1604 -

Lear 1605 -

Cymbeline 1606 ■

Macbeth 1606 ■

Julias Caesar 1607 •

Antony and Cleopatra 1608

Coriolanus 1609

The Tempest 1613 ■

The Twelfth Night ........ 1613

Henry VllI 1613

Othello ; . . . 1614

Mai.

Drake

1596-

- 1598

1594

- 1593

1596

- 1594

1606

- 1598

1600

- 1599

1599

- 1600

1602

- 1601

1610

- 1602

1611

- 1610

1603

- 1603

1605

- 1604

1609

- 1605

1606

— 1606

1607

- 1607

1608

— 1608

1610

- 1609

1611

— 1611

1607

— 1613

1603

- 1602

1604

- 1612

No. in.

EDITIONS OF SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS.

Of the following plays, editions were printed
during the life-time of Shakspeare.

EARLY QUARTOS.

Titus Androuicus 1600—1611

Pericles 1609

Henry VI. Parts 2 and 3. .

Richard II 1597 — 1598 — 1608 — 16)5

Richard III 1.597 — 1598—1602 — 1612

Romeo and Juliet 1597 — 15S9 — 1609

Love's Labour Lost .... 1598

Henry IV. the First Part . 1598—1599 — 1604—1608-1613

Henry IV. the Second Part . 1600

Henry V 1600 — 1602 — 1608

Merchant af Venice .... 1600
Midsummer-Night's Dream 1600
Much Ado About Nothing . 1600
Merry W'ives of Windsor . 1602

Hamlet 1603 — 1604— 1605 — 1607 — 1G09

Lear 1608

Troilus and Cressida .... 1609
Othello uo date.

The above are the only dramatic productions of
our Author which were published during his life-
time. All of them were sent into the world imper-
fectly ; some printed from copies surreptitiously ob-
tained by means of inferior performers, who, de-
riving no benefit from the theatre, except their sa-
lary, were uninterested in the retention of copies,
which was one of the chief concerns of our ancient
managers; and the rest, as Hamlet in its first edi-
tion. The Merry Wives of Windsor, Borneo and
Juliet, Henry the Fifth, and the two Parts oj
Henry the Fourth, appear to have been published
from copies inaccurately taken by the ear during
representation, without any assistance from the ori-
ginals belonging to the playhouses.

FOLIOS.

As Shakspeare had himself shewn such an entire
disregard for posthumous reputation as to omit
publishing a collected edition of his works, an at-
tempt was made to atone for his neglect by his
friends Heminge and Condell, about eight years after
his death, who published, in 1623, the only authentic
edition of his works.

XII.

Th. S.

APPENDIX.

xxxni

The title page is as follows:

"Mr. William Shakspeare's Comedies, Histories,
"and Tragedies. Published according to the true
"original Copies, 1623, Fol. Printed at the Char-
"ges of W. laggard, Ed. Blount, J. Smethweeke,
"and W. Apsley."

The Dedication of the Players, prefixed to the
first folio, l6iS.

To the most Noble and Incomparable Paire of
Brethren, William Earle of Pembroke, Ac. Lord
Charaberlaine to the Kings most Excellent Majesty,
and Philip Earle of Montgomery, &c. Gentleman
of his Majesties Bed-chamber. Both Knights of
the Most Noble Order of the Garter, and our
singular good Lords.

Right Honourable,
Whilst we studie to be thankful in our particular,
for the many favors we have received from your
L. L. we are falne upon the ill fortune, to mingle
two the most diverse things tlmt can bee, feare and
rashnesse; rashnesse in the eaterprize, and feare of
the successe. For, when we valew the places your
H. H. sustaine, we cannot but know their dignity
greater, then to descend to the reading of these
trifles: and, while we name them trifles, we have
depriv'd ourselves of the defence of our Dedication.
But since your L. L. have been pleas'd to thinke
these trifles some-thing, heeretofore; and have pro-
sequuted both them, and their Authour living, with
so much favour: we hope that (they out-living him,
and he not having the fate, common with some, to
be exequutor to his owne writings) you will use
the same indulgence toward them, you have done
unto their parent. There is a great difference, whe-
ther any booke choose his Patrones, or finde them:
This hath done both. For, so much were your L. L.
likings of the severall parts, when they were acted,
as before they were published, the Volume ask'd
to be yours. We have but collected them, and done
an office to the dead, to procure his Orphanes,
Guardians; without ambition either of selfe-profit,
or fame: onely to keepe the memory of so worthy
a Friend, and Fellow alive, as was our Shakkspbarb,
by humble offer of his playes, to your most noble
patronage. Wherein, as we have justly observed,
no man to come neere your L. L. but with a kind
of religious addresse, it hath bin the height of our
care, who are the Presenters, to make the present
worthy of your H. H. by the perfection. But, there
we must also crave our abilities to be considered,
my Lords. We cannot go beyond our owne powers.
Country hands reach foorth milke, creame, fruites,
or what they have: and many Nations (we have
heard) that had not gummes and incense, obtained
their requests with, a leavened Cake. It was no
fault to approch their Gods by what meanes they
could: And the most, though meanest, of things are
made more precious, when they are dedicated to
Temples. In that name therefore, we most humbly
consecrate to your H. H. these remaines of your
servant Shakespbarb ; that what delight is in them
may be ever your L. L. the reputation his, and the
faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre so
carefuU to shew their gratitude both to the living,
and the dead, as is

Your Lordshippes most bounden,

John Hbmimge,
Hbkrib Condbll.

The Preface of the Players. Prefixed to the first
folio edition, published in 1623.

To the great variety of Readers,
From the most able, to him that can but spell:
there you are number'd. We had rather you were
weigh'd. Especially, when the fate of all Bookes
depends upon your capacities: and not of your heads
alone, but of your purses. Well! it is now pub-
lique, and you wil stand for your priviledges wee
know: to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first.
That doth best commend a Booke, the Stationer
sales. Then, how odde soever your braines be, or
your wisdomes, make your licence the same, and
spare not. Judge your sixe-pen'orth, your shillings
worth, your five shillings worth at a time, or higher,
so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But,
whatever you do, Buy. Censure will not drive a
Trade, or make the Jacke go. And though you be
a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the Stage at Black-
Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes dailie,
know, these Playes have had their triall alreadie,
and stood out all Appeales; and do now come forth
quitted rather by a Decree of Court, tbaa any pur-
chas'd Letters of commendation.

It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to have
bene wished, that the Author himselfe had lived to
have set forth, and overseen his owne writings; But
since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death
departed from that right, we pray you, doe not en-
vie his Friends, the office of their care and paine,
to have collected and publish'd them; and so to
have publish'd them, as where (before) you were
abus'd with divers stolne, and surreptitious copies,
maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes
of injurious impostors, that expos'd them: even those
are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of
their limbes; and all the rest, absolute in their
numbers, as he conceived the: Who, as he was a
happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle ex-
presser of it. His mind and hand went together;
and what he thought, he uttered with that easinesse,
that wee have scarse received from him a blot in
his papers. But it is not our province, Avho onely
gather his works, and give them you, to praise him.
It is yours that reade him. And there we hope,
to your divers capacities, you will finde enough,
both to draw, and hold you: for his wit can no
more lie hid, then it could be lost. Reade him,
therefore; and againe, and againe: And if then you
doe not like him, surely you are in some manifest
danger, not to understand him. And so we leave
you to other of his Friends, whom if you need, can
bee your guides: if you neede them not, you can
leade yourselves, and others. And such readers we
wish him.

John Hbminge,
Hbnbib Condbll.

Steevens, with some degree of probability, sup-
poses these prefaces to be the productions of Ben
Jonson.

In 1632, the works of Shakspeare were reprinted
in folio by Thomas Cotes, for Robert Allot. Of this
edition Malone speaks most contemptuously, though
many of the errors of the first are corrected in it,
and he himself silently adopted 186 of its correc-
tions without acknowledging the debt. The judg-
ment passed by Steevens on this edition is, "Though
"it be more incorrectly printed than the preceding
"one, it has likewise the advantage of various read -
"ings, which are not merely such as reiterature of
"copies will naturally produce. The curious ex-

m.

XXXIV

APPENDIX.

Th. 8.

"aminer of Shakspeare's text, who possesses the
"first of these, ought not to be unfurnished with
"the second."

The third folio was printed in 1664, for P. C. '«)
And a fourth, for H. Herringham, E. Brewster, and
R. Bentley, in 1682.

"As to these impressions," says Steevens, "they
"are little better than waste paper, for they differ
"only from the preceding ones by a larger accumu-
"lation of errors."

These are all the ancient editions of Shakspeare.

MODERN EDITIONS.

Octavo, Rowe's, London, 1709, 7 vols.
Duodecimo, Rowe's, ditto, 1714, 9 ditto.
Quarto, Pope's, ditto, 1725, 6 ditto.
Duodecimo, Pope's, ditto, 1728, 10 ditto.
Octavo, Theobald's, ditto, 1733, 7 ditto.
Duodecimo, Theobald's, ditto, 1740, 8 ditto.
Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1744, 6 ditto.
Octavo, Warburton's, London, 1747, 8 ditto.
Ditto, Johnson's, ditto, 1765, 8 ditto.
Ditto, Steevens's, ditto, 1766, 4 ditto.
Crown 8vo. Capell's, 1768, 10 ditto.
Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1771, 6 ditto.
Octavo, Johnson and Steevens, London, 1773,

10 ditto.
Ditto, second edition, ditto, 1778, 10 ditto.
Ditto (published by Stockdale), 1784, 1 ditto.
Ditto, Johnson and Steevens, 1785, third edition,

revised and augmented by the editor of Dods-

ley's Collection of old Plays (i. e. Mr. Reed),

10 ditto.
Duodecimo (published by Bell), London, 1788,

20 vols.
Octavo (published by Stockdale), ditto, 1790, 1 ditto.
Crown 8vo. Malone's, ditto, 1790, 10 ditto.
Octavo, fourth edition, Johnson and Steevens, &c.

ditto, 1793, 15 ditto.
Octavo, fifth edition, Johnson and Steevens, by

Reed, 1803, 21 ditto.
The dramatic Works of Shakspeare, in 6 vols.,

Bvo. with Notes, by Joseph Rann, A. M. Vicar

of St. Trinity, in Coventry. — Clarendon

Press, Oxford.

Vol. i 1786

Vol. ii 1787

Vol.iii 1789

Vol. iv 1791

votvl: :.■::;: i '^9*

The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare,
with the corrections and illustrations of various com-
mentators: comprehending a Life of the Poet, and
an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Ed-
ward Malone, 1821. This edition was superintended
by the late Mr. Boswell. — Harness.

No. IV.
PLAYS ASCRIBED TO SHAKSPEARE,

EITHEB BV THE EDITORS OF THE TWO LATER FOLIOS, OB
BV THE COUPILERS OF ANCIENT CATALOCUEa.

Locrine.

Sir John Oldcastle.

16) This edition is more scarce than even that of 1C23;
most of the copies having been destroyed in the fire of
London, 1666. — Harness.

Lord Cromwell.

The London Prodigal.

The Puritan.

The Yorkshire Tragedy.

These were all printed as Shakspeare's in the
third folio, 1664, without having the slightest claim
to such a distinction. Steevens thought that the
Yorkshire Tragedy might probably be a hasty sketch
of our great Poet ; but he afterwards silently aban-
doned this opinion. We find from the papers of
Henslowe ") that Sir John Oldcastle was the work
of four writers — Munday, Drayton, Wilson, and
Hathway. It is impossible to discover to whom the
rest are to be attributed.

Some other plays, with about equal pretensions,
have likewise been given to our Author.

The Arraignment of Paris, which is known to
have been written by George Peele.

The Birth of Merlin, the work of Rowley, al-
though in the title-page, 1662, probably by a fraud
of the bookseller, it is stated to be the joint pro-
duction of Rowley and Shakspeare.

Edward the Third. This play Capell ascribed
to Shakspeare, for no other reason but that he
thought it too good to be the work of any of his
contemporaries.

Fair Emma, There is no other ground for sup-
posing this play to be among our author's produc-
tions, than its having been met with in a volume,
which formerly belonged to Charles If. which is
lettered on the back, SHAKSPEARE, Vol. I.

The Merry Devil of Edmonton, entered on the
Stationers' books as Shakspeare's about the time of
the restoration ; but there is a former entry, in 1608,
in which it is said to be written by T. B. whom
Malone supposes to have been Tony or Antony
Brewer.

Mucedorus. The real author unknown. Malone
conceives that he might be R. Greene.

Shakspeare is supposed to have had a share in
two other plays, and to have assisted Ben Jonson
in Sejanus, and Fletcher in the Two Noble Kins-
men. If he was the person who united with Jonson
in the composition of Sejanus, which Mr. Gifford
very reasonably doubts, no portion of his work is
now remaining. The piece, as originally written,
was not successful; and the passages supplied by
the nameless friend of Jonson were omitted in pub-
lication. The fact of his having co-operated with
Fletcher in the Two Noble Kinsmen has been much
discussed: Pope favours the supposition that Shak-
speare's hand may be discovered in the tragedy:
Dr. Warburton expresses a belief that our great
Poet wrote "the first act, but in his worst manner."
All the rest of the commentators, without exception,
agree in rejecting this opinion; and attribute the
origin of th« tale to the pulf of a bookseller, who
found his profit in uniting the name of Shakspeare
with that of Fletcher on publishing the play. The
judgment of the majority appears in this case to be
the most correct. — Harness.

No. V.

PORTRAITS OP SHAKSPEARE.

It has been doubted whether any original Por-
trait of our Author really exists; the two which

17) He appears to have been proprietor of the Rose Thea-
tre, near the bank side in Southwark. The MSS. alluded
to were found at Dulwich College. — Harness.
lU.

Th.S.

APPENDIX.

XXXV

have been engrayed for this edition of his works
are those, which we have the best grounds for ad-
mitting as resemblances of Shakspeare.

1. The engraving from the monument of Stratford,
is deserving of the greatest regard. One of the
first artists in this country, has given an opinion,
coinciding with the common tradition of Stratford,
that the original bust was taken from a cast after
death : if this were the case it must afford an exact
representation of the features, though it would no
longer retain the living expression, of Shakspeare.
This monument was raised very soon after his de-
cease, and is alluded to in Digges' verses, prefixed
to the first folio of 1623.

The bust was originally coloured; and tradition
conveys to us the knowledge that the eyes were of
a light hazel colour, the hair and beard auburn.
The doublet in which he was dressed was of scarlet,
over which was thrown a loose black gown without
sleeves, such as the students of law wear at dinner
in the Middle Temple Hail.

This monument was repaired, and the colours
faithfully restored, in 1748, by Mr. John Hale, an
artist of Stratford. This was done at the sugges-
tion, and by the liberality, of Mr. Ward, the ma-
ternal grandfather of Mrs. Siddons, who, to create
a fund for the occasion, gave a benefit-play at the
Town-Hall of Stratford, on the 9th of September,
1746. The play was Othello, and the Rev. Joseph
Greene wrote an address, grounded on the famous
prologue of Pope to the tragedy of Cato, which Mr.
Ward delivered to an audience properly glorying in
their townsman.

In 1793, Malone, with an affectation of refined taste,
which we cannot but lament and condemn, had the
whole figure painted white as it now appears.

2. The second picture of Shakspeare which we
faave given, is a fac simile of the engraving by
Martin Droeshout, which was prefixed to the first
edition of our Author's works in 1623. ' Ben Jonson
testifies to the resemblance; and the following ver-
ses, from his pen, were printed in the Volume on
the page fronting the Portrait:

TO THE READER.

This figure, that those here see put.

It was for gentle Shakspeare cut;

Wherein the graver had a strife

With nature, to out-doo the life:

O, could he but have drawne his wit

As well in brasse, as he has hit

His face; the print would then surpasse

All that was ever writ in brasse.

But, since he cannot, reader, looke

Not on his picture, but his book.

3. Another generally received portrait is the Chan-
dos portrait, now at Stowe, in the possession of
the Duke of Buckingham. This was once the pro-
perty of Sir William Davenant, and was copied for
Dryden by Kneller. '*) After the death of Dave-
nant, 1663, it was bought by Betterton the actor:
when he died, Mr. Robert Keck, of the Inner Tem-
ple, gave Mrs. Barry the actress forty guineas for
it. From Mr. Keck it passed to Mr. Nicoll of Sooth-
gate, whose only daughter married tiie Marquis of
Carnarvon. Shakspeare was probably about the

16) The copy is at Weatworth Ga«t1e, in the possesion
af Lord Fitzwilliam. — Hakness.

age of forty-three when this portrait was painted.
Steevens questions its authenticity : but without any
sufficient grounds ; it resembles both the heads that
accompany the present work, in the extreme length
of the upper lip, and the high forehead.

4. The Felton head, from which the print pre-
fixed to Reedt Shakspeare is taken, was purchased
of Mr. Wilson, a picture dealer in St. James's Square,
by Mr. S. Felton, of Drayton, in Shropshire. It
is on wood, and Steevens wished to persuade the
world that it was the architype of Droeshout's en-
graving. But there was a very strong suspicion
entertained thDt Steevens knew it to be a modern
fabrication; that he was well acquainted with the
history of its manufacture; and "that there was a
"deeper meaning in his words, when he tells us, he
"was instrumental in procuring it, than he would
"wish to have generally understood." ' ')

5. A miniature by Nicholas Hiiliard, in the pos-
session of Sir James Bland Burgess. This is said
to have been painted for Mr. Somerville of Edstone,
who lived in habits of intimacy with Shakspeare.
It descended from father to son, as a relic in the
Somerville family, till Lord Somerville ga»e it to
his daughter, the mother of Sir James Bland Bur-
gess. It was missing for several years, and reco-
vered in 1813. It is engraved as the frontispiece
to the third volume of Boswell's Shakspeare.

6. A head by Cornelius Jansen, in the collection
of the Duke of Somerset. This is a beautiful head;
it is dated 1610, aet. forty-six; and in a scroll over
the head are the two words dt magds, which very
personally apply to Shakspeare. The two words
are extracted from the famous Epistle of Horace to
Augustus, the first of the second book: the partic-
ular passage is this:

nie per extentum fancm mihi posse vidctnr

Ire poeta; tneam qui pectus inaniter au^t,

iTfitat, mnlcet, falsis terroribus iaiplet,

Vt Mctgut; et modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis.

All this is certainly applicable to Shakspeare.
Jansen, it appears, was in England about the time
the picture is supposed to have been painted; and
was employed by Lord Southampton, the friend and
patron of Shakspeare. For him also, this picture
might have been executed. It originally belonged
to Mr. Jennens, of Gopsal, in Leicestershire. By
his direction a mezzotlnto was taken from it by
Earlom. There is no more known of the picture.
It represents such a man as we might well imagine
Shakspeare to have been ; but is not sufficiently like
the bust of the Stratford monument, or the head
prefixed to the first folio, for us to admit it, with-
out considerable doubt, as a genuine portrait of
our Author.

It is remarkable that a copy of this picture, which
is in the possession of Mr. Croker, was lately dis-
covered behind the pannel of a wainscot, in one of
the houses lately pulled down near the site of Old
Suffolk-street.

In drawing out the above account of the portraits
of Shakspeare, I have been much indebted to the
work of Mr. Boaden, entitled, An Inquiry into the
Authenticity of the Various Pictures and Prints
of Shakspeare. — Harnbss.

19) BosiTEiL's Shakrpeare, Advertisement, vol i. —

HtK>B8S.

m.

IV.

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

T O

THE PLAYS AND POEMS.

I. TEMPEST.

JLhb Tempest and The Midmmmer Night's Dream are
the noblest efforts of that sublime and amazing imagin-
ation peculiar to Shakspeare, which soars above the
bounds of nature, Mithout forsaking sense; or, more pro-
perly, carries nature along with him beyond her estab-
lished limits. Fletcher seems particularly to have ad-
mired these two plays, and hath wrote two in imitation
of them. The Sea Voyage, and The Faithful Shepherdess.
But when he presumes to break a lance with Shakspeare,
and write in emulation of him, as he does in The False
One, which is the rival of Antony and Cleopatra, he is
not so successful. After him, Sir John Suckling and
Milton catchcd the brightest fire of their imagination
from these two plays ; which shines fantastically indeed
in The Goblins, but much more nobly and serenely in
The Mask at Ludlow Castle. Warburton. = No one
has hitherto been lucky enough to discover the romance
on which Shakspeare may be supposed to have founded
this play, the beauties of which could not secure it from
the criticism of Ben Joiis-on, whose malignity appears to
have been more than equal to his wit. In the induction
to Bartholomew Fair, he says : "If ihere be never a
servant monster in the fair, who can help it, he says,
nor a nest of antiques'^ He is loth to make nature afraid
in his plays, like those that beget Tales, Tempests, and
jiuch like drolleries." Steevens. =: I was informed by
the late Mr. Collins of Chichester, that Shakspeare's
Tempest, for which no origin is yet assigned, was formed
on a romance called Aurelio and Isabella, printed in Ita-
lian, Spanish, French, and English, in 1588. But though
this information has not proved true on examination, an
useful conclusion may be drawn from it, that Shakspcare's
story is somewhere to be found in an Italian novel, at
least that the story preceded Shakspeare. Mr. Collins
had searched this subject with no less fidelity than judg-
ment and industry; but his memory failing in his last
calamitous indisposition, he probably gave me the name
of one novel for another. I remember he added a cir-
cumstance which may lead to a discovery, — that the
principal character of the romance, answering to Shak-
speare's Prospero, was a chemical necromancer, who had
bound a spirit like Ariel to obey his call, and perform
his services. Taken at large, the magical part of The
Tempest is founded on that sort of philosophy which was
practised by John Dee and his associates, and has been
called the Rosicrucian. The name Ariel came from the
Talmudistic mysteries with which the learned Jews had
infected this science. T. Wabton. =s It was one of our
author's last works. In 1598, he played a part in the
original Every Man in his Humour. Two of the cha-

racters are Prospero and Stephana. Here Ben Jonson
taught him the pronunciation of the latter word, which
is always right in The Tempest:

"Is not this Stephana, my drunken butler?"
And always wrong in his earlier play, TTie Merchant of
Venice, which had been on the stage at least two or three
years before its publication in 1600:

"My friend Slephdno, signify I pray you," &c.
— So little did Mr. Capell know of his author, when he
idly supposed his school literature might perhaps have
been lost by the dissipation of youth, or the busy scene
of public life ! Fahmer. = This play must have been
written before 1614, when Jonson sneers at it in his Bar-
tholomew Fair. In the latter plays of Shakspeare, he
has less of pun and quibble than in his early ones. In
The Merchant of Venice, he expressly declares against
them. This perhaps might be one criterion to discover
the dates of his plays. Blackstone. = It was not printed
till 1623, when it was published with the rest of our
author's plays in folio. Mr. Malone is of opinion it was
writteti about the year 1611, and considers the circum-
stances attending the storm by which Sir George Somers
was shipwrecked on the island of Bermuda, in the year
1609, as having given rise to the play, and suggested the
title as well as some of the incidents. Mr. Douce appears
to be of the same opinion. See Malone's Shakspeare,
edit. 1821, and Donee's "Illustrations of Shakspeare."
Chalmers. = It is observed of The Tempest, that its plan
is regular; this the author of The Bevisal thinks, what
I think too, an accidental effect of the story, not intended
or regarded by our author. But, whatever might be
Shakspeare's intention in forming or adopting the plot,
he has made it instrumental to the production of many
characters, diversified with boundless invention, and pre-
served with profound skill in nature, extensive knowledge
of opinions, and accurate observation of life. In a single
drama are here exhibited princes, courtiers, and sailors,
all speaking in their real characters. There is the agency
of airy spirits, and of an earthly goblin. The operations
of magic, the tumults of a storm, the adventures of a
desert island, the native effusion of untaught affection,
the punishment of guilt, and the final happiness of the
pair for whom our passions and reason are equally inter-
ested. Johnson. =

II. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Some of the incidents in this play may be supposed to
have been taken from The Arcadia, book i, chap, vi.,
where Pyrocles consents to head the Helots. (The Arca-

IV.

Til. S. [Pl: 3.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

XXXVII

dia was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company,
Aug. 23, 1588.) The love-adventure of Julia resembles
that of Viola in Twelfth Night, and is, indeed, common
to many of the ancient novels. Steevens. =: Mrs. Lenox
observes, and I think not improbably, that the story of
Froteus and Julia might be taken from a similar one in
the Diana of George of Montemayor. — "This pastoral
romance," says she, "was translated from the Spanish in
Shakspeare's time." I have seen no earlier translation
than that of Bartholomew Yong, who dates his dedication
in November, 1598; and Meres, in his IFiCs Treasury,
printed the same year, expressly mentions the Two Gentle-
men of Verona. Indeed, Montemayor was translated two
or three years before, by one Thomas Wilson; but this
vrork, I am persuaded, was never published entirely ; per-
haps some parts of it were, or the tale might have been
translated by others. However, Mr. Steevens says, very
truly, that this kind of love-adventure is frequent in the
old novelists. Farmer. = There is no earlier translation
of the Diana entered on the books of the Stationers'
Company, than that of B. Younge, Sept. 1598. Many
translations, however, after they were licensed, were ca-
priciously suppressed. Among others, "The Decameron
of Mr. John Boccace, Florentine," was "recalled by my
lord of Canterbury's commands." Steevens. = It is ob-
servable (I know not for what cause) that the style of
this comedy is less figurative, and more natural and un-
alTected, than the greater part of this author's, though
supposed to be one of the first he wrote. Pope. = It
may very well be doubted whether Shakspeare had any
other hand in this play than the enlivening it with some
speeches and lines thrown in here and there, which are
easily distinguished, as being of a different stamp from
the rest. Hanmeb. = To this observation of Mr. Pope,
which is very just, Mr. Theobald has added, that this
is one of Shakspeare's worst plays, and is less corrupted
than any other. Mr. Upton peremptorily determines, that
if any proof can be drawn from manner and style, this
play must be sent packing, and seek for its parent else-
where. How otherwise, says he, do painters distinguish
copies from originals? and have not authors their pecu-
liar style and manner, from which a true critic can form
as unerring judgment as a painter ? I am afraid this
illustration of a critic's science will not prove what is
desired. A painter knows a copy from an original by
rules somewhat resembling those by which critics know a
translation, which, if it be literal, and literal it must be
to resemble the copy of a picture, will be easily distin-
guished. Copies are known from originals, even when the
painter copies his own picture ; so, if an author should
literally translate his work, he would lose the manner of
an original. — Mr. Upton confounds the copy of a pic-
ture with the imitation of a painter's manner. Copies are
easily known, but good imilatious are not detected with
equal certainty, and are, by the best judges, often mis-
taken. Nor is it true that the writer has always peculi-
arities equally distinguishable with those of the painter.
The peculiar manner of each arises from the desire, na-
tural to every performer, of facilitating his subsequent
work by recurrence to his former ideas; this recurrence
produces that repetition which is called habit. The painter,
whose work is partly intellectual and partly manual, has
habits of the mind, the eye, and the hand; the writer
has only habits of the mind. Yet, some painters have
differed as much from themselves as from any other; and
I have been told that there is little resemblance between
the first works of Raphael and the last. The same va-
riation may be expected in writers; and if it be true, as
it seems, that they are less subject to habit, the differ-
ence between their works may be yet greater. — But by
the internal marks of a composition we may discover the
author with probability, though seldom with certainty.
When I read this play, I cannot but think that I find.

both in the serious and ludicrous scenes, the language
and sentiments of Shakspeare. It is not, indeed, one of
his most powerful effusions ; it has neither many diversi-
ties of character, nor striking' delineations of life ; but it
abounds in yi'w/uai beyond most of his plays, and few
have more lines or passages, which, singly considered,
are eminently beautiful. I am yet inclined to believe
that it was not very successful, and suspect that it has
escaped corruption,^ only because, being seldom played, it
was less exposed to the hazards of transcription. John-
son. J= This comedy was written in 1591, according to
Mr. Malone, who supposes it to have been our author's
first play; and, viewed as a first production, he thinks
it may be pronounced a very elegant and extraordinary
performance. Chalmers. = In this play there is a strange
mixture of knowledge and ignorance, of care and negligence.
The versification is often excellent, the allusions are learned
and just; but the author conveys his heroes by sea from
one inland town to another in the same country; he places
the emperor at Milan, and sends his young men to attend
him, but never mentions him more; he makes Proteus,
after au interview with Silvia, say he has only seen her
picture; and, if we may credit the old copies, he has,
by mistaking places, left his scenery inextricable. The
reason of all this confusion seems to be, that he took
his story from a novel, which he sometimes followed, and
sometimes forsook, sometimes remembered, and sometimes
forgot. — That this play is rightly attributed to Shak-
speare, I have little doubt. If it be taken from him, to
whom shall it be given 1 This question may be asked of
all the disputed plays, except Titus Andronicus; and it
will be found more credible, that Shakspeare might some-
times sink below his highest flights, than that any other
should rise up to his lowest Johnson. = Johuson's ge-
neral remarks on this play are just, except that part in
which he arraigns the conduct of the poet, for making
Proteus say, that he had only seen the picture of Silvia,
when it appears that he had had a personal interview
with her. This, however, is not a blunder of Shakspeare's,
but a mistake of Johnson's, who considers the passage
alluded to in a more literal sense than the author in-
tended it. Sir Proteus, it is true, had seen Silvia for
a few moments ; but though he could form from thence
some idea of her person, he was still unacquainted with
her temper, manners, and the qualities of her mind. He
therefore considers himself as having seen her picture
only. — The thought is just and elegantly expressed. M.
Mason. =

IV.

III. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

A FEW of the incidents in this comedy might have been
taken from an old translation of // Pecorone by Giovanni
Fiorentino. I have lately met with the same story in a
very contemptible performance, iutitled. The fortunate,
the deceived, and the unfortunate Lovers. Of this book,
as I am told, there are several impressions; but that iu
which I read it was published in 1632, quarto. A some-
what similar story occurs in Piacevoli Notti di Strapa-
rola, Nott. 4». Fav. 4*. — This comedy was first en-
tered at Stationers' Hall, Jan. 18, 1601, by John Busby.
Steevens. = This play should he read between K.
Henry IF. and K. Henry V. in Johnson's opinion. But
Mr. Malone says, it ought rather to be read between
The First and The Second Part of King Henry If. in
the latter of which young Henry becomes king. In the
last act, Falstaff says:

"Heme the hunter, quoth yon? am I a ghost?
"'Sblood the fairies hath made a ghost ot me.
"What, hunting at this time ot "•gj" •.
"I'le lay my life the mad prince of traie»
"Is stealing his father's deare.'

XXXVUI

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pl:4.] Th.S.

and in this play, as it now appears, Mr. Page discoun-
tenances the addresses of Fenton to his daughter, be-
cause "he keeps company with the wild prince, and with
Poins." — The Fhhwife's Tale of Brainford in West-
ward KOR Smelts, a hook which Shakspeare seems to
have read, (having borrowed from it a part of the fable
of Cyrnbelinp,) probably led him (o lay the scene of Fal-
staffs love-adventures at IFindsor. It begins thus : "In
Windsor not long agoe dwelt a sumpterman, who had to
wife a very faiie but wanton creature, over whom, not
without cause, he was something jealous; yet had he
never any proof of her inconstancy." Malone. = The
adventures of Fahtaff in this play seem to have been
taken from the story of The Lovers of Pisa, in an old
piece, called Tarletoii's Newts out of Purgatorie. Mr.
Warton observes, in a note to the last Oxford edition,
that the play was probably not written as we now have
it, before 1G07, at the earliest. I agree with my very
ingenious friend in this supposition, but yet the argument
here produced for it may not be conclusive. Slender
observes to master Page, that his greyhound was out-run
at Cotsale [Cutswold- Hills in Gloucestershire;] and Mr.
Warton thinks, that the games established there by cap-
tain Dover in the beginning of K. Jaines's reign, are
alluded to. But, perhaps, though the captain be cele-
brated in the Annalia Vubrensia as the founder of them,
he might be the reviver only, or some way contribute to
make them more famous; for in The Second Part of
Henry IF. 1600, Justice Shallow reckons among the Swinge-
bucklers, "Will Squeele, a Cotsole man." — In the first
edition of the imperfect play. Sir Hugh Evans is called
ou the title-page, the Welsh Knight; and yet there are
some persons who still affect to believe, that all our
author's plays were originally published by himself. Far-
mer. == Queen Elizabeth was so well pleased with the
admirable character of Falstaff in The Two Parts of
Henry IV. that, as Mr. Rowe informs us, she commanded
Shakspeare to continue it for one play more, and show
him in love. To this command we owe The Merry Wives
of Windsor; which, Mr Gildon says, [Remarks on Shak-
speare's Plays, 8vo. 1710,] he was very well assured our
author finished in a fortnight. lie quotes no authority.
The circumstance was first mentioned by Mr. Dennis.
"This comedy," says he, in his Epistle Dedicatory to
The Comical Gallant (an alteration of the present play,)
1702, "was written at her [Queen Elizabeth's] command,
and by her direction, and she was so eager to see it
acted, that she commanded it to be finished in fourteen
days ; and was afterwards, as tradition tells us, very well
pleased at the representation." The information, it is
probable, came originally from Dryden, who, from his
intimacy with Sir William Davenant, had an opportunity
of learning many particulars concerning our author. —
At what period Shakspeare new-modelled The Merry
Wives of Windsor is unknown. 1 believe it was enlarged
in l(i03. Malom:. = It is not generally known, that the
first edition of The Merry Wives of Windsor, in its pre-
sent state, is in the valuable folio printed 1623, from
whence the quarto of the same play, dated 1630, was
evidently copied. The two earlier quartos, 1602, and 1619,
only exhibit this comedy as it was originally written, and
are so far curious as they contain Shakspeare's first con-
ceptions in forming a drama, which is the most complete
speeioien of his comic powers. T. Warton. == Of this
play there is a tradition preserved by Mr. Howe, that
it was written at the command of queen Elizabeth, who
was 80 delighted with the character of Falstaff, that she
wished it to be diffused through more plays ; but sus-
pecting that it might pall by continued uniformity, di-
rected the poet to diversify his manner, by showing him
in love. Ko task is harder than that of writing to the
ideas of anothfr. Shakspeare knew wJiat the queen, if
the story be true, seems not to have known — that by

any real passion of tenderness, the selfish craft, the care-
less jollity, and the lazy luxury of Falstaff must have
suffered so much abatement, that little of his former cast
would have remained. Falstaff could not love, but by
ceasing to be Falstaff. He could only counterfeit love,
and his professions could be prompted, not by the hope
of pleasure, but of money. Thus the poet approached
as near as he could to the work enjoined him; yet,
having, perhaps, in the former plays, completed his own
idea, seems not to have been able to give Falstaff all
his former power of entertainment. — This comedy is
remarkable for the variety and number of the personages,
who exhibit more characters appropriated and discrimin-
ated, than perhaps can be found in any other play. —
Whether Shakspeare was the first that produced upon
the English stage the effect of language distorted and
depraved by provincial or foreign pronunciation, I cannot
certainly decide. ') This mode of forming ridiculous cha-
racters can confer praise only on him who originally dis-
covered it, for it requires not much of either w it or judg-
ment: its success must be derived almost wholly from
the player, but its power in a skilful mouth, even he
that despises it, is unable to resist. — The conduct of
this drama is deficient; the action begins and ends often,
before the conclusion, and the different parts might change
places without inconvenience; but its general power, that
power by which all works of genius shall finally be tried,
is such, that perhaps it never yet had reader or spectator
who did not think it too soon at the end. Johnson.

IV. TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT
YOU WILL.

1 IIKRK is great reason to believe, that the serious part
of this Comedy is founded ou some old translation of the
seventh history in the fourth volume of Belleforest's
Histoires Trugigues. Belleforest took the story, as usual,
from Bandello. The comic scenes appear to have been
entirely the production of Shakspeare. It is not impossible,
however, that the circumstances of the Duke sending his
Page to plead his cause with the Lady, and of the Lady's
falling in love with the Page, &c. might be borrowed
from the Fifth Eglog of Barnaby Googe, published with
his other original poems, in 1563.

"A worthy Knyght dyd love her longc,

"And for her >ake dyd feale
"The panges_ of love, that happen styl

"By frowning fortune's wheale.
"He had a Page, Valerius named,

"Wliom so niuche he dyd truste,
"That all the secrets of his hart

"To hym declare he muste.
"And made hym all the onely meane«

"I'o sue for his redresse,
"And to entrcate for grace to her

"That caused his distresse.
"S/jc whan as first she saw his page

'■'■Was straight with hym in love,
'■'That nothynge c.oulde f alerius'' face

'^Frotn Claudia's mynde remove.
"Hy him was Faustus often harde,

"By hym his sutcs loke place,
"By liym he often dyd aspyre

"To se his Ladycs face.
"This passed well, tyll at the length

"Valerius sore did sewe,
"With many teares besechynge her

"His mayster's gryefe to rewe.
"And tolde her that yf she wolde not

"Release his mayster's payiic,
'■'■He never wolde attempte her more

"Nor ac her ones agayne," kc.

1) In Thi Three Lacliet of London, \!,M, is the character of an JIalian itier-
chant, verv strongly marked bv foreign pronunciation. Dr. DodypoU, in tlie
comedy which bears his name, is, like Caiua, a French physician. I his piece
appeared M least a year before The Merry Wivea of Windsor. The hero of it
sp^-aks such another jargon as the antagonist of sir Hugh, and like hina u
cheated of his mistress. In several other pieces, more ancient than the earliett
of ^shakspeare's, provincial characters are introduced. Sieevens,

IV

7ii.S.[Pi.:7.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

XXXIX

Thus al8o concludes the first oceiie of the third act of

the play hefore us:

"And so adieu, ^od madam; never more
"Will 1 inj master's tears to jou deplore."

I offer no apology for the length of the foregoing extract,
the book from M-hich it is talen being fo uncommon, that
only one copy, except that in my own possession, has
hitherto occurred. Even Dr. Farmer, the late Rev. T.
Warlon, Mr. Reed, ^nd Mr. Malone, were unacquainted
with this Collection of Googe's Poetry. — August 6, lb07,
a Comedy- called What you will, (which is the second
title of this play,) was entered at Stationers' Hall by
'I'ho. Thorpe. 1 believe, however, it was Marston's play
wiih that name. Ben Jouson, who takes every oppor-

almoat complete embryo ot Mearure for 3Iriuure; yet Ike
hints on which it is formed are so slight, that it is nearly
as impossible to detect them, as it is to point out in the
acorn the future ramifications of the oak. — Measure for
Measure was, I believe, written in 16(B. Malo>e. =: Of
this play, the light or comic part is very natural and
pleasing, but the grave scenes, if a few passnges be ex-
cepted, have more labour than elegance. The plot ia
rather intricate than artful. The time of the action ia
indefinite; some time, we know not how much, must have
elapsed between the recess of the Duke and the impri-
sonment of Claudia; for he must have learned the story
of Mariana in his disguise, or he delegated bi^ power to
a man already known to be corrupted. The unities of

tunity to find fault with Shakspeare, seems to ridicule | action and place are sufficiently preserved. Johnson. =
the conduct of Twelflh-Xight in his Every Man out of ;
his Humour, at the end of Act III. sc. vi. where he makes

VI. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

3Iitia say, "That the argument of his comedy might have

been of some other nature, as of a dnke to be in love ,'

with a countess, and that countess to be in love with the i J^^ ,f„^ i, t^k^n from Ariosto, Or/. Fur. B. V. Pops.

duke's son, and the son in love with the lady s waiting , _ j^ .^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ p^^^ ^_^^ ob.-erved, that somewhat

maid : tome such cross wooing, with a clown to their serv

I; resembling the story of this play is to be found in the

ing man, better than be thus near and familiarly allied .[ ^.^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ Furioso. In Spenser's Fain,
to the time." Steevkrs. = I suppose this comedy to | ^^^^^^^ ^ jj ^ .^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^, ^^^ ^^^ ,^^^^j

have been written in 1607. Ben Jonson unquestionably

could

A novel, however, of Belleforest, copied from another of

not have ridiculed this play in Every Man out of j g^„j^„ ^^^^, ^^ j,^^^ furnished Shakspeare with hia

his Humour, which was written many years before it
Maloxe. = This play is in the graver part elegant and
easy, aud in some of the lighter scenes exquisitely hu-
morous. Ague-cheek is drawn with great propriety, but
I his character is, in a great measure, that of natural
i fatuity, and is therefore not the proper prey of a satirist.
I The soliloquy of Malvolio is truly comic; he is betrayed
Id ridicule merely by his pride. The marriage of Olivia,
and the succeeding perplexity, though well enough con-
trived to divert on the stage, wants credibility, and fails
10 produce the proper instruction required in the drama,
as it exhibits no just picture of life. Jobsson. =

V. MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

1 HR story Is taken from Cinlhio's Noveh, Decad. 8.
Novel 5. PoHB. = We are sent to Cinthio for the plot
tif Measure for Measure, and Shakspeare's judgment hath
been attacked for some deviations from him in the con-
duct of it, when probably all he knew of the matter was
from Madam Isabella, in The Heptameron of ff'hetstone,
Loud. 4to. 1382. — She reports, in the fourth dayes Exer-
ci-c, the rare Historie of Promos and Cassandra. A mar-
ginal note informs us, that Whetstone was the author of
the Comedie on that subject; which likewise had probably
fallen into the hands of Shakspeare. Farmer. = There
:- perhaps not one of Shakspeare's plays more darkened
iian this by the peculiarities of its author, and the un- i
fkilfulness of its editors, by distortions of phrase, or ne-
gligence of transcription. Joh>son. = Dr. Johnson's re- j
mark is so just respecting the corruptions of this play, j
that I shall not attempt much reformation in its metre, |
which is too often rough, redundant, aud irregular. Ad- I
(litions and omissions (however trifling) cannot be made
without constant notice of them; and such notices, in the :
present Stance, would to frequently occur, as to become j;
equally tiresome to the commentator aud the reader. — i|
Shakspeare took the fable of this play from the Promos v
and Cassandra of George Whetstone, published in 1578. — |
A hint, like a seed, is more or less prolific, according to .,
the qualities of the soil on which it is thrown. This story, |,
which in the hands of Whetstone, produced little more
than barren insipidity, under the culture of Shakspeare
became fertile of entertainment. The curious reader will
find that the old play of Promos and Cassandra, exhibits an

fable, as it approaches nearer in all its particulars to the
play before us, than any other performance known to be Ij
' extant. 1 have seen so many versions from this once
popular collection, that i entertain no doubt but that a
I great majority of the tales it comprehends have made
i their appearance in an English dress. Of that particular
: story which I have just mentioned, viz. the 18th history
! in the third volume, no translation has hitherto been met
with. — This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Aug.
23, leOO. Stbkvens. = Ariosto is continually quoted for
[ the fable of Much Ado About Nothing; but I suspect
' our poet to have been satisfied with the Geneura of Tur-
I berville. "The tale (says Harrington) is a pretie comical
I matter, and hath bin written in English verse some few
i years past, learnedly and with good grace, by M. George
Ij Turbervil," Ariosto, fol. 1591, p. 39. Farmer. = I sup-
' pose this comedy to have been written in 1600, in which
j year it was printed. Maiosb. = This play may be justly
I said to contain two of the most sprightly characters that
Shakspeare ever drew. The wit, the humourist, the gentle-
man, and the soldier, are combined in Deuedick. It ia
to be lamented, indeed, that the first aud most splendid
of these distinctions, is disgraced by unnecessary profane-
ncss; for the goodness of his heart is hardly sufficient
= to atone for the licence of his tongue. The too sarcastic
! levity, which flashes out in the conversatiim of Beatrice,
' may be excused on account of the steadiness and friend-
• ship so apparent in her behaviour, when she urges her
lover to riyk his life by a challenge to Claudio. In the
conduct of the fable, however, there is an imperfection
; similar to that which Dr. Johnson has pointed out in The
Merry Wives of Windsor: — the second contrivance ia
less ingenious than the first: — or, to speak more plainly,
the same incident is become stale by repetition. I wish
some other method had been found to entrap Beatrice,
than that very one which before had been successfully
practised on Benedick. Stkkvex3.=^

VII. MIDSUMMER-MGHT S DREAM.

This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Oct. 8, 1600,
by Thomas Fisher. It is probable that ">e hint for it
was received from Chaucer's KnighVs Tale. - Ihere ia
an old black letter pamphlet by W. Betlie, called Titavu
and Theseus, entered at Stationers' Hall, iu 1608; but

IV.

XL

PRELIMINARY REiMARKS

Pi/ 9] Th.S.

Shakspeare has taken no hints from it. Titania is also
the name of the Queen of the Fairies in Decker's Whore
of Babylon, 1007. Steevens. = The Midsummer-Nighfti
Vream I suppose to have been written in 1594. Malone.
= Wild and fanlastical as this play is, all the parts in
their various modes are mcU written, and give the kind
of pleasure which the author designed. Fairies in his
time were much in fashion ; common tradition had made
them familiar, and Spenser's poem had made them great.
Johnson. =: Johnson's concluding observation on this play,
is not conceived M'ith his usual judgment. There is no
analogy or resemblance whatever between the Fairies of
Spenser and those of Shakspeare. The Fairies of Spen-
ser, as appears from his description of them in the se-
cond book of the Fairy Queen, canto x., were a race of
mortals created by Prometheus, of the human size, shape,
and affections, and subject to death. But those of Shak-
speare, and of common tradition, as Johnson calls them,
were a diminutive race of sportful beingw, endowed with
immortality and supernatural power, totally different from
those of Spenser. M. Mason. =:

YIII. love's labour's LOST.

1 HAVE not hitherto discovered any novel on which this
comedy appears to have been founded ; and yet the story
of it has mo.st of the features of an ancient romance.
Steevens. = 1 suspect that there is an error in the title
of this play, Mhich I believe should be — "Love's La-
bours Lost.'" M. Mason. =: Love's Labour's Lost, I
conjecture to have been written in 1594. Malone.= In
this play, which all the editors have concurred to cen-
sure, and some have rejected as unworthy of our poet,
it must be confessed that there are many passages mean,
childish, and vulgar; and some which ought not to have
been exhibited, as we are told they were, to a maiden
queen. But there are scattered through the Mhole many
sparks of genius; nor is there any play that has more
evident marks of the hand of Shakspeare. Johnson. =

IX. MERCHANT OF VENICE.

I n Steevens's and Malone's editions of Shakspeare, the
reader will find a distinct epitome of the novels from
which the story of this play is supposed to be taken. It
should, however, be remembered, that if our poet was at
all indebted to the Italian novelists, it must have been
through the medium of some old translation, which has
hitherto escaped the researches of his most industrious
editors. — It appears from a passage in Stephen Gosson's
School of Abuse, &c. 1579, that a play, comprehending
the distinct plots of Shakspeare's Merchant of Venice,
had been exhibited long before he commenced a writer,
viz. "The Jews shoMn at the Bull, representing the
greediness of worldly choosers, and the bloody minds of
usurers." — "These plays," says Gosson, (for he men-
tions others with it,) "are goode and sweete plays," &c.
It is therefore not improbable that Shakspeare new-wrote
his piece, on the model already mentioned, and that the
elder performance, being inferior, was permitted to drop
silently into oblivion. — This play of Shakspeare had
been exhibited before the year 1598, as appears from
Meres's fVits Treasury, where it is mentioned with ele-
ven more of our author's pieces. It was entered on the
books of the Stationers' Company, July 22. in the same
year. It could not have been printed earlier, because it
was not yet licensed. The old song of Gernutus the Jew
of Venice, is published by Dr. Percy in the first volume
of his Reliques of ancient English Foetry: and the ballad
intituled, The murtherous Lyfe and terrible Death of the
rich Jewe of Malta; and the tragedy on the same sub-

ject, were both entered on the Stationers' books. May,
1594. Steevens. = The story was taken from an old
translation of The Gcsta Romanorum, first printed by
Wynkyn de Worde. The book was very popular, and
Shakspeare has closely copied some of the language: an
additional argument, if we wanted it, of his track of
reading. Three vessels are exhibited to a lady for her
choice. — The first was made of pure gold, well beset
with precious stones without, and within full of dead men's
bones ; and thereupon was engraven this posic : Whoso
chuseth me, shall find that he deserveth. The second
vessel was made of fine silver, filled with earth and
worms: the superscription was thus: Whoso chuseth me,
shall find that his nature desireth. The third vessel
was made of lead, full within of precious stones, and
thereupon was insculpt this posie: Whoso chuseth me,
shall find that God hath disposed for him. — The lady,
after a comment upon each, chuses the leaden vessel. —
In a MS. of Lidgate, belonging to my very learned friend.
Dr. Askew, I find a Tale of Two Merchants of Egipt
and of Baldad ex Gestis Romanorum. Leiand, therefore,
could not be the original author, as Bishop Tanner sus-
pected. He lived a century after Lidgate. Farmer. =:
The two principal incidents of this play are to be found
separately in a collection of odd stories, which were very
popular, at least five hundred years ago, under the title
of Gesta Romanorum. The first, Of the Bond, is in ch.
xlviii. of the copy which I chuse to refer to, as the com-
pletest of any which I have yet seen. MS. Harl. n. 2270.
A knight there borrows money of a merchant; upon con*
dilion of forfeiting all his flesh for non-payment. When
the penalty is exacted before the judge, the knight's mis-
tress, disguised, m forma viri Sj" vestimentis pretiosis in-
duta, comes into court, and, by permission of the judge,
endeavours to mollify the merchant. She first offers him
his money, and then the double of it, &c. to all which
his answer is — "Conventionem meam volo habere. —
Puella, cum hoc audisset, ait coram omnibus, Domine mi
judex, da rectum judicium super his, qusc vobis dixero. —
Yos scitis quod miles nunquam se obligabat ad aliud per
literam nisi quod mcrcator habeat potestatem carnes ab
ossibus scindere, sine sanguinis effiisione, de quo nihil erat
prolocutum. Statim mittat manum in eum ; si vero san-
guinem cffuderit. Rex contra eum actionem habet. Mer-
cator, cum hoc audisset, ait; date mihi pecuniam & omnem
actionem ei remitto. Ait puella. Amen, dico tibi, nullum
denarium habebis — pone ergo manum in eum, ita ut san-
guinem non efTundas. Mercator vero videus se confusum
abscessit; & sic vita miiitis salvata est, & nullum dena-
rium dcdit." — The other incident, of the casket, is in
ch. xcix. of the same collection. A king of Apulia sends
his daughter to be married to the son of an emperor of
Rome. After some adventures, (which are nothing to the
present purpose,) she is brought before the emperor, who
says to her, "Puella, propter amorem filii mei multa ad-
versa sustinuisti. Tamen si digna fueris ut uxor ejus sis
cito probabo. Et fecit fieri tria vasa. Primum fuit de
auro purissimo & lapidibus pretiosis interius ex omni parte,
& plenum ossibus mortuorum: & exterius erat subscriptio ;
Qui me elegerit, in me inveniet quod meruit. Secundiim
vas erat de argento puro & gemmis pretiosis, plenum
terra; & exterius erat subscriptio: Qui me elegerit, in me
inveniet quod natura appetit. Tertium vas de plunibo
plenum lapidibus pretiosis interius Sf gemmis nomlissimis ;
& exterius erat subscriptio talis : Qui me elegerit, in me
inveniet quod Deus disposuit. Ista tria ostendit puellae,
& dixit : si unum ex istis elegeris, in quo commodum &
proficuum est, filium meum habebis. Si vero elegeris quod
nee tibi nee aliis est commodum, ipsum non habebis."
The young lady, after mature consideration of the vessels
and their inscriptions, chuses the leaden, which being
opened, and found to be full of gold and precious stones,
the emperor says: "Bona puella, bene elegisti — ideo

IV.

Th. S. [Pl: 12.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

XLI

filium meum habebis." — From this abstract of these two
stories, I think it appears sufficiently plain that they are
the remote originals of the two incidents in this play.
That of the caskets, Shakspeare might take from the
English Gesta Romanorum, as Dr. Farmer has observed ;
and that of the bond might come to him from the Fe-
corone; but upon the whole I am rather inclined to sus-
pect, that he has followed some hitherto unknown novel-
ist, who had saved him the trouble of working up the
two stories into one. Tyrwhjtt. ^= This comedy, I believe,
was written in the beginning of the year 1594. Meres's
book was not published till the end of that year. Ma-
i.oNK. =:0f The Merchant of Venice the style is even
and easy, with few peculiarities of diction, or anomalies
of construction. The comic part raises laughter, and the
serious fixes expectation. The probability of either one
or the other story canuot be maintained. The union of
two actions in one event is in this drama eminently happy.
Dryden was much pleased with his own address in con-
necting the two plots of his Spanish Friar, which yet, I
believe, the critic will find excelled by this play. John-
son. =

X. AS YOU LIKE IT.

Was certainly borrowed, if we believe Dr. Grey and Mr.
Upton, from the Coke's Tale of Gamelyn: which by the
way was not printed till a century afterward: when in
truth the old bard, who was no hunter of MSS., contented
himself solely with Lodge's Rosdlynd, or Euphue's Golden
Legacyc, 4to. 1590. Farmer. ^=^ Shakspeare has followed
Lodge's novel more exactly than is his general custom
M hen he is indebted to such worthless originals : and has
sketched some of his principal characters, and borrowed
a few expressions from it. His imitations, &c. however,
are in general too insignificant to merit transcription. —
It should be observed, that the characters of Jaques, the
Clown, and Audrey, are entirely of the poet's own form-
ation. — Although I have never met with any edition of
this comedy before the year 1623, it is evident that such
a publication was at least designed. At the beginning of
the second volume of the entries at Stationers' Hall, are
placed two leaves of irregular prohibitions, notes, &c.
Among these are the following: —
Aug. 4.

"Js you like it, a book i

"Henry the Fift, a book > to be staid."

"The Comedy of Much Ado, a book... \
The dates scattered over these plays are from 1596 to
1615. Steevkns. = This comedy, I believe, was written
in 1599. Malone. = Of this play the fable is wild and
pleasing. I know not how the ladies will approve the
facility with which both Rosalind and Celia give away
their hearts. To Celia much may be forgiven for the
heroism of her friendship. The character of Jaques is
natural and well preserved. The comic dialogue is very
sprightly, with less mixture of low buffoonery than in some
other plays; and the graver part is elegant and harmo-
nious. By hastening to the end of this work, Shakspeare
suppressed the dialogue between the usurper and the
hermit, and lost an opportunity of exhibiting a moral les-
son in which he might have found matter worthy of his
highest powers. Johnson. ==

XI. all's well that ends well.

I HE story of AlVs well that ends well, or, as I suppose

it to have been sometimes called. Love's Labour JFonne,

I is originally indeed the property of Uoccace, but it came

immediately to Shakspeare from Painter's Giletta of NaT'

bon. In the First Vol. of the Palace of Pleasure, 4to.
1566, p. 68. Farmeb. = Shakspeare is indebted to the
novel only for a few leading circumstances in the graver
part of the piece. The comic business appears to be en-
tirely of his own formation. Stkevens. = This comedy,
I imagine, was written in 1606. Malone. = This play
has many delightful scenes, though not sufficiently pro-
bable, and some happy characters, though not uew, nor
produced by any deep knowledge of human nature. Parolles
is a boaster and a coward, such as has always been the
sport of the stage, but perhaps never raised more laugh-
ter or contempt than in the hands of Shakspeare. — I
cannot reconcile my heart to Bertram; a man noble with-
out generosity, and young without truth; who marries
Helen as a coward, and leaves her as a profligate: whea
she is dead by his uakindness, sneaks home to a second
marriage, is accused by a woman whom he has wronged,
defends himself by falsehood, and is dismissed to happi-
ness. — The story of Bertram and Diana had been told
before of Mariana and Angelo, and, to confess the truth,
scarcely merited to be heard a second time. Johnson.=:

XII. TAMING OF THE SHREW.

W E have hitherto supposed Shakspeare the author of
The Taming of the Shrew, but his property in it is ex-
tremely disputable. I will give my opinion, and the rea-
sons on which it is founded. I suppose then the present
play not originally the work of Shakspeare, but restored
by him to the stage, with the whole Induction of the Tin-,
ker; and some other occasional improvements; especially
in the character of Petruchio. It is very obvious that
the Induction and the Play were either the works of dif-
ferent hands, or written at a great interval of time. The
former is in our author's best manner, and a great part
of the latter in his worst, or even below it. Dr. War-
burton declares it to be certainly spurious ; and without
doubt, supposing it to have been written by Shakspeare,
it must have been one of his earliest productions. Yet
it is not mentioned in the list of his works by Meres in
1598. — I have met with a facetious piece of Sir John
Harrington, printed in 1598, (and possibly there may be
an earlier edition,) called The Metamorphosis of Ajax,
where I suspect an allusion to the old play : "Read the
Booke of Taming a Shrew, which hath made a number
of us so perfect, that now every one can rule a shrew
in our countrey, save he that hath hir." — I am aware
a modern linguist may object that the word book does not
at present seem dramatic, but it was ouce technically so :
Gosson, in his Schoole of Abuse, containing a pleasant
Invective against Poets, Pipers, Players, Jesters, and such
like Caterpillars of a Commonwealth, 1579, mentions "twoo
prose bookes played at the Bell-Sauage ;" and Hearne
tells us, in a note at the end of William of Worcester,
that he had seen a MS. in the nature of a Play or In-
terlude, intitled The Booke of Sir Thomas More. — And
in fact there is such an old anonymous play in Mr. Pope's
list: "A pleasant conceited history, called, The Taming
of a Shrew — sundry times acted by the Earl of Pem-
broke his sen'ants." Which seems to have been repub-
lished by the remains of that company in 1607, when
Shakspeare's copy appeared at the Black-Friars or the
Globe. — Nor let this seem derogatory from the character
of our poet. There is no reason to believe that he wanted
to claim the play as his own ; for it was not even printed
till some years after his death; but he merely revived
it on his stage as a manager. — In support of what I
have said relative to this play, let me only observe fur-
ther at present, that the author of Hamlet speaks of
Gonzago, and his wife Baptista; but the author of The
Taming of the Shrew knew Baptista to be the name of

IV.

XLU

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pl: 13.] Th. S.

a man. Mr. Capell indeed made me doubt, by declaring
tlie authenticity of it to be coiiiinncd by tlie testimony
of Sir Aston Cockayn. I knew Sir Aston was much ac-
quainted with the writers immediately subsequent to Siiak-
speare ; and 1 w as not inclined to dispute his authority :
but how was I surprised, when 1 found that Cockayu
ascribes nothing more to Shakspeare, than the Induction-
Wincot-Ale and the Beggar! I hope this was only a slip
of Mr. Capell's memory. Farmer. = In spite of the great
deference wliich is due from every commentator to Dr.
Farmer's judgment, I own I cannot concur with him on
the present occasion. I know not to whom I could im-
pute this comedy, if Shakspeare was not its author. I
think his hand is visible in almo.-t every scene, tliuugh
perhaps not so evidently as in those which pass between
Katharine and Petruchio. — I once thought that the name
of this play might have been taken from an old story,
entitled. The Wyf lapped in MoreWs Skin, or The Turning
of a Shrew ; but I have since discovered among the en-
tries in the books of the Stationers' Company the follow-
ing: "I'eter Shorte] May 2, 1594, a pleasaunt conceited
historic, called. The Taming of a Sftrvwc.^'' It is like-
wise entered to Nich. Ling, Jan. 22, 1606; and to John
Smythwicke, Nov. 19, 1607. — It Mas no uncommon prac-
tice among the authors of the age of Shakspeare, to avail
themselves of the titles of ancient performances. Thus,
as Mr. VVarton has observed, Spenser sent out his Pa-
storals imder the title of The Shepherd''s Kalendar, a work
which had been printed by Wynken de VVorde, and re-
printed about twenty years before these poems of Spen-
ser appeared, viz. 1559. — Dr. Percy, in the lirst volume
of his Retiques of Ancient English Poetry, is of opinion,
that The Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker^s good Fortune,
an ancient ballad in the I'epys' Collection, might have
suggested to Shakspeare the Induction for this comedy. —
The following story, however, which might have been the
parent of all the rest, is related by Burton in his Ana-
tomy of Melancholy, edit. 1632, p. 649 : "A Tartar Prince,
saith Marcus Folus, Lib. II. cap. 28, called Senex de Mon-
tibus, the better to establish his government amongst his
subjects, and to keepe them in awe, found a convenient
place in a pleasant valley environed with hills, in ivhich
he made a delitious parke full of odorifferous flowers and
fruits, and a palace full of all worldly contents that could
possibly be devised, musicke, pictures, variety of meats, &c.
and chose out a certaine young man whom with a sopo-
riferous potion he so benummed, that he perceived no-
thing : and so, fast asleepe as he was, caused him to be
conveied into this faire garden. Where, after he had
lived a while in all such pleasures as sensuall man could
desire, he cast him into a sleepe againe, and brought him
forth, that when he waked he might tell others he had
been in Paradise.'''' — Marco Paolo, quoted by Burton,
was a traveller of the 13th century. — Beaumont and
Fletcher wrote what may be called a sequel to this co-
medy, viz. The JFoman's Prize, or the Tamer Tam'd;
in which Petruchio is subdued by a second wife. Stee-
VBNS. =:Our author's Taming of the Shrew was written,
I imagine, in 1596. Malone. =: Of this play the two plots
are so well united, that they can hardly be called two
without injury to the art with vthich they are interwoven.
The attention is entertained with all the variety of a
double plot, yet is not distracted by unconnected incidents.
— The part between Katharine and Petruchio is emi-
nently spritely and diverting. At the marriage of Bianca
the arrival of the real father, perhaps, produces more
perplexity than pleasure. The whole play is very popular
and diverting. Johnson. = Steevena and Malone have
mentioned several authors by whom stories like that of
Sly in the Induction, have been told, but it is rather
singular they should make no mention of the "Sleeper
.Awakened," in the Arabian Aights' Entertainments, vol. iii.

CUALIUERS. ==

XIII. winter's tale.

1 HIS play, throughout, is written in the very spirit of
its author. And in telling this homely and simple, though
agreeable, country tale.

Our sweetest Shakspeare, fancy''s child,
JFarbles his native wood-notes wild.

This was necessary to observe in mere justice to the play ;
as the meanness of the fable, and the extravagant con-
duct of it, had misled some of great name into a wrong
jugdmcnt of its merit; which, as far as it regards senti-
ment and character, is scarce inferior to any in the whole
collection. Warbubton. = At Stationers' Hall, May 22,
1594, Edward White entered "A book entitled A Wynter
NyghCs Pastime.'''' Steevens. =^ The story of this play
is taken from the Pleasant History of Uorastus and Faw-
nia, written by Robert Greene. Johnson. = In this novel,
the King of Sicilia, whom Shakspeare names

Leontes, is called Egistus.

Polixenes K. of Bohemia Pandosto.

Mamillius P. of Sicilia Garinter.

Florizel P. of Bohemia Dorastus.

Camillo Franion.

Old Shepherd Porrus.

Hermione Bellatiik^

Perdita Faunia.

Mopsa Mopsa,

The parts of Antigonus, Paulina, and Autolycus, are of
the poet's own invention; but many circumstances of the
novel are omitted in the play. Steevens. = Dr. War-
burtuu, by "some of great name," means Dryden and
Pope. See the Essay at the end of the Second Part of
The Conquest of Grenada: "Witness the lameness of their
plots; [the plots of Shakspeare and Fletcher;] many of
which, especially those which they wrote first, (for even
that age reiiued itself in some measure,) were made up
of some ridiculous incoherent story, which in one play
many times took up the business of an age. I suppose
I need not name, Pericles, Prince of Tyre, [and here,
by-the-by, Dryden expressly names Pericles as our author's
production,] nor the historical plays of Shakspeare; besides
many of the rest, as the lFinter''s Tale, Love's Labour's
Lost, Measure for Measure, which were either grounded
on impossibilities, or at least so meanly written, that the
comedy neither caused your mirth, nor the serious part
your concernment." Mr. Pope, in the Preface to his
edition of our author's plays, pronounced the same ill-
considered judgment on the play before us: "I should
conjecture (says he) of some of the others, particularly
Love's Labour's Lost, The Winter's Tale, Comedy of
Errors, and Titus Jndronicus, that only some chtiracters,
single scenes, or perhaps a few particular passages, were
of his hand." — None of our author's plays has been
more censured for the breach of dramatic rules than The
Winter's Tale. In confirmation of what Mr. Steevens has
remarked in another' place — "that Shakspeare was not
ignorant of these rules, but disregarded them," — it may
be observed, that the laws of the drama are clearly laid
down by a writer once universally read and admired. Sir
Philip Sidney, who, in his Defence of Poetie, 1595, has
pointed out the very improprieties into which our author
has fallen in this play. After mentioning the defects of
the tragedy of Gorboduc, he adds : "But if it be so in
Gorboducke, how much more in all the rest, where you
shall have Asia of the one side, and Affricke of the other,
and so manie under kingdomes, that the player when he
comes in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or
else the tale will not be conceived. — Now of time they
are much more liberal. For ordinarie it is, that two
young princes fall in love, after many traverses she is
got with childe, delivered of a faire boy: he is lost,
groweth a man, fallefh in love, and is ready to get aa-

IV.

Th. S. [Pl; 14.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

XLIII

other childe, and all this in two houres upace : which
how absurd it ist in sence, even sence may imagine." —
The jyinter's Tale is sneered at by B. Jonsoii, in the
Induction to Bartholomew Fair, 1614: "If there be never '
a servant-monster in the fair, who can help it, nor a nest
of antiques'^ He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, j
like those that beget Tales, Tempests, and such like
drolleries." By the nest of antiques, the twelve satyrs
who are introduced at the sheep-shearing festival, are
alluded to. — In his conversation with Mr. Druramond,
of Hawthornden, in 1G19, he has another stroke at his j
beloved friend: „He [Jonson] said, that Shakspeare wanted |
art, and sometimes sense ; for in one of his plays he |
brought in a number of men, saying they had suffered j
shipwreck in Bohemia, where is no sea near by 100 miles." I
Drummuud's Works, fol. 225, edit. ITII. — When this re- j
mark was made by Ben Jonson, 2'he Winter's Tale was
not printed. These words, therefore, are a sufficient an-
swer to Sir T. Hanmer's idle supposition that Bohemia
was an error of the press for Bythinia. — This play, 1

imagine, was written in the year 1611. Malone. Sir

Thomas Haumer gave himself much needless concern that
Shakspeare should consider Bohemia as a maritime coun-
try. He would have us read Bythinia: but our author
implicitly copied the novel before him. Dr. Grey, indeed,
was apt to believe that Dorastus and Faunia might rather
be borrowed from the play; but I have met with a copy
of it which was printed in 1588. — Cervantes ridicules
tkese geographical mistakes, when he makes the princess
Micomicona land at Ossuna. — Corporal Trim's king of
Bohemia "delighted in navigation, and had never a sea-
port iu his dominions;" and my Lord Herbert tells us,
that De Luines, the prime minister of France, when he
was ambassador there, demanded, whether Bohemia was
au inland country, or lay "upon the sea'f" — There is a
similar mistake in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, relative
to that city and Milan. Farmer. = The Winter's Tale
may be ranked among the historic plays of Shakspeare,
though not one of his numerous critics and commentators
have discovered the drift of it. It was certainly intended
(in compliment to Queen Elizabeth,) as an indirect apo-
logy for her mother, Anne Boleyn. The address of the
poet appears no where to more advantage. The subject
was too delicate to be exhibited on the stage without a
veil; and it was too recent, and touched the Queen too
nearly, for the bard to have ventured so home an allu-
sion on any other ground than compliment. The unrea-
sonable jealousy of Leontes, and his violent conduct in
consequence, form a true portrait of Henry the Eighth,
who generally made the law the engine of his boisterous
passions. Not only the general plan of the story is most
applicable, but several passages are so marked, that they
touch the real history nearer than the fable. Hermione
on her trial says :

"-^— for honour,

"'Tis a derivative from me to mine,

"And only that I stand for." «.

This seems to be taken from the very letter of Anne Bo-
leyn to the king before her execution, where she pleads
for the infant princess his daughter. Mamillius, the young
prince, au unnecessary character, dies in his infancy ; but
it confirms the allusion, as Queen Anne, before Elizabeth,
bore a still-born son. But the most striking passage, and
which had nothing to do in the tragedy, but as it pic-
tured Elizabeth, is, where Paulina, describing the new-
born princess, and her likeness to her father, says : "She
has the very trick of his frown." There is one sentence
indeed so applicable, both to Elizabeth and her father,
that I should suspect the poet inserted it after her death.
Paulina, speaking of the child, tells the king:

" — — 'Tis yours;

"And might we lay the old proverb to your charge,

"&o like you, 'tis the worse."

The Winter's Tale was, therefore, in reality a second
part of Henry the Eighth. Waipole. =^ This play, as
Dr. Warburton justly observes, is, with all its absurdities,
very entertaining. The character of Autolycus is natu-
rally conceived, and strongly represented. Johnson. =

XIV. COMEDY OF ERRORS.

kJHAKsPEARE might have taken the general plan of this
comedy from a translation of the Meucechmi of Plautus,
by W. W. i. e. (according to Wood) William Warner, iu
1595, whose version of the acrostical argument hereafter
quoted is as follows: —

"Two twinne borne sonncs a Sicill marchant had,
"Menechmus one, and Sosicles the other;

"The first his father lost, a little lad;
"The grandsirc namde the latter like his brother:

"This (growne a man) long travell took to seeke
"His brother, and to Epidamnum came,

"Where th' other dwelt inricht, and him so like,
"That citizens there take him for the same,

"Father, wife, neighbours, each mistaking eithei,
Much pleasant error, ere they meet togither."

Perhaps the last of these lines suggested to Shakspeare
the title for his piece. — See this translation of the Me-
ncechmi, among six old Flays on which Shakspeare founded,
&c. published by S. Leacroft, Charing cross. — At the be-
ginning of an address Ad Lectorem, prefixed to the er-
rata of Decker's Satiromastix, &c. 1602, is the following
passage, which apparently alludes to the title of the co-
medy before us: — "In steed of the Trumpets sounding
thrice before the play begin, it shall not be ainissc (for
him that will read) first to beholde this short Comedy of
Errors, and where the greatest enter, to give them in-
stead of a hisse, a gentle correction." Steevexs. = I
suspect this and all other plays where much rhyme is
used, and especially long hobbling verses, to have been
among Shakspeare's more early productions. Blackstoke.
= I am possibly singular in thinking that Shakspeare
was not under the slightest obligation, in forming this
comedy, to Warner's translation of the Mencechmi. The
additions of Erotes and Sereptus, which do not occur in
that translation, and he could never invent, are, alone,
a sufficient inducement to believe that he was no way
indebted to it. But a further and more convincing proof
is, that he has not a name, line, or word, from the old
play, nor any one incident but what must, of course he
common to every translation. Sir William Blackstone, I
observe, suspects "this and all other plays where much
rhyme is used, and especially long hobbling verses, to have
been among Shakspeare's more early productions." But
i much doubt whether any of these "long hobbling verses"
have the honour of proceeding from his pen : and, iu fact,
the superior elegance and harmony of his language is no
less distinguishable in his earliest than his latest produc-
tion. The truth is, if any inference can he drawn from
the most striking dissimilarity of style, a tissue as dif-
ferent as silk and worsted, that this comedy, though boast-
ing the embellishments of our author's genius, in addi-
tional words, lines, speeches, and scenes, was not origin-
ally his, but proceeded from some inferior playw/ight,
who was capable of reading the Mencechmi without the
help of a translation, or, at least, did not make use of
Warner's. And this I take to have been the case, not
only with the three Parts of King Henry VI. as I think
a late editor (0 si sic omnia!) has satisfactorily proved,
but with The Two Gentlemen of J'erona, Love's Labour'i
Lost, and King Bichard JI., in all which pieces Shak-
speare's new work is as apparent as the brightest touches
of Titian would be on the poorest performance of the
veriest canvas-spoiler that ever handled a brush. The ori-
ginals of these plays, (except The Second and Third Parts
of King Henry VI.) were never printed, and may be

IV.

XLIV

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pl: 15.] Th. S.

thnught to have been put into hia hands by the manager,
for the purpose of alteration and improvement, which
we find to have been an ordinary practice of the theatre
in his time. We are therefore no longer to look upon
tJie above "pleasant and fine conceited coraedie," as en-
titled to a situation among the "nix plays on which Shak-
npeare founded his Measure for Measure,'' &c. of which
I should hope to see a new and improved edition. RiT-
80N. = This comedy, I believe, was w ritten in 1392. Ma-
lone. ==z On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes,
I do not hesilate to pronounce them the composition of
two very unequal vmters. Shakspeare had undoubtedly
a share in them; but that the entire play was no work
of his, is an opinion whieh (as Benedick says) "lire can-
not melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake." Thus,
as we are informed by Aulas Gellius, Lib. III. cap. 3.
some plays were absolutely ascribed to Plautus, which in
truth had only been {retractatas et expoliiw) retouched
and polished by him. — In this comedy we find more in-
tricacy of plot than distinction of character; and our at-
tention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in
great measure how the denouement will be brought about.
Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dis-
missed, even in this last and unnecessary scene, where
the same mistakes are continued, till their power of af-
fording entertainment is entirely lost. Steeveks. = The
long doggrel verses that Shakspeare has attributed in this
play to the two Dromios, are written in that kind of metre
which was usually attributed, by the dramatic poets be-
fore his lime, in their comic pieces, to some of their in-
ferior characters; and this circumstance is one of many
that authorizes us to place the preceding comedy, as well
as Love's Labour's Lost, and The Taming of the Shrew,
(where the same kind of versification is likewise found,)
among our author's earliest productions ; composed pro-
bably at a time when he was imperceptibly infected with
the prevailing mode, and before he had completely learned
"to deviate boldly from the common track." Malone. =
Mr. Malone also, in opposition to Mr. Steevens, asserts
his firm opinion, that the whole of the present comedy
was written by Shakspeare. Chalmers, =

XV. MACBETH.

In order to make a true estimate of the abilities and
merit of a writer, it is always necessary to examine the
genius of his age, and the opinions of his contemporaries.
A poet who should nnvf make the whole action of his
tragedy depend upon enchantment, and produce the chief
events by the assistance of supernatural agents, would
be censured as transgressing the bounds of probability,
be banished from the theatre to the nursery, and con-
demned tu write fairy tales instead of tragedies ; but a
survey of the notions that prevailed at the time when
this play was written, will prove that Shakspeare was in
no danger of such censures, since he only turned the
system that was then universally admitted, to his advant-
age, and was far from overburdening the credulity of his
audi(a:ce. — The reality of witchcraft or enchantment,
which, though not strictly the same, are confounded in
this play, ha6 in all ages and countries been credited by
the common people, and in most, by the learned them-
selves. The phantoms have indeed appeared more fre-
quently, in proportion as the darkness of ignorance has
been more gross ; but it cannot be shown, that the brightest
gleams of knowledge have at any time been sufficient to
ilrive them out of the world. The time in w^hich this
kind of credulity was at its height, seems to have been
that of the holy war, in which the Christians imputed
all their defeats to enchantments or diabolical opposition,
as they ascribed their success to the assistance of the

military saints; and the learned Dr. Warburton appears
to believe (Supplement to the Introduction to Don Quixote)
that the first accounts of enchantments were brought into
this part of the world by those who returned from their
eastern expeditions. But there is always some distance
between the birth and maturity of folly as of wickedness :
this opinion had long existed, though perhaps the appli-
cation of it had in no foregoing age been so frequent,
nor the reception so general. Olympiodorus, in Photius's
Extracts, tells us of one Libanius who practised this kind
of military magic, and having promised ywQig onhjuJV
xarit /S«(;jS««w»' ifffyyfTy, to perform great things
against the Barbarians without soldiers, was, at the in-
stance of the empress Placidia, put to death, when he
was about to have given proofs of his abilities. The
empress showed some kindness in her anger, by cutting
him off at a time so convenient for his reputation. —
But a more remarkable proof of the antiquity of this no-
tion may be found in St. Chrysostom's book de Sacer-
dotio, which exhibits a scene of enchantments not exceeded
by any romance of the middle age: he supposes a spec-
tator overlooking a field of battle, attended by one that
points out all the various objects of horror, the engines
of destruction and the arts of slaughter. /Ittxvmo iSh
exi 7iit(j(< TO/'? ivccyjioig yixi Tierofj^vovs innovg 6ni
iivog fiayyavfing, xetl oTikiTaq di n^gos iftQO^^i'ovg,
xc(l naariU yoriTd'ctg dvpn/niv xtd iJ^c<y. Let him then
proceed to show him in the opposite armies flying horses
by enchantment, armed men transported through the air,
and every power and form of magic. Whether St. Chry-
sostom believed that such performances were really to be
seen in a day of battle, or only endeavoured to enliven
his description, by adopting the notions of the vulgar, it
is equally certain, that such notions were in his time re-
ceived, and that therefore they were not imported from
the Saracens in a later age ; the wars with the Saracens
however gave occasion to their propagation, not only as
bigotry naturally discovers prodigies, but as the scene of
action was removed to a great distance. — The Reform-
ation did not immediately arrive at its meridian, and
though day was gradually increasing upon us, the goblins
of witchcraft still continued to hover in the twilight. In
the time of Queen Elizabeth was the remarkable trial of
the witches of Warbois, whose conviction is still comme-
morated in an annual sermon at Huntingdon. But in the
reign of King James, in which this tragedy was written,
many circumstances concurred to propagate and confirm
this opinion. The king, who was much celebrated for
his knowledge, had, before his arrival in England, not
only examined in person a woman accused of witchcraft,
but had given a very formal account of the practices and
illusions of evil spirits, the compacts of witches, the ce-
remonies used by them, the manner of detecting them,
and the justice of punishing them, in his dialogues of
Dcemonologie, written in the Scottish dialect, and published
at Edinburgh. This book was, soon after his succession,
reprinted at London; 'and as the ready way to gain King
James's favour was to flatter his speculations, the system
of Dcemonologie was immediately adopted by all who de-
sired either to gain preferment or not to lose it. Thus
the doctrine of witchcraft was very powerfully inculcated;
and as the greatest part of mankind have no other rea-
son for their opinions than that they are in fashion, it
cannot be doubted but this persuasion hiade a rapid pro-
gress, since vanity and credulity co-operated in its favour.
The infection soon reached the parliament, who, in the
first year of King James, made a law, by which it was
enacted, (chap, xii.) That "if any person shall use any
invocation or conjuration of any evil or wicked spirit;
2. or shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed
or reward any evil or cursed spirit to or for any intent
or purpose; 3. or take up any dead man, woman, or child,
out of the grave, — or the skin, bone, or any part of the

IV.

Th. S. [Pl; 16.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

XLV

dead person, to be employed or used in any manner of
witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment ; 4. or shall
use, practise, or exercise any sort of witchcraft, sorcery,
charm, or enchantment; 5. whereby any person shall be
destroyed, killed, wasted, consumed, pined, or lamed in
any part of the body; 6. That every such person being
convicted shall suffer death." This law was repealed in
our own time. — Thus, in the time of Shakspeare, was
the doctrine of witchcraft at once established by law and
by the fashion, and it became not only unpolite, but cri-
minal, to doubt it; and as prodigies are always seen in
proportion as they are expected, witches were every day
discovered, and multiplied so fast in some places, that
Biiihop Hall mentions a village in Lancashire, where their
number was greater than that of the houses. The Jesuits
and sectaries took advantage of this universal error, and
endeavoured to promote the interest of their parties by
pretended cures of persons afflicted by evil spirits; but
they were detected and exposed by the clergy of the
established church. — Upon this general infatuation Shak-
speare might be easily allowed to found a play, especially
fiiuce he has followed with great exactness such histories
as were then thought true; nor can it be doubted that
the scenes of enchantment, however they may now be
ridiculed, were both by himself and his audience thought
awful and affecting. Johnson. = In the concluding para-
graph of Dr. Johnson's admirable introduction to this play,
he seems apprehensive that the fame of Shakspeare's
magic may be endangered by modern ridicule. I shall
not hesitate, however, to predict its security, till our na-
tional taste is wholly corrupted, and we no longer de-
serve the first of all dramatic enjoyments; for such, in
my opinion at least, is the tragedy of Macbeth. Stek-

VESS. This tragedy was written, I believe, in the year

1608. Maionk. ==: This play is deservedly celebrated for
the propriety of its fictions, and solemnity, grandeur, and
variety of its action; but it has no nice discriminations
of character: the events are too great to admit the in-
fluence of particular dispositions, and the course of the
action necessarily determines the conduct of the agents.
— The danger of ambition is well described; and I know
not whether it may not be said, in defence of some parts
which now seem improbable, that, in Shakspeare's time,
it was necessary to warn credulity against vain and il-
lusive predictions. — The passions are directed to their
true end. Lady Macbeth is merely detested ; and though
the courage of Macbeth preserves some esteem, yet every
reader rejoices at his fall. Johnson. =z

XVI. KING JOHN.

1. HE troublesome reign of King John was written in two
parts, by W. Shakspeare and W. Rowley, and printed
1611. But the present play is entirely different, and in-
finitely superior to it. Pope.=^ The edition of 1611 has
no mention of Rowley, nor in the account of Rowley's
works is any mention made of his conjunction with Shak-
speare in any play. King John was reprinted in two
parts, in 1(J22. The first edition that I have found of
this play, in its present form, is that of 1623, in folio.
The edition of 1591 I have not seen. Johnson. = Dr.
Johnson mistakes, when he says there is no mention, in
Rowley's works, of any conjunction with Shakspeare. The
Birth of Merlin is ascribed to them jointly, though I
cannot believe Shakspeare had any thing to do with it.
Mr. Capell is equally mistaken, when he says (Pref. p. 15.)
that Rowley is called his partner in the title-page of
The Merry Devil of Edmonton. — There must have been
some tradition, however erroneous, upon which Mr.
Pope's account was founded. 1 make no doubt that Rowley
wrote the first King John; and when Shakspeare's play

was called for, and coald not be procured from the players,
a piratical bookseller reprinted the old one, with If^. Sh.
in the title-page. Fabmbb. ^= The elder play of King
John was first published in 1591. Shakspeare has pre-
served the greatest part of the conduct of it, as well aa
some of the lines. The number of quotations from Ho-
race, and similar scraps of learning scattered over this
motley piece, ascertain it to have been the work of a
scholar. It contains likewise a quantity of rhyming Latin,
and ballad-metre; and in a scene where the Bastard is
represented as plundering a monastery, there are strokes
of humour, which seem, from their particular turn, to
have been most evidently produced by another hand than
that of our author. — Of this historical drama there is
a subsequent edition in 1611, printed for John Helme,
whose name appears before none of the genuine pieces
of Shakspeare. I admitted this play some years ago as
our author's own, among the twenty which I published
from the old editions ; but a more careful perusal of it,
and a further conviction of his custom of borrowing plots,
sentiments, &c. disposes me to recede from that opinion.
Steevens. = A play entitled The troublesome Raigne of
John King of England, in two parts, was printed in 1591,
without the writer's name. It was written, I believe,
either by Robert Greene, or George Peele; and certainly
preceded this of our author. Mr. Pope, who is very in-
accurate in matters of this kind, says that the former was
printed in 1611, as written by \V. Shakspeare and W.
Rowley. But this is not true. In the second edition of
this old play, in 1611, the letters TT. Sh. were put into
the title-page, to deceive the purchaser, and to lead him
to suppose the piece was Shakspeare's play, which, at
that time, was not published. Our author's King John
was written, I imagine, in 1596. Malone. = Though this
play have the title of The Life and Death of King John,
yet the action of it begins at the thirty-fourth year of
his life, and takes in only some transactions of his reign
to the time of his demise, being an interval of about se-
venteen years. Theobald. = Hall, Holinshed, Stowe, &c.
are closely followed, not only in the conduct, but some-
times in the very expressions, throughout the following
historical dramas, \iz. Macbeth, this play, Richard II.
Henry IF. two parts, Henry V. Henry J I. three parts,
Richard III. and Henry T III. — "A booke called The
Historic of Lord Faulconbridge, bastard son to Richard
Cordelion," was entered at Stationers' Hall, Nov. 29, 1614;
but I have never met with it, and therefore know not
whether it was the old black letter history, or a play
upon the same subject. For the original King John, see
Six old Plays on which Shakspeare founde-l, &c. published
by S. Leacroft, Charing-cross. Steevens. = The Historie
of Lord Faulconbridge, &c. is a prose narrative, in bl. 1.
The earliest edition that I have seen of it w.is printed
in 1616. But by an entry on the Stationers' Registers,
29th Nov. 1614, it appears that there had been an old
edition of the tract, entitled. The History of George JF.
Faulconbridge, the son of Richard Cordelion, and that the
copy had been assigned by (William) Barley to Thomas
Beale. — A book entitled Richard Cur de Lion, was en-
tered on the Stationers' Books in 1558. — A play called
The Funeral of Richard Cordelion, was written by Ro-
bert AVilson, Henry Chettle, Anthony Mundy, and Mi-
chael Drayton, and first exhibited in the year 1598. Ma-
lone. = The tragedy of King John, though not written
with the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied with a
very pleasing interchange of incidents and characters. The
lady's grief is very affecting; and the character of the
Bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity
which this author delighted to exhibit. Johnson. =s

IV.

XLVI

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

[Pl: 19.] Tn. S.

XVII. KIi\G RICHARD II.

1 HIS history cotnprities little more than the two last years
of this prince. The action of the drama begins with
Boliiigbroke's appealing the duke of Norfolk, on an ac-
cusation of high treason, which fell out in the year 1398;
and it closes with the murder of king Richard at Pom-
fret Castle, towards the end of the year 1400, or the be-
ginning of the ensuing year. Theobald. =: It is evident
from a passage in Camden's Annals, that there was an
old play on the subject of Richard the Second ; but I
know not in what language. Sir Gillie Merick, who was
concerned in the hare-brained business of the earl of
Essex, who was hanged for it, with the ingenious CulTe,
in l(i01, is accused, amongst other things "quod exole-
tara tragoediam de tragica abdicatione regis Ricardi Se-
cundi in publico theatro coram conjuratis dat4 pecunia agi
curasset." — I have since met with a passage in my lord
Racon, which proves this play to have been in English.
It is in the arraignments of Cuffe and Merick, Vol. IV.
p. 412., of Mallet's edition : "The afternoon before the
rebellion, Merick, with a great company of others, that
afterwards were all in the action, had procured to be
played before them the play of deposing King Richard
the Second; — when it was told him by one of the players,
that the play was old, and they should have loss in play-
ing it, because few would come to it, there was forty
shillings extraordinary given to play, and so thereupon
played it was." — It may be worth enquiring, whether
some of the rhyming parts of the present play, which
Mr. Pope thought of a diflFerent hand, might not be bor-
rowed from the old one. Certainly, however, the general
tendency of it must have been very different; since, as
Dr. Johnson observes, there are some expressions in this
of Shakspeare, which strongly inculcate the doctrine of

indefeasible right. Farmer. Bacon elsewhere glances

at the same transaction; "And for your comparison with
Richard II. I see you follow the example of them that
brought him upon the stage, and into print in queen Eli-
zabeth's lime." Works, Vol, IV. p. 278. The partizans
of Essex had, therefore, procured the publication as well
as the acting of this play. Holt White. = It is pro-
bable, I think, that the play which Sir Gilly Merick pro-
cured to be represented, bore the title of Henry IV. and
not of RicHARB II. — Camden calls it — "exoletam tra-
gffidiam de tragica abdicatione regis Ricardi Secundi;" and
Lord Bacon (in his account of The effect of that which
passed at the arraignment of Merick and others,) says:
"that the afternoon before the rebellion, Merick had
procured to be played before them, the play of deposing
King Richard the Second." But in a more particular ac-
count of the proceeding against Merick, which is printed
iu the State Trials, Vol. VII. p. 60. the matter is stated
thus : "The story of Henry IV. being set forth in a play,
and in that play, there being set forth the killing of the
king upon the stage ; the Friday before, sir Gilly Merick
and some others of the earl's train having an humour to
see a play, they must needs have The Play of Henry IV.
The players told them that was stale; they should get
nothing by playing that; but no play else would serve:
and sir Gilly Merick gives forty shillings to Philips the
player to play this, besides whatsoever he could get." —
Augustine Philippes w as one of the patentees of the Globe
play-house with Shakspeare, in 1603: but the play here
described was certainly not Shakspeare's Hesry IV. as
that commences above a year after the death of Richard.
Tyrrwhitt. =r This play of Shakspeare was first en-
tered at Stationers' Hall by Andrew Wise, Aug. 29, 1597.
Stbevens. = Mr. Malone thinks that this play was writ-
ten in 1593, that it was Shakspeare's first tragic perform-
ance, and is as manifestly his production as his more
highly wrought and finished pieces. Mr. M. wonders that

Dr. Farmer should give any countenance to the idle no-
tion entertained by Mr. Pope, that "some of the rhyming
parts in this tragedy were of a different hand." Chalmers.
:^= This play is extracted from the Chronicle of Holinshead,
in which many passages may be found which Shakspeare
has, with very little alteration, transplanted into his scenes;
particularly a speech of the bishop of Carlisle, in defence
of King Richard's unalienable right, and immunity from
human jurisdiction. — Jonson, who, in his Catiline and
Sejanus, has inserted many speeches from the Roman
historians, was perhaps induced to that practice by the
example of Shakspeare, who had condescended sometimes
to copy more ignoble writers. But Shakspeare had more
of his own than Jonson ; and, if he sometimes w as willing
to spare his labour, showed by what he performed at
other times, that his extracts were made by choice or
idleness rather than necessity. — This play is one of
those which Shakspeare has apparently revised ; but as
success in works of invention is not always proportionate
to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force
of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to
affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding. John-
son. = The notion that Shakspeare revised this play,
though it has long prevailed, appears to mc extremely
doubtful ; or, to speak more plainly, I do not believu it.
Malone. =

XVIII. KING HENRY IV.

PART I.

I HE transactions contained in this historical drama are
comprised within the period of about ten months; for the
action commences with the news brought of Hotspur hav-
ing defeated the Scots under Archibald earl of Douglas
at Holmedon, (or Halidown-hill,) which battle was fought
on Holy-rood day, (the 14th of September,) 1402 ; and it
closes with the defeat and death of Hotspur at Shrews-
bury; which engagement happened on Saturday the 21st
of July, (the eve of Saint Mary Magdalen,) in the year
1403. Theobald. ='This play was first entered at Sta-
tioners' Hall, Feb. 25, 1597, by Andrew Wise. Again, by
M. Woolff, Jan. 9, 1598. For the piece supposed to have
been its original, see Six old Plays on which Shakspeare
founded, &c. published for S. Leacroft, Charing-cross.
Steevens. =: Shakspeare has apparently designed a re-
gular connexion of these dramatic histories from Richard
the Second to Henry the Fifth, King Henry, at the end
of Richard the Second, declares his purpose to visit the
Holy Land, which he resumes in the first speech of this
play. The complaint made by King Henry iu the last
Act of Richard the Second, of the wildness of his son,
prepares the reader for the frolics which are here to be
recounted, and the characters which are now to be ex-
hibited. Johnson. = This comedy was written, I believe,
in the year 1597. Malone. =

XIX. KING HENRY IV.

PART II.

1 HE transactions comprized iu this history take up about
nine years. The action commences with the account of
Hotspur's being defeated and killed [1403] ; and closes
with the death of King Henry IV. and the coronation of
King Henry V. (1412-13.] Theobald. = This play was
entered at Stationers' Hall, August 23, 1600. Stkevens.
= The Second Part of King Henry IF. I suppose to
have been written in 1598. Malone. = Mr. Upton thinks
these two plays improperly called The First and Second
Parts of Henry the Fourth. The first play ends, he says,
with the peaceful settlement of Henry in the kingdom by

rv.

Th. S. [Pl: 20.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

XLVII

the defeat of the rebels. This is hardly true: for the
rebels are not yet finally suppressed. The second, he
tells us, shows Henry the Fifth in the various lig-hta of
a good-natured rake, till, on his father's death, he as-
sumes a more manly character. This is true; but this
representation gives us no idea of a dramatic action. These
two plays -will appear to every reader, who shall peruse
them without ambitiou of critical discoveries, to be so
connected, that the second is merely a sequel to the first;
to be two only because they are too long to be one.
Johnson. = I fancy every reader, when he ends this play,
cries out with Desdemona, "O most lame and impotent
conclusion!" As this play was not, to our knowledge, di-
vided into acts by the author, I could be content to con-
clude it with the death of Henry the Fourth:

"In that Jerusalem shall Harry die."

These scenes, Mhich now make the fifth Act of Henry
the Fourth, might then be the first of Henry the Fifth;
but the truth is, that they do not unite very coinmodiously
to either play. When these plays were represented, I
believe they ended as they are now ended in the books ;
but Shakspearc seems to have designed that the whole
series of action, from the beginning of Richard the Se-
cond, to the end of Henry the Fifth, should be consi-
dered by the reader as one work, upon one plan, only
broken into parts by the necessity of exhibition. — None
of Shakspeare's plays are more read than the First and
Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. Perhaps no author
has ever, in two plays, afforded so much delight. The
great events are interesting, for the fate of kingdoms de-
pends upon them; the slighter occurrences are diverting,
and, except one or two, sufficiently probable: the inci-
dents are multiplied with wonderful fertility of invention,
and the characters diversified with the utmost nicety of
discernment, and the profoundest skill in the nature of
man. — The prince, who is the hero both of the comic
and tragic part, is a young man of great abilities and
violent passions, whose sentiments are right, though his
actions are wrong; whose virtues are obscured by negli-
gence, and whose understanding is dissipated by levity.
In his idle hours he is rather loose than wicked ; and
when the occasion forces out his latent qualities, he is
great without effort, and brave without tumult. The trifler
is roused into a hero, and the hero again* reposes in the
trifler. The character is great, original, and just. —
Percy is a rugged soldier, choleric and quarrelsome, and
has only the soldier's virtues, generosity and coui'age. —
But FalstaflF unimitated, unimitable FalstafF, how shall I
describe thee? thou compound of sense and vice; of sense
which may be admired, but not esteemed ; of vice which
may be despised, but hardly detested. FalstafF is a cha-
racter loaded with faults, and with those faults which
naturally produce contempt. He is a thief and a glutton,
a coward and a boaster, always ready to cheat the weak,
and prey upon the poor ; to terrify the timorous, and in-
sult the defenceless. At once obsequious and malignant,
he satirizes iu their absence those whom he lives by flat-
tering. He is familiar with the prince only as an agent
of vice, but of this familiarity he is so proud, as not only
to be supercilious and haughty with common men, but to
think his interest of importance to the duke of Lancaster.
Yet the man thus corrupt, thus despicable, makes himself
necessary to the prince that despises him, by the most
pleasing of all qualities, perpetual gaiety, by an unfailing
power of exciting laughter, which is the more freely in-
dulged, as his wit is not of the splendid or ambitious
kind, bnt consists in easy scapes and sallies of levity,
which make sport, but raise no envy. It must be ob-
served, that he is stained with no enormous or sanguin-
ary crimes, so that his licentiousness is not so off'enhive
bat that it may be borne for his mirth. — The moral
to be drawn from this representation is, that no man is

more dangerous than he that, with a will to corrupt, hath
the power to please ; and that neither wit nor honesty
ought to think themselves safe with such a companion,
when they see Henry seduced by Falstaff. Johnson, =:

XX. KING HENRY V.

1 his play was writ (as appears from a passage in the
chorus to the fifth Act) at the time of the earl of Essex's
commanding the forces in Ireland in the reign of queen
Elizabeth, and not till after Henry the Sixth had been
played, as may be seen by the conclusion of this play.
Pope. = The transactions comprized iu this historical play
commence about the latter end of the first and terminate
in the eighth year of this king's reign : when he married
Katharine princess of France, and closed up the differ-
ences betwixt England and that crown. Theobald. =
This play, in the quarto edition, 1G08, is styled The Chro-
nicle History of Henry, &c. which seems to have been
the title anciently appropriated to all Shakspeare's his-
torical dramas. So, iu The Antipodes, a comedy, by R.
Brorae, 1638:

"These lads can act the emperors' lives all over,
"And Shakspeare's Chronicled Histories to boot."

The players likewise, in the folio edition, 1623, rank these
pieces under the title of Histories. — It is evident that
a play on this subject had been performed before the
year 1392. Nash, in Pierce Penniless his Supplication to
the Devil, dated 1392, says, "what a glorious thing it is
to have Henry the Fifth represented on the stage, lead-
ing the French king prisoner, and forcing both him and
the Dolphin to sweare fealtie." — Perhaps this is the
same play as was thus entered in the books of the Sta-
tioners' Company: "Thu. Strode] May 2, 1594. A booke
intituled The famous Plctories of Henry the Fift, con-
taining the honorable Battle of Agincourt " There are
two more entries of a play of Henry V. viz. between 1596
und 1615, and one August 14th, 1600. I have two copies
of it in my possession ; one w ithout date, (which seems
much the elder of the two,) and another, (apparently
printed from il,) dated 1617, though printed by Ber-
nard Alsop, (who was printer of the other edition,) and
sold by the same person, and at the same place. Alsop
appears to have been a printer before the year 1600, and
was afterwards one of the twenty appointed by decree
of the Star-chamber to print for this kingdom. I believe,
however, this piece to have been prior to that of Shak-
spearc for several reasons. First, because it is highly
probable that it is the very "displeasing play" alluded
to iu the epilogue to The Second Part of King Henry IV.
— for Oldcastle died a martyr. Oldcastle is the FalstafF
of the piece, which is despicable, and full of ribaldry and
impiety from the iirst scene to the last. — Secondly, be-
cause Shakspeare seems to have taken not a few hints
from it; for it comprehends, in some measure, the story
of the two Parts of Henry IF. as well as of Henry V.:
and no ignorance, I think, could debase the gold of Shak-
speare into such dross; though lio chemistry but that of
Shakspeare could exalt such base metal into gold. — When
the Prince of Wales, in Henry IV., calls Falstaff my old
lad of the Castle, it is probably but a sneering allusion
to the deserved fate which this performance met with;
for there is no proof that our poet was ever obliged to
change the name of Oldcastle into that of Falstaff, though
there is an absolute certainty that this piece must have
been condemned by any audience before whom it was
ever represented. — Lastly, because it appears (as Dr.
Farmer has observed) from the Jests of the famous co-
median, Tarlton, 4to. 1611, that he had been particularly

IV.

XLVIII

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

[Pl:21.] Th.S.

celebrated in the part of the Clown, -) in Henry V. and
though this character does not exist in our play, we find
it in the other, which, for the reasons already enumerated,
1 suppose to have been prior to this. — This anonymous
play of Henry V. is neither divided into Acts or Scenes,
is uncommonly short, and has all the appearance of hav-
ing been imperfectly taken down during the representa-
tion. As much of it appears to have been omitted, wc
may suppose that the author did not think it convenient
for his reputation to publish a more ample copy. — There
is, indeed, a play, called Sir John Oldcastle, published
in 1600, with the name of William Shakepeare prefixed
to it. The prologue being very short, I shall quote it,
as it serves to prove that a former piece, in which the
character of Oldcastle was introduced, had given great
offence :

"The doubtful title (gentlemen) prefixt
"llpon the argument we have in band,
"May breed suspense, and wrongfully disturbe
"The peaceful quiet of your settled thoughts.
"To slop which scruple, let this breefe suffice :
"It is no pamper'd glutton we present,
"^'or aged councellour to youthful sinne;
"But one, whose vertuc shone above the rest,
"A valiant martyr, and a vertuous peere ;
"In whose true faith and loyalty exprest
"Unto his soveraigne, and his countries weale,
"We strive to pay that tribute of our love
"Your favours merit: let faire truth be grac'd,
"Since forg'd invention former time defac'd."

Steevens.

The piece to which Nash alludes is the old anonymous
play of King Henry V., which had been exhibited before
the year 15b9, Tarlton, the comedian, who performed in
it both the parts of the chief justice and the clown, hav-
ing died in that year. It was entered on the Stationers'
books in 1594, and, I believe, printed in that year, though
I have not met wiih a copy of that date. An edition
of it, printed in loflS, was in the valuable collection of
Dr. Wright. — The play before us appears to have been
written in the middle of the year 1599. — The old King
Henry V. may be found among Six old Flays on which
Shakapeare founded, &c. printed by S. Leacroft, 1778.
MAIiO^B. = This play has many scenes of high dignity,
and many of easy merriment. The character of the king
is well supported, except in his courtship, where he has
neither the vivacily of Hal, nor the grandeur of Henry.
The humour of Pistol is very happily continued: his
character has perhaps been the model of all the bullies
that have yet appeared on the English stage. — The
lines given to the Chorus have many admirers; but the
truth is, that in them a little may be praised, and much
must be forgiven ; nor can it be easily discovered why
the intelligence given by the Chorus is more necessary
in this play than in many others where it is omitted.
The great defect of this play is the emptiness and nar-
rowness of the last act, which a very little diligence might
have easily avoided. Johnson. =

XXI. KING HENRY VI.

PART I.

1 HE historical transactions contained in this play, take
in the compass of above thirty years. I must observe,
however, that our author, in the three parts of Henry Fl.
has not been very precise to the date and disposition of
his facts ; but shuffled them, backwards and forwards, out
of time. For instance, the lord Talbot is killed at the

2) Mr. Oldys, in a manuscript note in his copy of Langbaine, says, that Tarle-
ton appeared in the character of tlie .Tudpe who receives the box on the ear.
Tills judge is likewise a character in the old play. I may add, on the author-
ity of the books at Stationers' Hall, that Tarleton published what he called his
Farentll, a. ballad, in Sept. 1588. In Oct. 1589, was entered, "Tarleton's «e-
pentancCf and his Farerveil to hU Friends in his Sickness a little before hit
Death ;" in 1590, "Tarleton's Nerves out of Purgatorie ;" and in the same year,
'*A pleasaunt Ditty Dialogue-rvite beirveen Tarleton's Ghost and Robyn Good-
fsllont," Steevsns,

end of the Fourth Act of this play, who in reality did
not fall till the 13th of July, 1453: and The Second Part
of Henry VI. opens with the marriage of the king, which
was solemnized eight years before Talbot's death, in the
year 1445. Again, in the Second Part, dame Eleanor
Cobham is introduced to insult Queen Margaret! though
her penance and banishment for sorcery happened three
years before that princess came over to England. I could
point out many other transgressions against history, as
far as the order of time is concerned. Indeed, though
there are several master-strokes in these three plays, which
incontestibly betray the workmanship of Shakspeare; yet
I am almost doubtful, whether they were entirely of his
writing. And unless they were wrote by him very early,
I should rather imagine them to have been brought to
him as a director of the stage; and so have received
some finishing beauties at his hand. An accurateobserver
will easily see, the diction of them is more obsolete, and
the numbers more mean and prosaical, than in the ge-
nerality of his genuine compositions. Tiieobal». = Like
many others, I was long struck with the many evident
Shakspearianiums in these plays, which appeared to me to
carry such decisive weight, that I could scarcely bring
myself to examine with attention any of the arguments
that have been urged against his being the author of
them. But I should have adverted to a very striking
circumstance which distinguishes this first part from the
other parts of King Henry VI. This circumstance is,
that none of these Shakspearian passages are to be found
here, though several are scattered through the two other
parts. 1 am therefore decisively of opinion that this play
was not written by Shakspeare. I would here requent
the reader to attend particularly to the versification of
this piece, (of which almost every line has a pause at
the end,) which is so different from that of Shakspeare's
undoubted plays, and of the greater part of the two suc-
ceeding pieces, as altered by' him, and so exactly cor-
responds with that of the tragedies written by others be-
fore and about the time of his first commencing author,
that this alone might decide the question, without taking
into the account the numerous classical allusions which
are found in this first part. — With respect to the se-
cond and third parts of King Henry VI. or, as they were
originally called. The Contention of the Two famous Houses
of Yorke and Lancaster, they stand, in my apprehension,
on a very different ground from that of this first part,
or, as I believe it was anciently called. The Play of
King Henry VI. — The Contention, &c. printed in two
parts, in quarto, 1600, was, I conceive, the production of
some playwright who preceded, or was contemporary with
Shakspeare; and out of that piece he formed the two
plays which are now denominated the Second and Third
Parts of King Henry VI.; as, out of the old plays of
King John and The Taming of the Shrew, he formed
two other plays with the same titles. — This old play
of King Henry VI. now before us, or as our author's
editors have called it, the first part of King Henry T I.
I suppose, to have been wTitten in 1589, or before. The
disposition of facts in these three plays, not always cor-
responding with the dates, which Mr. Theobald mentions,
and the want of uniformity and consistency in the series
of events exhibited, may perhaps be in some measure
accounted for by the hypothesis now stated. As to our
author's having accepted these pieces as a director of the
stage, he had, I fear, no pretension to such a situation
at so early a period. Malonb. = The chief argument
on which the first paragraph of the foregoing note de-
pends, is not, in my opinion, conclusive. This historical
play might have been one of oar author's earliest dra-
matic efforts; and almost every young poet begins his
career by imitation. Shakspeare, therefore, till he felt
his own strength, perhaps servilely conformed to the style
and manner of his predecessors. Steevens. = Of this

IV.

Tif. S.[Pl:23.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

XLIX

play there is no copy earlier than that of the folio in
1(>23, tboagh the two succeeding parts are extant in two
editions in quarto. That the second and third parts were
published without the first, may be admitted as no Mcak
proof that the copies were surreptitiously obtained, and
that the printers nf that time gave the public those plays,
not such as the author designed, but such as they could
get them. That this play nas written before the two
others is indubitably collected from the series of events;
that it was written and played before Henry the Fifth
is apparent, because in the epilogue there is mention
made of this play, and not of the other parts:

"Henry the sixth in swaddling bands crowu'd king,
^'VVhose state so many had the managing,
"That they lost France, and made his England bleed :
"Which ol't our stage hath shown."

France is lost in this play. The two following contain,
as the old title imports, the contention of the houses of
York and Lancaster. — The second and third parts of
Henry VI. were printed in 1600. When Henry V. was
written, we know not, but it was printed likewise in 1600,
and therefore before the publication of the first and second
parts. The first part of Henry VI. had been often shown
on the stage, and would certainly have appeared in its
place, had the author been the publisher. Johnson. =:
That the second and third parts (as they are now called)
were printed without the first, is a proof, in my appre-
hension, that they were not written by the author of the
first; and the title of The Contention of the Houses of
York and Lancaster, being affixed to the two pieces which
were printed in quarto, 1600, is a proof that they were
a distinct work, commencing where the other ended, but
not written at the same time; and that this play was
never known by the name of The First Part of King
Henry VI. till Hemiuge and Condell gave it this title in
their volume, to distinguish it from the two subsequent
plays; which being altered by Shakspeare, assumed the
new titles of The Second and Third Farts of King
Henry VI. that they might not be confounded with the
original pieces on which they were formed. This first
part was, 1 conceive, originally called The Historical Play
of King Henry VI. Malone. =

XXII. KING HENRY VI.

PART H.

1 HIS and The Third Part of King Henry VI. contain
that troublesome period of this prince's reign which took
in the whole contention betwixt the houses of York and
Lancaster: and under that title were these two plays
first acted and published. The present scene opens with
King Henry's marriage, which was in the twenty-third
year of his reign [A. D. 1445]; and doges with the first
battle fought at St. Alban's and won by the York faction,
in the thirty-third year of his reign [A. D. 1435]: so that
it comprizes the history and transactions of ten years.
Theobald. = This play was altered by Crowne, and acted
in the year 1681, Stkevens. = The Contention of the
Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster in two parts,
was published in quarto, in 1600; and the first part was
entered on the Stationers' books, (as Mr. Steevens has
observed,) March 12, 1593-94. On these two plays, which
I believe to have been written by some preceding author,
before the year 1590, Shakspeare formed, as I conceive,
this and the following drama; altering, retrenching, or
amplifying, as he thought proper. In the printing of these
plays, all the lines printed in the usual manner, are
found in the original quarto plays (or at least with such
minute variations as are not M'orth noticing) : and those,
1 conceive, Shakspeare adopted as he found them. The
lines to which inverted commas are prefixed, were, if my

hypothesis be well founded, retouched, and greatly im-
proved by him; and those with asterisks were his own
original production; the embroidery with which he orna-
mented the coarse stuff that had been awkwardly made
up for the stage by some of his contemporaries. The
speeches which he new-modelled, he improved, sometimes
by amplification, and sometimes by retrenchment. — These
two pieces, I imagine, were produced in their present
form in 1591. Dr. Johnson observes very justly, that these
two parts were not written without a dependanee on the
first. Undoubtedly not; the old play of King Henry VI.
(or, as it is now called, The First Part,) certainly had.
been exhibited before these were written in any form.
But it does not follow from this concession, either that
The Contention of the Two Houses, &C. in two parts, wai
written by the author of the former play, or that Shak-
speare was the author of these two pieces as they ori-
ginally appeared. Malone. :^Iu Mr. Malone's new edi-
tion, we find some alterations and additions to his as-
terisks and inverted commas. The whole is conjectural,
and shows how little is known with certainty respecting
Shakspeare's works. Chalmers. =^

XXIII. KING HENRY VI.

PART III.

1 HE action of this play (which was at first printed under
this title. The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York,
and the good King Henry the Sixth; or. The Second
Part of the Contention of York and Lancaster,) opens
just after the first battle of Saint Alban's, [May 23, 1455,]
wherein the York faction carried the day; and closes
with the murder of King Henry VI. and the birth of
Prince Edward, afterwards King Edward V. [November 4,
1471.] So that this history takes in the space of full
sixteen years. Theobald. = I have never seen the quarto
copy of the Second part of The Whole Contention, 8:c.
printed by Valentine Simmes for Thomas Millington, 1600;
but the copy printed by W. W. for Thomas Millington,
1600, is now before me; and it is not precisely tho same
with that described by Mr. Pope and Mr. Theobald, nor
does the undated edition (printed, in fact, in 1619,) cor-
respond with their description. The title of the piece
printed in 1600, by W. W., is as follows: The True Tra-
gedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good
King Henrie the Sixt: With the Whole Contention be-
tween the two Houses Lancaster and Yorke: as it was
sundry Times acted by the Right Honourable the Earle
of Pembrooke his Servants. Printed at London by W.
W. for Thomas Millington, and are to be sold at hi*
Shoppe under St. Peter's Church in Cornewall, ') 1600.
On this piece Shakspeare, as I conceive, in 1591, formed
the drama before us. Malone. = The present historical
drama was altered by Crowne, and brought on the stage
in the year 1680, under the title of The Miseries of Civil
War. Surely the works of Shakspeare could have been
little read at that period ; for Crowne, in his Prologue,
declares the play to be entirely his own composition :

"For by his feeble skill 'lis built alone, ^^

"The divine Shakspeare did not lay one stone.

Whereas the very first scene is that of Jack Cade copied
almost verbatim from The Second Part of King Henry VI.,
and several others from this third part, with as little
variation. Steevens. = The three parts of KingHenry fl.
are suspected, by Mr. Theobald, of being supposititious,
and are declared, by Dr. Warburton, to be certainly not
Shakspeare's. Mr. Theobald's suspicion arises from some
obsolete words; but the phraseology is like the rest of

3) 1, e. Comhill.

IV,

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

[Pi.: 24.] Th. S.

our author's style, and single words, of which however I
do not observe more than two, can conclude little. —
Dr. VVarburtou gives no reason, hut I suppose him to
judge upon deeper principles and more comprehensive
views, and to draw his opinion from the general effect
and spirit of the composition, which he thinks inferior
to the other historical plays. — From mere inferiority,
nothing can be inferred ; in the production of wit there
will be inequality. Sometimes judgment will err, and
sometimes the matter itself will defeat the artist. Of
every author's works, one will be the best, and one will
be the worst. The colours are not equally pleasing, nor
the attitudes equally graceful, in all the pictures of Titian
or Reynolds. — Dissimilitude of i*tyle and heterogeneous-
ness of sentiment, may sufficiently show that a work does
not really belong to the reputed author. But in these
plays no such marks of spuriou^ness are found. The
diction, the versification, and the figures, are Shakspeare's.
These plays, considered, without regard to characters and
incidents, merely as narratives in verse, are more hap-
pily conceived, and more accurately finished than those
of K. John, Richard II., or the tragic scenes of King
Henry IV. and V. If we take these plays from Shak-
speare, to whom shall they be" given? What author of
that age had the- same easiness of expression and fluency
of numbers ? — Having considered the evidence given by
the plays themselves, and found it in their favour, let us
now inquire what corroboration can be gained from other
testimony. They are ascribed to Shakspeare by the first
editors, whose attestation may be received in questions
of fact, however unskilfully they superintended their edi-
tion. They seem to be declared genuine by the voice of
Shakspeare himself, who refers to the second play in his
epilogue to King Henry J ., and apparently connects the
first act of King Richard III. with the last of The Third
Part of King Henry J I. If it be objected that the plays
were popular, and that therefore he alluded to them as
well known; it may be answered, with equal probability,
that the natural passions of a poet would have disposed
him to separate his own works from those of an inferior
hand. And, indeed, if an author's own testimony is to
be overthrown by speculative criticism, no man can be any
longer secure of literary reputation. — Of these three
plays I think the second the best. The truth is, that
they have not sufficient variety of action, for the incidents
are too often of the same kind ; yet many of the cha-
racters are well discriminated. King Henry, and his queen,
king Edward, the duke of Gloster, and the earl of War-
wick, are very strongly and distinctly painted. — The
old copies of the two latter parts of King Henry VI. and
of King Henry J', are so apparently imperfect and mu-
tilated, that there is no reason for supposing them the
first draughts of Shakspeare. I am inclined to believe
them copies taken by some auditor, who wrote down,
during the representation, what the time would permit,
then perhaps filled up some of his omissions at a second
or third hearing, and, when he had by this method formed
something like a play, sent it to the printer, Johnson. ==

XXIV. KING RICHARD III .

1 HIS tragedy, though it is called the life and death of
this prince, comprizes, at most, but the last eight years
of his time ; for it opens Mith George duke of Clarence
being clapped up in the Tower, which happened in the
beginning of the year 147T ; and closes with the death of
Richard at Bosworth field, which battle was fought on
the 22d of August, in the year 1485. Theobai.b. = It
appears that several dramas on the ])re6ent subject had
been written before Shakspeare attempted it. This play
was first entered at Stationers' Hall by Andrew Wise,

Oct. 20, 1597, under the title of The Tragedie of King
Richard the Third, with the Death of the Duke of Cla-
rence. Before this, viz. Aug. 15, 1586, was entered, A
tragical Report of King Richard the Third, a Rallad.
It may be necessary to remark that the words, song,
ballad, enterlude and play, were often synonymously used.
Steevens. = This play was written, I imagine, in the
year 1593. The Legend of King Richard III. by Francis
Seagars, was printed in the first edition of The Mirrour
for MagiKtrates, 1559, and in that of J5T5, and 1587, but
Shakspeare does not appear to be indebted to it. In a
subsequent edition of that book printed in 1610, the old
legend was omitted, and a new one inserted, by Richard
Niccols, who has very freely copied the play before us.
In 1597, when this tragedy was published, Mccols, as Mr.
Warton has observed, was but thirteen years old. Hist,
of Poetry, Vol. III. p. 267. — The real length of time in
this piece is fourteen years; not eight years, (as Mr.
Theobald supposed:) for the second scene commences with
the funeral of king Henry VI. who, according to the re-
ceived account, was murdered on the 21st of May, 1471.
The imprisonment of Clarence, which is represented pre-
viously in the first scene, did not in fact take place till
1477-78. — It has been since observed to me by Mr. El-
derton, (who is of opinion that Richard was charged with
this murder by the Lancastrian historians without any
foundation,) that "it appears on the face of the public
accounts allowed in the exchequer for the maintenance
of king Henry and his numerous attendants in the Tower,
that he lived to the 12th of June, Mhich was twenty- two
days after the time assigned for his pretended assassi-
nation; was exposed to the public view in St. Paul's for
some days, and interred at Chertsey with much solemnity,
and at no inconsiderable expence." Malone. — - This is
one of the most celebrated of our author's performances ;
yet I know not whether it has not happened to him as
to others, to be praised most, when praise is not most
deserved. That this play has scenes noble in themselves,
and very well contrived to strike in the exhibition, cannot
be denied. But some parts are trifling, others shocking,
and some improbable. Johnson. =: I agree entirely with
Dr. Johnson in thinking that this play from its first ex-
hibition to the "present hour has been estimated greatly
beyond its merit. From the many allusions to it in books
of that age, and the great number of editions it passed
through, 1 suspect it was more often represented and
more admired than any of our author's tragedies. Its po-
pularity perhaps in some measure arose from the detest-
ation in which Richard's character was justly held, which
must have operated more strongly on those whose grand-
fathers might have lived near his time ; and from its being
patronized by the queen on the throne, who probably
was not a little pleased at seeing king Henry VII. placed
in the only favourable light, in which he could have been
exhibited on the scene. Malone. = 1 most cordially join
with Dr. Johnson and Mr. Malone in their opinions; and
yet perhaps they have overlooked one cause of the suc-
cess of this tragedy. The part of Richard is, perhaps,
beyond all others variegated, and consequently favourable
to a judicious performer. It comprehends, indeed, a trait
of almost every species of character on the stage. The
hero, the lover, the statesman, the buffoon, the hypocrite,
the hardened and repenting sinner, &c. are to be found
within its compass. No Monder, therefore, that the dis-
criminating powers of a Burbage, a Garrick, and a Hen-
derson, should at different periods have given it a po-
pularity beyond other dramas of the same author. — Vet
the favour with which this tragedy is now received, must
also in some measure be imputed to Mr. Cibber's reform-
ation of it, which, generally considered, is judicious: for
what modern audience would patiently listen to the nar-
rative of Clarence's dream, his subsequent expostulation
with the murderers, the prattle of his children, the eo-

IV.

T^. S.[Pl:26.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS

LI

liloquy of the scrivener, the tedious dialogue of the ci-
tizen8, the raviuga of Margaret, the gross terms thrown
out by the duchess of York on Richard, the repeated pro-
gress to execution, the superiluous train of spectres, and
other nndramatic incumbrauces, which must have pre-
vented the more valuable parts of the play from rising
into their present eifect and consequence 'f — The expul-
sion of languor, therefore, must atone for such remaining
want of probability as is inseparable from an historical
drama into which the events of fourteen years are irre-
gularly compressed. Steevens. =

XXV. KING HENRY VIII.

We are unacquainted with any dramatic piece on the
subject of Henry VIII. that preceded this of Shakspeare;
and yet on the books of the Stationers' Company appears
the following entry: "iVathaiiicl Butter] (who was one of
our author's printers) Feb. 12, 1601. That he get good
allowance for the enterlude of King Henry Till, before
he begin to priut it; and with the warden's hand to yt,
he is to have the same for his copy." Dr. Farmer, in
a note on the epilogue to this play, observes, from Stowe,
that Robert Greene had written somewhat on the same
story. Steevens. = 'Vbia historical drama comprizes a
period of twelve years, commencing in the twelfth year
of king Henry's reign (1521,) and ending with the chris-
tening of Elizabeth in 1533. Shakspeare has deviated from
history in placing the death of queen Katharine before
the birth of Elizabeth, for, in fact, Katharine did not
die till 1536. — King Henry nil. was written, I believe,
in l(i03. — Dr. Farmer, in a note on the epilogue, ob-
serves from Stowe, that "Robert Greene had written
something on this story;" but this, I apprehend, was not
a play, but some historical account of Henry's reign,
written not by Robert Greene, the dramatic poet, but by
some other person. In the liiit of "authors out of whom
Stowe's Annals were compiled," prefixed to the last edition
printed in his life-time, quarto, 1605, Robert Greene is
enumerated with Robert de Bruii, Robert Fabian, &c.
and he is often quoted as an authority for facts in the
margin of the history of that reign. Malone. =The play
of Henry the Eighth is one of those which still keeps
possession of the stage by the splendour of its pageantry.
The coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people
together in multitudes for a great part of the winter. *)
Vet pomp is not the only merit of this play. The meek
sorrows and virtuous distress of Katharine have furnished
some scenes, which may be justly numbered among the
greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Shakspeare
comes in and goes out with Katharine. Every other part
may be easily conceived and easily written. Johnson. =
The historical dramas are now concluded, of which the
two parts of Henry the Fourth, and Henry the Fifth,
are among the happiest of our author's compositions; and
King John, Richard the Third, and Henry the Eighth,
deservedly stand in the second class. Those whose cu-
riosity would refer the historical scenes to their original,
may consult Holinshed, and sometimes Hall: from Ho-
linshed Shakspeare has often inserted whole speeches, with
no more alteration than was necessary to the numbers of
his verse. To transcribe them into the margin was un-
necessary, because the original is easily examined, and
they are seldom less perspicuous in the poet -than in the
historian. — To play histories, or to exhibit a succession
of events by action or dialogue, was a common entertain-
ment among our rude ancestors upon great festivities.
The parish clerks once performed at Clerkcnwell a play
which lasted three days, containing The History of the
World. Johnson. =

4) Chetwood says that, during one season, it was exhibited seventy five times.

rv.

XXVI. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Ihb story was originally written by Lollius, an old
Lombard author, and since by Chaucer. Pope. — Mr.
Pope (after Dryden) informs us, that the story of TroiluM
and Cressida was originally the work of one Lollius, a
Lombard; (of whom Gascoigne speaks in Dan Bartholmewe
his first Triumph: "Since Lollius and Chaucer both, make
doubt upon that glose,") but Dryden goes yet further.
He declares it to have been written in Latin verse, and
that Chaucer translated it. Lollius was a historiographer
of Urbino in Italy. Shakspeare received the greatest part
of his materials for the structure of this play from the
Troye Soke of Iiydgate. Lydgate was not much more
than a translator of Guido of Columpna, who was of
Messina in Sicily, and wrote his History of Troy in Latin,
after Dictys Cretensis, and Dares Phrygius, in 12B7. On
these, as Mr. VVarton observes, he engrafted many new
romantic inventions, which the taste of his age dictated,
and which the connection between Grecian and Gothic
fiction easily admitted; at the same time comprehending
in his plan the Theban and Argonautic stories from Ovid,
Statins, and Valerius Flaccus. Guide's work was pub-
lished at Cologne in 1477, again 1480 : at Strasburgh, 1486,
and ibidem, 1489. It appears to have been translated by
Raoul le Feure, at Cologne, into French, from whom
Caxton rendered it into English in 1471, under the title
of his Recuyel, &c. ; so that there must have been yet
some earlier edition of Guide's performance than I have
hitherto seen 'or heard of, unless his first translator had
recourse to a manuscript — Guido of Columpna is re-
ferred to as an authority by our own chronicler Grafton.
Chaucer had made the loves of Troilus and Cressida
famous, which very probably might have been Shakspeare's
inducement to try their fortune on the stage. — Lydgate'*
Troye Soke was printed by Pyuson, in 1513. In the
books of the Stationers' Company, anno 1581, is entered
"A proper ballad, dialogue-wise, between Troilus and
Cressida.'' Again, Feb. 7, 1602: "The booke of Troilus
and Cressida, as it is acted by my Lo. Chamberlain's
men." The first of these entries is in the name of Ed-
ward White, the second in that of Mr. Roberts. Again,
Jan. 28, 1608, entered by Rich. Bonian and Hen. Whalley,
"A booke called the history of Troilus and Cressida."
Steevens. = The entry in 1608-9 was made by the book-
sellers for whom this play was published in 1609. It was
written, I conceive, in 1602. Malone. = Before this play
of Troilus and Cressida, printed in 1609, is a bookseller'»
preface, showing that first impression to have been before
the play had been acted, and that it was published with-
out Shakspeare's knowledge, from a copy that had fallen
into the bookseller's hands. Mr. Dryden thinks this one
of the first of our author's plays: bnt, on the contrary,
it may be judged, from the fore-mentioned preface, that
it was one of his last ; and the great number of observ-
ations, both moral and politic, with which this piece is
crowded more than any other of his, seems to confirm
my opinion. Popb. = We may learn, from this preface,
that the original proprietors of Shakspeare's plays thought
it their interest to keep them unprinted. The author of
it adds, at the conclusion, these words: "Thank fortune
for the 'scape it hath made among you, since, by the
grand possessors' wills, I believe you should rather have
prayed for them, than have been prayed," Sie. By the
grand possessors, I suppose, were meant Hetning and Con-
dell. It appears that the rival play-houses at that time
made frequent depredations on one another's copies. In
the Induction to The Malcontent, written by Webster,
and augmented by Marston, 1606, is the following pas-
sage: — "I wonder you would play it, another company
having interest in it." — "Why not Malevole in folio with
ns, as Jeronimo in decimo sexto with them t They taught

D

LII

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pl:29.] Th.S.

us a name for our play; we call it One for another.'" —
Again, T. Heywood, in his preface to The English Tra-
veller, 1633: "Others of them are still retained in the
hands of some actors, who think it against their peculiar
profit to have them come in print." Stkevens. = Not-
withstanding what has been said by a late editor, [Mr.
Capell,] 1 have a copy of the first folio, including Troi-
lus and Cressida. Indeed, it was at first either unknown
or forgotten. It does not, however, appear in the list
of the plays, and is thrust in between the histories and
the tragedies, without any enumeration of the pages, ex-
cept, I think, on one leaf only. It differs entirely from
the copy in the second folio. Farmek. == I have con-
sulted at least twenty copies of the first folio, and Troi-
lus and Cressida is not wanting in any of them. Stee-
vENs. = This play is more correctly written than most
of Shakspeare's compositions, but it is not one of those
in M'hich either the extent of his views or elevation of
his fancy is fully displayed. As the story abounded with
materials, he has exerted little invention; but he has
diversified his characters with great variety, and pre-
served them with great exactness. His vicious characters
disgust but cannot corrupt, for both Cressida and Pan-
darus are detested and contemned. The comic characters
seem to have been the favourites of the writer: they
are of the superficial kind, and exhibit more of manners
than nature; but they are copiously filled and powerfully
impressed. Shakspeare has in his story followed, for the
greater part, the old book of Gaxton, which was then
very popular; but the character of Thersites, of which
it makes no mention, is a proof that this play was writ-
ten after Chapman had published his version of Homer.
Johnson. =5

XXVII. TIMON OF ATHENS.

I HK story of the Misanthrope is told in almost every
collection of the time, and particularly in two books, with
which Shakspeare was intimately acquainted; the Falace
of Pleasure, and the English Plutarch. Indeed from a
passage in an old play, called Jack Drujn'a Entertainment,
I conjecture that he had before made his appearance on
the stage. Farmer. ^= The passage in Jack Drum''s En-
tertainment, or Pasquil and Katherine, 1601, is this:

"Come, I'll be as sociable as Timon of Athens."
But the allusion is so slight, that it might as well have
been borrowed from Plutarch or the novel. — Mr. Strutt
the late engraver, to whom our antiquaries are under no
inconsiderable obligations, had in his possession a MS.
play on this subject. It appears to have been written,
or transcribed, about the year 1600. There is a scene
in it resembling Shakspeare's banquet given by Timon to
his flatterers. Instead of warm, water he sets before them
stones painted like artichokes, and afterwards beats them
out of the room. He then retires to the woods, attended
by his faithful steward, who (like Kent in King Lear)
has disguised himself to continue his services to his master.
Timon in the last act is followed by his fickle mistress,
&c. after he was reported to have discovered a hidden
treasure by digging. The piece itself (though it appears
to be the work of an academic) is a wretched one. The
personcE dramatis are as follows : — "The actors' names.
"Timon." "Laches, his faithful servant." "Eutrapelus,
a dissolute young man." "Gelasimus, a cittie heyre."
"Pseudocheus, a lying travailer." "Demeas, an orator."
"Philargurus, a covetous churlish ould man." "Hermo-
genes, a fidler." "Abyssus, a usurer." ''LoUio, a cun-
trey clowne, Philargurus sonne." "Stilpo, Speusippus,
Two lying philosophers." "Grunnio, a lean servant of
Philargurus." "Obba, Tymon's butler." "Poedio, Gela-
simus page." "Two Serjeants." "A sailor." "Callimela, Phi-

largurus daughter." "Katte, her prattling nurse." "Scene,
Athens." Steevens. = Shakspeare undoubtedly formed
this play on the passage in Plutarch's Life of Antony
relative to Timon, and not on the twenty-eighth novel
of the first volume of Painter's Palace of Pleasure; be-
cause he is there merely described as "a man-hater, of
a strange and beastly nature," without any cause assigned ;
whereas Plutarch furnished our author with the following
hint to work upon ; "Antonius forsook the citie, and com-
panie of his friendes, — saying, that he would lead Ti-
mon's life, because he had the like wrong offered him,
that was offered unto Timon ; and for the unthankfulness
of those he had done good unto, and whom he tooke to
be his friendes, he was angry with all men, and would
trust no man." — To the manuscript play mentioned by
Mr. Steevens, our author, I have no doubt, was also in-
debted for some other circumstances. Here he found the
faithful steward, the banquet-scene, and the story of Ti-
mon's being possessed of great sums of gold which he
had dug up in the woods : a circumstance which he could
not have had from Lucian, there being then no transla-
tion of the dialogue that relates to this subject. — Spon
says, there is a building near Athens, yet remaining,
called Timon's Tower. — Timon of Athens was written,
I imagine, in the year 1610. Malonb. = The play of
Timon is a domestic tragedy, and therefore strongly fastens
on the attention of the reader. In the plan there is not
much art, but the incidents are natural, and the charac-
ters various and exact. The catastrophe affords a very
powerful warning against that ostentatious liberality, Mhich
scatters bounty, but confers no benefits, and buys flattery,
but not friendship. Johnson. =

XXVIII . CORIOL ANUS .

1 HIS play I conjecture to have been written in the year
1610. — It comprehends a period of about four years,
commencing with the secession to the Mans Sacer in the
year of Rome 262, and ending with the death of Corio-
lanus, A. U. C. 266. Malone. = The whole history is
exactly followed, and many of the principal speeches ex-
actly copied, from the Life of Coriolanus in Plutarch.

Pope. The tragedy of Coriolanus is one of the most

amusing of our author's performances. The old man's
merriment in Menenius; the lofty lady's dignity in Vo-
lumnia; the bridal modesty in Virgilia; the patrician and
military haughtiness in Coriolanus; the plebeian malignity
and tribunitiau insolence in Brutus and Siciiiius, make a
very pleasing and interesting variety : and the various
revolutions of the hero's fortune fill the mind with anxious
curiosity. There is, perhaps, too much bustle in the first
Act, and too little in the last. Johnson. =

XXIX. JULIUS CiESAR.

It appears from Peck's Collection of divers curious his-
torical Pieces, &c. (appended to his Memoirs, &c. of Oli-
ver Cromwell,) p. 14, that a Latin play on this subject
had been written: "Epilogus Cacsaris interfecti, quomodo
in scenam prodiit ea res, acta, in Ecclesia Christi, Oxon.
Qui Epilogus a Magistro Ricardo Eedes, et scriptus et in
proscenio ibidem dictus fuit, A. D. 1582." Meres, whose
WiVs Commonwealth was published in 1598, enumerates
Dr. Eedes among the best tragic writers of that time.
Steevens. = From some words spoken by Polonius in
Hamlet, I think it probable that there was an English
play on this subject, before Shakspeare commenced a wri-
ter for the stage. — Stephen Gosson, in his School of
Abuse, 1579, mentions a play entitled The History of Cx-

IV.

Th. S. [Pl: 31.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

LIII

sar and Pompey. — William Alexander, afterwards earl
of Sterline, wrote a tragedy on the story, and with the
title of Julius Cccsar. It may be presumed that Shak-
Bpeare's play was posterior to his; for lord Sterline, when
he composed his Julius Ciesar, was a very young author,
and would hardly have ventured into that circle, within
which the most eminent dramatic writer of England had
already walked. The death of Caesar, which is not ex-
hibited but related to the audience, forms the catastrophe
of his piece. In the two plays many parallel passages
are found, which might, perhaps, have proceeded only
from the two authors drawing from the same source. How-
ever, there are some reasons for tliinking the coincidence
more than accidental. — A passage in The Tempest, (p. 81,)
seems to have been copied from one in Darius, another
play of lord Sterline's, printed at Edinburgh, in 1603. His
Julius Ccesar appeared in 1607, at a time when he was
little acquainted with English writers; for both these pieces
abound with Scotticisms, which, in the subsequent folio
edition, 163T, he corrected. But neither The Tempest nor
the Julius Ccesar of our author was printed till 1623. —
It should also be remembered, that our author has several
plays, founded on subjects which had been previously
treated by others. Of this kind are King John, King
Itirhard II., the two parts of King Henry IP'., King
Henry J~., King Richard III., King Lear, Anthony and
Cleopatra, Measure for Measure, The Taming of the Shrew,
The Merchant of lenice, and, I believe, Hamlet, Timon
of Athens, andthe Second and ThirdPart of King Henry VI.,
whereas no proof has hitherto been produced, that any
contemporary writer ever presumed to new model a story
that had already employed the pen of Shakspeare. On all
these grounds it appears more probable, that Shakspeare
was indebted to lord Sterline, than that lord Sterline bor-
rowed from Shakspeare. If this reasoning be just, this
play could not have appeared before the year 1607. I
believe it was produced in that year. Malone. := The
real length of time in Julius Ccesar is as follows : About
the middle of February A. U. C. 709, a frantic festival,
sacred to Pan, and called Lupercalia, was held in honour
of Ccesar, when the regal crown was offered to him by
Antony. On the 15th of March in the same year, he was
slain. November 27, A. U. C. 710, the triumvirs met at
a small island, formed by the river Rhenus, near Bono-
nia, and there adjusted their cruel proscription. — A. U. C.
711, Brutus and Cassius were defeated near Philippi.
Upton. = Of this tragedy many particular passages de-
serve regard, and the contention and reconcilement of
Brutus and Cassius is universally celebrated; but I have
never been strongly agitated in perusing it, and think it
somewhat cold and unaifecting, compared with some other
of Shakspeare's plays: his adherence to the real story,
and to Roman manners, seems to have impeded the na-
tural vigour of his genius. Johnson. ^=z

XXX, ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Among the entries in the books of the Stationers' Com-
pany, October 19, 1593, I find "A Booke entitled the Tra-
gedie of Cleopatra." It is entered by Symon VVaterson,
for whom some of DanieVs works were printed; and there-
fore it is probably by that author, of whose Cleopatra
there are several editions ; and, among others, one in
1594. — In the same volumes. May 20, 1608, Edward Blount
entered 'A Booke called Anthony and Cleopatra.'" This
is the first notice I have met with concerning any edition
of this play more ancient than the folio, 1623. Steevens.
=:= Antony and Cleopatra was written, I imagine, in the
year 1608 Malone. = This play keeps curiosity always
busy, and the passions always interested. The continual
hurry of the action, the variety of incidents, and the

quick succession of one personage to another, call the
mind forward without intermission from the first Act to
the last. But the power of delighting is derived prin-
cipally from the frequent changes of the scene; for, ex-
cept the feminine arts, some of which are too low, which
distinguish Cleopatra, no character is very strongly dis-
criminated. Upton, who did not easily miss what he de-
sired to find, has discovered that the language of Antony
is, with great skill and learning, made pompous and su-
perb, according to his real practice. But I think his
diction not distinguishable from that of others: the most
tumid speech in the play is that which Caesar makes to
Octavia. — The events, of which the principal are des-
cribed according to history, are produced without any art
of connection or care of disposition. Johnson. — •

XXXI • C YMBELINE .

IVIr. Pope supposed the story of this play to have been
borrowed from a novel of Boccace ; but he was mistaken,
as an imitation of it is found in an old story-book en-
titled Westward for Smelts. This imitation differs in as
many particulars from the Italian novelist, as from Shak-
speare, though they concur in some material parts of the
fable. It was published in a quarto pamphlet 1603. This
is the only copy of it which I have hitherto seen. — There
is a late entry of it in the books of the Stationers' Com-
pany, Jan. 1619, where it is said to have been written
by Kitt of Kingston. Steevens. = The only part of the
fable which can be pronounced with certainty to be drawn
from the above, is, Imogen's wandering about after Pi-
sanio has left her in the forest: her being almost fa-
mished: and being taken at a subsequent period, into the
service of the Roman General as a page. The general
scheme of Cymbeline is, in my opinion, formed on Boc-
cace's novel (Day 2, Nov. 9.) and Shakspeare has taken
a circumstance from it, that is not mentioned in the other
tale. See Act II. sc. ii. It appears from the preface to
the old translation of the Decamerone, printed in 1620,
that many of the novels had before received an English
dress, and had been printed separately : "I know, most
worthy lord, (says the printer in his Epistle Dedicatory,)
that many of them [the novels of Boccace] have long since
been publinhed before, as stolen from the original author,
and yet not beautified with his sweet style and elocution
of phrase, neither savouring of his singular moral applica-
tions." — Cymbeline, I imagine, was written in the year
1609. The king, from whom the play takes its title, be-
gan his reign, according to Holinshcd, in the 19th year
of the reign of Augustus Caesar; and the play commences
in or about the twenty-fourth year of Cymbeline's reign,
which was the forty-second year of the reign of Augustus,
and the 16th of the Christian a:ra; notwithstanding which,
Shakspeare has peopled Rome with modern Italians; Phi-
lario, lachimo, &c. Cymbeline is said to have reigned
thirty-five years, leaving at his death two sons, Guide-
rius and Arviragus. Malone. = An ancient translation,
or rather, a deformed and interpolated imitation, of the
ninth novel of the second day of the Decameron of Boc-
cacio, has recently occurred. Ther title and Colophon of
this rare piece, are as follows: — "This mater treateth
of a merchautes wyfe that afterwarde went lyke a ma
and bccam a great lorde and was called Frederyke of
Jenncn afterwarde." — "Thus endeth this lytell story of
lorde Frederyke. Impryted i Anwarpe by me John Dus-
borowhge, dwellynge besyde ye Camer pnrte in the yere
of our lorde god a. M. CCCCC. and xviij. — This novel
exhibits the material features of its original ; though the
names of the characters are changed, their sentiments
debased, and their conduct rendered still more improbable
than in the scenes before us. John of Florence is the

IV.

D

LTV

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pl:32.] Th.S.

Ambrofiulo, Ambrosias of Jennens the Bernabo of the
story. Of the translator's elegance of imagination, and
felicity of expression, the two following ini^tances may be
sufficient. He has converted the picturesque mole under
the left breast of the lady, into a black wart on her left
arm; and when at last, in a male habit, she discovers
her sex, instead of displaying hvr bosom only, he obliges
her to appear before the king and his whole court com-
pletely "naked, save that she had a karcher of sylke be-
fore hyr members." — The whole work is illustrated with
wooden cuts representing every scene throughout the nar-
rative. — I know not that any advantage is gained by the
discovery of this antiquated piece, unless it serves to
strengthen our belief that some more faithful translation
had furni.«hed Shakspeare with incidents which, in their
original Italian, to him at least were inaccessible. Stee-
vEN.s. =: This play has many just sentiments, some na-
tural dialogues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are
obtained at the expence of much incongruity. To remark
the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the
confusion of the names, and ;nanners of different times,
and the impossibility of the events in any system of life,
were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon
faults too evident for detection, and too gross ibr ag-
gravation. Johnson. =:=

XXXII. TITUS AjNDROMCUS.

It is observable, that this piny is printed in the quarto
of 1611, with exactness equal to that of the other books
of those times. The first edition was probably corrected
by the author, so that here is very little room for con-
jecture or emendation ; and accordingly none of the edi-
tors have much molested this piece with officious criticism.
Johnson. = There is an authority for ascribing this play
to Shakspeare, which I think a very strong one, though
not made use of, as I remember, by any of his com-
mentators. It is given to him, among other plays, which
are undoubtedly his, in a little bonk, called Palladis Ta-
tnia, OT the Second Part of IFiVs Commonwealth, written
by Francis Meres, Maister of Arts, and printed at Lon-
don in 1598 The other tragedies, enumerated as his in
that book, are King John, Richard the Second, Henry the
Fourth, Richard the Third, and Romeo and Juliet. The
comedies are, the Midnummer-NighVs Dream, the Gentle-
men of Verona, the Comedy of Errors, the Love''s La-
honr^t Lost, the Lovers Labour Won, and the Merchant
of Venice. I have give this li.»t, as it serves so far to
ascertain the date of these plays ; and also, as it con-
tains a notice of a comedy of Shakspeare, the Lovers La-
bour fVon, not included in any collection of his works ;
nor, as far as I know, attributed to him by any other
authority. If there should be a play in being with that
title, though without Shakspeare's name, I should be glad
to see it; and I think the editor would be sure of the
public thanks, even if it should prove no better than the
Love's Labour''* Lost. Tybwhitt. == The work of cri-
ticism on the plays of our author, is, I believe, gener-
ally found to extend or contract itself in proportion to
the value of the piece under consideration ; and we shall
always do little where we desire but little should be done.
I know not that this piece stands in need of much emen-
dation; though it might be treated as condemned criminals
are in some countries, — any experiments might be jus-
tifiably made on it. — The author, whoever he was, might
have borrowed the story, tlie names, the characters, &c.
from an old ballad, which is entered in the books of the
Stationers' Company immediately aftJer the play on the
same snbiect. "John Daiiter] Feb. 6, 1593. A book en-
titled A Noble Roman Historie of Titus Andronicus." —
"Enter'd unto him also the ballad thereof." — Entered

again April 19, 1602, by Tho. Pavyer. — The reader will
find it in Dr. Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry,
Vol. I. Dr. Percy adds, that "there is reason to con-
clude that this play was rather improved by Shakspeare
with a few line touches of his pen, than originally, writ
by him; for not to mention that the style is less figurative
than his others generally are, this tragedy is mentioned
with discredit in the induction to Den Jonson's Bartho-
lomew Fair in 1614, as one that had then been exhibited
'live-and-tweuty or thirty years:' which, if we take the
lowest number, throws it back to the year 1589, at which
time Shakspeare was but 25: an earlier date than can be
found for any other of his pieces, and if it does not clear
him entirely of it, shews at least it was a first attempt." —
Though we are obliged to Dr. Percy for his attempt to
clear our great dramatic writer from the imputation of
having produced this sanguinary performance, yet 1 can-
not admit that the circumstance of its being discreditably
mentioned by Ben Jonson, ought to have any weight;
for Ben has not very sparingly censured The Tempest,
and other pieces which are undoubtedly among the most
finished works of Shakspeare. The whole of Ben's Pro-
logue to Every Man in his Humour, is a malicious sneer
on him. — Painter, in his Palace of Pleasure, Tom. II.
speaks of the story of Titus as well known, and parti-
cularly mentions the cruelty of Tamora: And, in A Knack
to know a Knave, 1594, is the following allusion to it:

" as welcome shall you be

"To me, my daughters, and my son-in-law,
"As Titus was unto the Roman senators,
"VVlicn he had made a conquest on the Goths."

Whatever were the motives of Ileming and Condell for
admitting this tragedy among those of Shakspeare, all it
has gained by their favour is, to be delivered down to
posterity with repeated remarks of contempt, — a Thersites
babbling among heroes, and introduced only to be derided.
Steevens. = On what principle the editors of the first
complete edition of our poet's plays admitted this into
their volume, cannot now be ascertained. The most pro-
bable reason that can be assigned, is, that he wrote a
few lines in it, or gave some assistance to the author,
in revising it, or in some other way aided him in bring-
ing it forward on the stage. The tradition mentioned
by Ravenscroft in the time of King James II. warrants
us in making one or other of these suppositions. "I
have been told" (says he in his preface to an alteration
of this play published in 1C87,) "by some anciently con-
versant with the stage, that it was not originally his, but
brought by a private author to be acted, and he only
gave some master-touches to one or two of the principal
parts or characters." — "A booke entitled A noble Roman
Historie of Titus Andronicus" was entered at Stationers' -
Hall, Feb. 6, 1593-4. This was undoubtedly the play as
it w^s printed in that year (according to Langbaine, who
alone appears to have seen the first edition,) and acted
by the servants of the earls of Pembroke, Derby, and
Sussex. It is observable that in the entry no author's
name is mentioned, and that the play was originally per-
formed by the same company of comedians who exhibited
the old drama, entitled The Contention of the Houses of
Yorke and Lancaster, The old Taming of the Shrew, and
Marlowe's King Edirard II. by whom not one of Shak-
speare's plays is said to have been performed. — From
Ben Jonson's Induction to Bartholomew Fair, 1614, we
learn that Andronicus had been exhibited twenty-five or
thirty years before; that is, according to the lowest com-
putation, in 1589 ; or taking a middle period, which is
perhaps more just, in 1587. — To enter into a long dis-
quisition to prove this piece not to have been written by
Shakspeare, would be an idle waste of time. To those
who are not conversant with his writings, if particular
passages were examined, more words would be necessary
than the subject is worth: those who are well acquainted

W.

7>/.S.[Pl:33.]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

LV

with his works, cannot entertain a doubt on the question.

— I will however mention one mode hy which it may be
easily ascertained. Let the reader only peruse a few
lines of Apjtitu and Virginia, Tancred and Gismund, The
Battle of Alcazar, Jeronimo, Selimus Emperor of the
Turks, the Wounds of Civil War, The Wars of Cyrus,
Locrine, Arden of Feversham, King Edward 1., The Spanish
Tragedy, Soliman and Perseda, King Leir, tiie old King
John, or any other of the pieces that were exhibited be-
fore the time of Shakspeare, and he will at once per-
ceive that Titus Androninu was coined in the same mint.

— The testimony of Meres, mentioned in a preceding note,
alone remains to be considered. His enumerating this
among Shakspeare's plays may be accounted for in the
same way in which wc may account for its being printed
by his fellow-comedians in the first folio edition of his
works. Meres was in 1598, when his book appeared, in-
timately connected with Drayton, and probably acquainted
with some of the dramatic poets of the time, from some
or other of whom he might have heard that Shakspeare
interested himself about this tragedy, or had written a
few lines for the author. The internal evidence furnished
by the piece itself, and proving it not to have been the
production of Shakspeare, greatly outweighs any single
testimony on the other side. Meres might have been
misinformed, or inconsiderately have given credit to the
rumour of the day. For six of the plays which he has
mentioned, (exclusive of the evidence which the repre-
sentation of the pieces themselves might have furnished,)
he had perhaps no better authority than the whisper of
the theatre; for they were not then printed. He could
not have been deceived by a litle-page, as Dr. Johnson
supposes ; for Shakspeare's name is not in the title-page
of the edition printed in quarto in 1611, and therefore
we may conclude, was not in the title-page of that in
1594, of which the other was undoubtedly a re-impression.
Had this mean performance been the work of Shakspeare,
can it be supposed that the booksellers would not have
endeavoured to procure a sale for it by stamping his
name upon it ? — In short, the high antiquity of the piece,
its entry on the Stationers' books, and being afterwards
printed without the name of our author, its being per-
formed by the servants of Lord Pembroke, &c. the stately
march of the versification, the whole colour of the com-
position, its resemblance to several of our most ancient
dramas, the dissimilitude of the style from our author's
undoubted compositions, and the tradition mentioned by
Ravenscroft, when some of his contemporaries had not
been long dead, (for Lowin and Taylor, two of his fel-
low-comedians, were alive a few years before the Re-
storation, and Sir William D'Avenant, who had himself
written for the stage in 1629, did not die till April 1668;)
all these circumstances combined, prove with irresistible
force that the play of Titus Andronicus has been erro-
neously ascribed to Shakspeare. Malone. =In the library
of the duke of ^Bridgewater, at Ashridge, is a volume of
old quarto plays, numbered R. 1. 7, in which the first is
Titus Andronicus. This Mr. Todd has collated with the
edition of 1793, and most of his collations may be seen
in the edition of Shakspeare in 21 volumes, 1803, or in
that of 1811. They appear of very little value. Mr. Ma-
lone, in his edition, marks a few lines here and there,
which he supposes may have been written by Shakspeare;
but these are of still less value, and might, in truth,
have beta written by many of Shakspeare's contempora-
ries. We have therefore passed them over without no-
tice. Chalmers. = All the editors and critics agree with
Mr. Theobald in supposing this play spurious. I see no
reason for differing from them; for the colour of the style
is wholly different from that of the other plays, and there
is an attempt at regular versification, and artificial closes,
not always inelegant, yet seldom pleasing. The barbarity
of the spectacles, and the general massacre, which are

here exhibited, can scarcely be conceived tolerable to any
audience ; yet we are told by Jonson, that they were not
only borne but praised. That Shakspeare wrote any part,
though Theobald declares it incontestible, I see no rea-
son for believing. — The testimony produced at the be-
ginning of this play, by which it is ascribed to Shak-
speare, is by no means equal to the argument against
its authenticity, arising from the total difference of con-
duct, language, and scutiments by uhich it stands apart
from all the rest. Meres had probably uo other evidence
than that of a title-page, which, though in our time it
be sufficient, was then of no great authority; for all the
plays which were rejected by the first collectors of Shak-
speare's works, and admitted in later editions, and again
rejected by the critical editors, had Shakspeare's name
on the title, as we must suppose, by the frauduleuce of
the printers, who, while there were yet no gazettes, nor
advertisements, nor any means of circulating liCcrary in-
telligence, could usurp at pleasure any celebrated name.
IVor had Shakspeare any interest in detecting the im-
posture, as none of his fame or profit was produced by
the press. — The chronology of this play does not prove
it not to be Shakspeare's. If it had been written twenty-
five years, in 1614, it might have been written when
Shakspeare was twenty-five years old. When he left
Warwickshire I know not, but at the age of twenty-five
it was rather too late to fly for deer-stealing. — Ravens-
croft, who in the reign of James II. revised this play,
and restored it to the stage, tells us, in his preface, from
a theatrical tradition, I suppose, which in his time might
be of sufficient authority, that this play was touched in
different parts by Shakspeare, but written by some other
poet. 1 do not find Shakspeare's touches very discernible.
Johnson. =

XXXIII. PERICLES.

J HE story on which this play is formed is of great an-
tiquity. It is found in a book, once very popular, en-
titled Gesta Romanorum, which is supposed by Mr. Tyr-
whitt, the learned editor of The Canterbury Tales of
Chaucer, 1775, to have been written five hundred years
ago. The earliest impression of that work (which I have
seen) was printed in 1488; ^) in that edition the history
of Jppolonius King of Tyre makes the 153d chapter. It
is likewise related by Gower in his Confessio Amantis,
lib. viii. p. 175—85. edit. 1554. The Rev. Dr. Farmer has
in his possession a fragment of a MS. poem on the same
subject, which appears, from the handwriting and the
metre, to be more ancient than Gower. There is also an
ancient romance on this subject, called Kyng Appolyn of
Thyre, translated from the French by Robert Copland,
and printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1510. In 1576 Wil-
liam Howe had a licence for printing The most excellent,
pleasant, and variable Historia of the strange Adventures
of Prince Appolonius, Lucine his wyfe, and Tharsa his
daughter. The author of Pericles having introduced Gower
in his piece, it is reasonable to suppose that he chiefly
followed the work of that poet. It is observable, that
the hero of this tale is, in Gower's poem, as in the pre-
sent play, called Prince of Tyre; iu the Gesta Romano-
rum, and Copland's prose Romance, he is entitled King.
Most of the incidents of the play are found in the Conf.
Amant. and a few of Gower's expressions are occasionally
borrowed. However, 1 think it is not unlikely, that there
may have been (though I have not met with it) an early
prose translation of this popular story, from the Gest.
Roman, in which the name of Appolonius was changed to
Pericles; to which, likewise, the author of this drama

S) There are several editions of Ihe GtHa RonMxorim before Ul«. Douee.

IV

LVI

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pi.:33.] Tir.S.

may have been indebted. In 1C07 vas published at Lon-
don, by Valentine Sim?, "The patterne of painful ad-
ventnres, containing the most excellent, pleasant, and va-
riable Hittorie of the strange Accidents that befell unto
Prince Appolouius, the lady Lucina his wife, and Tharda
his daughter, wherein the uncertaintie of this world and
the fickle state of man's life are lively described. Trans-
lated into English by T. Twine, Gent." I have never
seen the book, but it was without doubt a republication
of that published by W. Howe in 1576. — Ftricles was
entered on the Stationers' books. May 2, 1608, by Edward
Blount, one of the printers of the first folio edition of
Shakspeare's plays; but it did not appear in print till
the following year, and then it was published not by
Blount, but by Henry Gosson; who had probably antici-
pated the other, by getting a hasty transcript from a play-
house copy. There is, I believe, no play of our author's,
perhaps 1 might say, in the English language, so incor-
rect as this. The most corrupt of Shakspeare's other
dramas, compared with Pericles, is purity itself. The
metre is seldom attended to ; verse is frequently printed
as prose, and the grossest errors abound in almost every
page. I mention these circumstances, only as an apology
to the reader for having taken somewhat more licence
with this drama than would have been justifiable, if the
copies of it now extant had been less disfigured by the
negligence and ignorance of the printer or transcriber.
The numerous corruptions that are found in the original
edition in ItiOB, which have been carefully preserved and
augmented in all the subsequent impressions, probably
arose from its having been frequently exhibited on the
stage. In the four quarto editions it is called the much-
admired ptay of Pkrici.es, Prince of Tvre; and it is
mentioned by many ancient writers as a very popular
performance. — For the division of this piece into scenes
I am responsible, there being none found in the old co-
pies. Malore. = Chaucer refers to the story of Apol-
louius, King of Tyre, in 2'he Man of Lawe's Prologue:

"Or elles of Tyrius Appolouius,
"How that the cursed king Antiochns
"Heraft his doughter of hire maidenhede,
"That is so horrible a tale for to rede," &c.

There are three French translations of this tale, viz. —
"La Chronlque d'AppolJin, Uoy de Thyr;" 4to. Geneva,
bl. 1. no date; — and "Plaisante et agreable Histoire
d'Appollonius Prince de Thyr en Aifrique, et Roi d'Au-
tioche ; traduit par Gilles Corozet," 8vo. Paris, 1530; —
and (in the seventh volume of the Histoircs Tragiques,
&c. 12mo. 1604, par Franijois Belle-Forest, &c.) "Accidens
diuers aduenus a Appollonie Roy des Tyriens: ses mal-
heurs sur mer, ses pertes de femme & fille, & la fin
heureuse de tons ensemble." — The popularity of this tale
of Apollonius, may be inferred from the very numerous
MS. in which it appears. — Both editions of Twine's
translation are now before me. Thomas Twine was the
continuator of Phaer's Virgil, which was left imperfect
in the year 1538. — In Twine's book our hero is repeat-
edly called — "Prince of Tyrus." It is singular enough
that this fable should have been republished in 1C07, the
play entered on the books of the Stationers' Company in
1G08, and printed in l(i09. — It Is almost needless to ob-
serve that our dramatic Pericles has not the least resem-
blance to his historical namesake; though the adventures
of the former are sometimes coincident with those of Py-
rocles, the hero of Sidney's Arcadia; for the amorous,
fugitive, shipwrecked, musical, tilting, despairing Prince
of Tyre is an accomplished knight of Romance, disguised
ander the name of a statesman.

"Whose resistless eloquence

"Wielded at will a tierce democratic,

"Shook th' arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece."

As to Sidney's Pyrocles, — Tros, Tyriusve, —

"The world was all before him, where to choose
"His place of rest."

But Pericles was tied down to Athens, and could not be
removed to a throne in Phosnicia. IVo poetic licence will
permit a unique, classical, and conspicuous name to be
thus unwarrantably transferred. A Prince of Madagascar
must not be called jKueas, nor a Duke of Florence Mith-
ridates: for such peculiar appellations would unseason-
ably remind us of their great original possessors. The
playwright who indulges himself in these wanton and in-
judicious vagaries will always counteract his own purpose.
Thus, as often as the appropriated name of Pericles oc-
curs, it serves but to expose our author's gross departure
from established manners and historic truth ; for laborious
fiction could not designedly produce two personages more
opposite than the settled demagogue of Athens, and the
vagabond Prince of Tyre. — It is remarkable, that many
of our ancient WTiters were ambitious to exhibit Sidney's
worthies on the stage; and when his subordinate agents
were advanced to such honour, how happened it that Py-
rocles, their leader, should be overlooked? Musidorus,
(his companion,) Argalus and Parthenia, Plialantus and
Eudora, Andromana, &c. furnished titles for diifereut tra-
gedies; and perhaps Pyrocles, in the present instance, was
defrauded of a like distinction. The names invented or
employed by Sidney had once such popularity, that they
were sometimes borrowed by poets who did not profess to
follow the direct current of his fables, or attend to the
strict preservation of his characters. INay, so high was
the credit of this romance, that many a fashionable word
and glowing phrase selected from it was applied, like a
Promethean torch, to contemporary sonnets, and gave a
transient life even to those dwarfish and enervate bant-
lings of the reluctant Muse. — I must add, that the Ap-
polyn of the Story-book and Gower could have been re-
jected only to make room for a more favourite name ; yet,
however conciliating the name of Pyrocles might have been,
that of Pericles could challenge no advantage with regard
to general predilection. — I am aware, that a conclusive
argument cannot be drawn from the false quantity in the
second syllable of Pericles; and yet if the Athenian was
in our author's mind, he might have been taught by re-
peated translations from fragments of satiric poets in Sir
Thomas North's Plutarch, to call his hero Pericles; as,
for instance, in the following couplet:

"O Chiron, tell me, first, art thou indecde the man
"Which did instruct Pericles thus? make auuswer if
thou can," &c. &c.

Again, in George's Gascoigne's Steele Glass:

'•'■Pericles stands in raucke amongst the rest."

Again, ibidem:

^^ Pericles was a famous man of warre."

Such therefore was the poetical pronunciation of this proper
name, in the age of Shakspeare. The address of Persius
to a youthful orator — Magni pupille Pericli, is familiar
to the ear of every classical reader. — By some of the
observations scattered over the following pages, it will be
proved that the illegitimate Pericles occasionally adopts
not merely the ideas of Sir Philip's heroes, but their
very words and phraseology. All circumstances therefore
considered, it is not improbable that our author designed
his chief character to be called Pyrocles, not Pericles,
I however ignorance or accident might have shuffled the
latter (a name of almost similar sound) into the place of
the former. The true name, when once corrupted or
changed in the theatre, was effectually withheld from the
public ; and every commentator on this play agrees in a
belief, that it must have been printed by means of a copy
"far as Deucalion off" from the manuscript which had re-
ceived Shakspeare's revisal and improvement. Steevbns.

IV.

Th. S. [Pl: 34]

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

LVII

la this play we have exhibited more variations of

text than iii any other. This arises not only from the
greater licence avowedly taken by Messrs. Steevens and
Malune with the erroneous old copies, but from the plea-
sure these gentlemen always had in differing from each
other; of what importance their various readings are, it
would be unnecessary to state. Chalmeks. =To a former
edition of this play were subjoined two Dissertations : one
written by Mr. Steevens, the other by me. In the latter
1 urged such arguments as then appeared to me to have
weight, to prove that it was the entire work of Shak-
speare, and one of his earliest compositions. Mr. Steevens
on the other hand maintained, that it was originally the
production of some elder playwright, and afterwards im-
proved by our poet, who«e hand was acknowledged to be
visible in many scenes throughout the play. On a re-
view of the various arguments which each of us produced
in favour of his own hypothesis, I am now convinced that
the theory of Mr. Steevens was right, and have no dif-
ficulty in acknowledging my own to be erroneous. — This
play was entered on the Stationers' books, together with
Antony and Cleopatra, in the year 1608, by Edward
Blount, a bookseller of eminence, and one of the pub-
lishers of the first folio edition of Shakspcare's works.
It was printed with his name in the title-page, in his
lifetime; but this circumstance proves nothing; because
by the knavery of booksellers other pieces were also as-
cribed to him in his lifetime, of which he indubitably
wrote not a line. Kor is it necessary to urge in sup-
port of its genuineness, that at a subsequent period it
was ascribed to him by several dramatic writers. I wish
not to rely on any circumstance of that kind ; because in
all questions of this nature, internal evidence is the best
that can be produced, and to every person intimately ac-
quainted with our poet's writings, must in the present
case be decisive. The congenial sentiments, the numer-
ous expressions bearing a striking similitude to passages
in his undisputed plays, some of the incidents, the situa-
tion of many of the persous, and in various places the
colour of the style, all these combine to set the seal of
Shakspeare on the play before us, aud furnish us with
internal and irresistible proofs, that a considerable por-
tion of this piece, as it now appears, was written by him.
The greater part of the last three acts, may, I think, on
this ground be safely ascribed to him; and his hand may
be traced occasionally in the other two divisions. — To
alter, new-model, and improve the unsuccessful dramas of
preceding writers, was, I believe, much more common in
the time of Shakspeare than is generally supposed. This
piece having been thus new-modelled by our poet, and
enriched with many happy strokes from his pen, is un-
questionably entitled to that place among his works, which
it has now obtaiued. Malone. =

XXXIV. KING LEAR.

1 HE story of this tragedy had found its way into many
ballads aud other metrical pieces ; yet Shakspeare seems
to have been more indebted to The True Chronicle His-
tory of King Leir and his Three Daughters, Gonorill,
Ragan, and Cordelia, 1605, than to all the other per-
formances together. It appears from the books at Sta-
tioners' Hall, that some play on this subject was entered
by Edward White, May 14, 1594. "A booke entituled,
The moste famous Chronicle Hystorie of Leire King of
England, and his three Daughters." A piece with the
same title is entered again, May 8, 1605; and again, Nov.
26, 1607. From The Mirror of Magistrates, 1587, Shakspeare
has, however, taken the hint for the behaviour of the
steward, and the reply of Cordelia to her father concern-
ing^ her future marriage. The episode of Gloster and his

sons must have been borrowed from Sidney's Arcadia, as
I have not found the least trace of it in any other work.
For the first King Lear, see likewise Six old Plays on
which Shakspeare founded, &c. published fur S. Leacroft,
Charing-Cross. — The reader will also find the story of
K. Lear, in the second bo<ik and 10th canto of Spenser's
Fairy Queen, and in the 15th chapter of the third book
of Warner's Albion's England, 1602. — The w hole of this
play, howeVer, could not have been written till after 1603.
Harsnet's pamphlet, to which it contains so many refer-
ences, was not published till that year. Stebveks. =3
Camden, in his Remains, (p. 306. edit. 1674,) tells a similar
story to this of Leir or Lear, of Ina king of the West
Saxons ; which, if the thing ever happened, probably was
the real origin of the fable. See under the head of Wise
Speeches. Psncv. =^ The story told by Camden in his
Remaines, 4lo. 1605, is this: — "Ina, king of West Saxons,
had three daughters, of whom upon a time he demanded
whether they did love him, and so would do during their
lives, above all others : the two elder sware deeply they
would; the youngest, but the wisest, told her father flatly,
without flattery, that albeit she did love, honour, and
reverence him, and so would whilst she lived, as much
as nature and daughterly dutie at the uttermost could ex-
pect, yet she did think that one day it would come to
passe that she should affect another more fervently, mean-
ing her husband, when she were married ; who being made
one flesh with her, as God by commandment had told,
and nature had taught her, she was to cleave fast to,
forsaking father and mother, kiffe and kinne. [Anonymous.]
One referreth this to the daughters of King Leir." — It
is, I think, more probable that Shakspeare had this pas'
sage in his thoughts, when he wrote Cordelia's reply
concerning her future marriage, than The Mirror for
Magistrates, as Camden's book was published recently
before he appears to have composed this play, and that
portion of it which is entitled ff^ise Speeches, where the
foregoing passage is found, furnished him with a hint in
Coriolanus. — The story of King Leir and his three daugh-
ters was originally told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from
whom Holinshed transcribed it; aud in his Chronicle
Shakspeare had certainly read it, as it occurs not far
from that of Cymbeline ; though the old play on the same
subject probably first suggested to him the idea of mak-
ing it the ground-work of a tragedy. — Geoffrey of Mon-
mouth says, that Leir, who was the eldest son of Bladud,
"nobly governed his country for sixty years." According
to that historian, he died about 800 years before the birth
of Christ. — The name of Leir's youngest daughter, which
in Geoffrey's history, in Holinshed, The Mirror for Ma-
gistrates, and the old anonymous play, is Cordeilla, Cor-
dila, or Cordelia, Shakspeare found softened into Corde-
lia, by Spenser, in his Second Book, Canto X. The
names of Edgar and Edmund were probably suggested by
Holinshed. See his Chronicle, Vol. I. p. 122. "^Edgar,
the son of Edmund, brother of Athelstanc," &c. — This
tragedy, I believe, was written in 1605. Malone. =:The
tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas
of Shakspeare. There is perhaps no play which keeps
the attention so strongly fixed; which so much agitates
our passions, and interests our curiosity. The artful in-
volutions of distinct interests, the striking oppositions of
contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and
the quick succession of events, fill the mind with a per-
petual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There Is
no scene which does not contribute to the aggravation of
the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a line
which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. S«
powerful is the current of the poet's imagination, that
the mind which once ventures within it, is hurried irre-
sistibly along. — On the seeming improbability of Lear's
conduct, it may be observed, that he is represented ac-
cording to histories at that time vulgarly received as true.

IV.

LVlll

PRELIMINAKY REMARKS.

[Pi.:35.] Tii.S.

Aud, perhapa, if we turn our thoughts upou the barbarity
and ignorance of the age to which this btory in referred,
it will appear not no unlikely as while we estimate Lear'n
luauners by our own. Such preference of one daughter
to another, or re»iguatiau of dominion on such conditions,
would be yet credible, if told of a petty prince of Gui-
nea or Madagascar. Shakspearc, indeed, by the ujcntiou
of hia earls and dukes, has given us the idea of times
more civilized, and of life regulated by softer manners;
and the truth is, that though he no nicely discriminates,
and so minutely describes the characters of men, he com-
monly neglects and confounds the characters of ages, by
mingling customs ancient and modern, English and foreign.
— My learned friend, Mr. W arton, [afterwards Dr. Joseph
Warton,] who has in The Adventurer very minutely cii-
ticiscd this play, remarks, that the instances ol cruelty
are too savage and shocking, and that the intervention
of Edmund destroys the simplicity of the story. These
objections may, 1 think, be answered, by repeating, that
the cruelty of the daughters is an Jiislorical fact, to which
the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a
series of dialogue and action. Hut 1 am not able to
apologize with equal plausibility for the extrusion of
Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be en-
dured iu dramatic exhibition, and such as must always
compel the mind to relieve its distresses by incredulity.
Yet let it be remembered that our author well knew what
would please the audience for which he wrote. — The
injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action
is abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, by
the art with which he is made to co-operate with the
chief design, and the opportunity which he gives the poet
of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connecting the w icked
son with the wicked daughters, to impress this important
moral, that villainy is never at a stop, that crimes lead to
crimes, aud at last terminate in ruin. — But though this
moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspearc has sutfered the
virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, contrary to
the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader,
aud what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles.
Yet this conduct is justified by The Spectator, who blames
Tate for giving Cordelia success and happiness in his
alteration, and declares, that iu his opinion, the tragedy
has lost half its beauty. Dennis has remarked, whether
justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of
Cato, the town was poisoned with much false and abo-
minable criticism, and that endeavours had been used to
discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which the
wicked prosper, and the virtuous miscarry, may doubtless
be good, because it is a just representatiou of the com-
mon events of human life; but since all reasonable beings
naturally love justice, 1 cannot easily be persuaded, that
the observation of justice makes a play worse; or, that
if other excellencies are equal, the audience will not al-
ways rise better pleased from the final triumph of per-
secuted virtue. — In the present case the public has de-
cided. ^) Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has always
retired with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations
could add any thing to the general suffrage, I might re-
late, 1 was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's
death, that I know not whether I ever endured to read
again the last scenes of the play till I undertook to re-
vise them as an editor. — There is another controversy
among the critics concerning this play. It is disputed
whether the predominant image iu Lear's disordered mind
be the loss of his kingdom or the cruelty of his daugh-
ters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced
by induction of particular passages, that the cruelty of
his daughters is the primary source of distress, aud that

B) Dr. Johmoii should rather have said that the managers of the tliealres
royal have detided, and the public has been oblij;ed to acquiesce in their de-
cision. The altered play has the upper gallery on its side; the original drama
was patronized bjf Addison. — "Victrix causa Diit placuit, sod victa Cutoni,"
S tee vent.

the loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and
hubordinatu evil. lie observes, with great justness, that
Lear would move our compassion but liille, did we not
rather consider the injured father than the degraded king.
— The story of this play, except the epi>ode of Edmund,
which is derived, 1 think, from Sidney, is taken originally
from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom Ilolinshed generally
copied; but perhaps immediately from an old historical
ballad. My rea)<on for believing that the play was pos-
terior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the play,
is, that the ballad has iiiithing of Shakspeare's nocturnal
tempest, which is too striking to have been omitted, and
that it follows the chronicle; it has the rudiments of the
play, but none of its ainplilicalions : it first hinted Lear's
madness, but did nut array it iu circum^'tances. The
writer of the ballad added something to the history, which
is a proof that he would have added more, if more had
occurred to his miitd, aud more must have occurred if he
had seen Shakspeare. Joukson. =

XXXV. ROMEO AND JULIET.

1 HE original relater of the story on which this play is
formed, was Luigi da Porto, a gentleman of Vicenza,
who died in 152!). His novel did not appear till some
years after his death; being first printed at Venice iu
1536, under the title of La Giuliclta. A second edition
was published in 1539, and it was again reprinted at the
same place in 1553, (without the author's name,) with the
following title: JJistoria vuuvamente rilrovala di due no-
bili Amanli, con la luro pietosa morte; intervenuta gia
nella cita di Terona, nell tempo del Signor Bartolonieo
delta Scala. Nuovaniente stampa'a. — In 1554 Bandello
published, at Lucca, a novel on the same subject [Tom. II.
Nov. ix.] ; and shortly afterwards Boisteau exhibited one
iu French, founded on the Italian narratives, but vary-
ing from them iu many particulars. From lioisteau's
novel the same story was, in 15U2, formed into an English
poem, with considerable alterations and large additions,
by Mr. Arthur Brooke. This piece was printed by Richard
Tottle with the following title, written probably, accord-
ing to the fashion of that time, by the bookseller: The
Tragicall Hystory of Romeus and Juliet, containing a
rare Example of true Constancie: with the subtill Coun-
sels, and Practices of an old Fryer, and their ill event.
It waM again published by the same bookseller in 15fe2.
Painter, iu the second volume of his Palace of Pleasure,
15U7, published a prose translation from the French of
Boisteau, which he entitled Ilhomeo and Julietta. Shak-
speare had probably read Painter's novel, having taken
one circumstance from it or some other prose translation
of Boisteau; but his p'ay was undoubtedly formed on the
poem of Arthur Brooke. This is proved decisively by
the following circumstance. 1. In the poem the prince of
Verona is called Escalus; so also iu the play. — la Pain-
ter's translation from Boisteau he is named Signor Eseala;
and sometimes Lord Bartholomew of Eseala. 2. Iu Pain-
ter's novel the family of llomeo arc called the Mon-
ttsehes; iu the poem aud iu the play, the Montagues.
3. The messenger employed by friar Lawrence to carry
a letter to Romeo to inform him when Juliet would awake
from her trance, is in Painter's translation called An-
selme: in the poem, and in the play, friar John is em-
ployed in this business. 4. The circumstance of Capulct's .
writing down the names of the guests whom he invites
to supper, is found iu the poem and in the play, but is
not mentioned by Painter, nor is it found in the original
Italian novel. 5. The residence of .the Capulets, in the
original, and in Painter, is called f'illa Franca; in the
poem and in the play, Freetown, li. Several passages of
Romeo and Juliet ai)pear to have been formed on hints

IV.

///. S. [Pj.:36.

PRELliVHNARY REMARKS

LIX

fumi«lied by the poem, of wbich no traces are found
either in Painter's novel, or in Boi«teau, or the original ;
and pevcral esprcsnions are borrowed from thence, which
will be found in their proper places. — As what haw been
now stated has been controverted, (for what may not be
controverted'?) I s-hoiild enter more largely into the sub-
ject, but various pas.sagcs of the poem furnish such a
decisive proof nf the play's having been coutttructcd upon
it, as not to leave, in my appreheuxion, a i<hadow of
doubt npon the subject. The question is not, whether
Shakspeare had read other novels, or other poetical pieces,
founded on this story, but whether the poem written by
Arthur Drookc was the basis on which this play was
built. — With respect to the name of Romeo, this also
Shakspeare might have found in the poem; for in one
place that name is given to him: or he might have had
it from Painter's novel, from which or from some other
prose trani^lation nf the same story he has, a/4 I have
alre.idy said, taken one circumstance not mentioned in
the poem. In 1570 was entered on the Stationers' books
by Henry Bynneman, The Pitifull Hystory of ij lovying
Jialians, which I suspect was a prose narrative of the
sfory on which our author's play is constructed. — Breval
says in bis travels, that on a strict inquiry into the his-
tories of Verona, he found that Shakspeare had varied
T ery little from the truth, either in the names, charac-
ters, or other circumstances of his play. Mai.oke. It

is plain, from more than one circumstance, that Shak-
speare had rend this novel, both in its prosaic and me-
trical form. He might likewise have met with other
poetical pieces on the same subject. We are not yet at
the end nf our discoveries relative to the originals of our
author's dramatic pieces. Stebvsns. = This play, Mr.
Malonc conjectures, was written in 1396. Chalmers. —
'I'his play is one of the most pleasing of our author's
poi-formances. The scenes are busy and various, the in-
ridi-nts numerous and important, the catastrophe irresis-
tibly alTecting, and the process of the action carried on
\nth such probability, at least with such congruity to po-
imlar opinions, as tragedy requires. — Here is one of the
IVw attempts of Shakspeare to exhibit tiie conversation of !
ti^cntlemcn, to represent the airj' sprigbtliness of juvenile j
elegance. Mr. Dryden mentions a tradition, which might |
easily reach his time, of a declaration made by Shakspeare, I
that he was obligfd to kill Mercutio in the third Act, lest I
he should have been killed by him. Yet he thinks him |
710 surh formidable person, but that he might have lived !
through the play, and died in his bed, \<ithout danger to i
the poet. Dryden well knew, had he been in quest nf I
truth, in a pointed sentence, that more regard is com- j
monly had to tlic words than the thought, and that it is j
very seldom to be rigorously understood. Mercutio's wit, i
gaiety, and courage, will always procure him friends that
wish him a longer life; but his death is not precipitated,
he has lived out the time allotted him in the construction
of the play; nor do I doubt the ability of Shakspeare to
have continued his existence, though some of his sallies
are perhaps out of the reach of Drjden; whose genius
was not very fertile of merriment, nor ductile to humour,
but acute, argumentative, comprehensive, and sublime. —
The Nurse is one of the characters in which the author
delighted : he has, with great subtlety of distinction, drawn
her at once loquacious and secret, obsequious and insolent,
trusty and dishonest. — His comic scenes are happily
wrought, but his pathetic strains are always polluted with
some unexpected depravations. His persons, however
distressed, have a conceit left them in their misery, a
miserable conceit. ') Johnson.

7) This quotation is also found in the Preface to Drvden's Falilei : "Just Join

Ltttlrrrit in Barlholomtw Fair, who had a conceit (as" lie tells jou) left him in

Steevcnt.

MjxtitrfTit in itariawornetv rair, ^
his miiier? ; a miserable conceit.*

XXXVI. HAMLET.

Ihe original story on which this play is built, may be
found in Saxo Crammaticiis, the Danish historian. From
thence Belleforest adopted it in his collection of novels,
in seven volumes, which he began in 1564, and continued
to publish through succeeding years. From this work,
The Hystorie of Hamblett, quarto, bl. 1. was translated.
I have hitherto met with no earlier edition of the play
than one in the year l(i04, though it must have been per-
formed before that time, as I have seen a copy of Speght's
edition of Chaucer, which formerly belonged to Dr. Ga-
briel Harvey, (the antagonist of Nash,) who, in his own
hand-writing, has set down Hamlet, as a performance
with which he was well acquainted, in the year 1598.
His words are these: "The younger sort take much de-
light in Shakspeare's Venus and Adonis; but his Lucrece,
and his tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke, have it
in them to please the wiser sort, 1598." — In the books
of the Stationers' Company, this play was entered by
James Roberts, July 26, 1602, undei the title of "A booke
called The Revenge of Hamlett, Prince of Denmarke,
as it was lately acted by the Lord Chamberlain his ser-
vantes." — In Eastward Hoe, by George Chapman, Ben
Jonson, and John Marsfon. 1605, is a fling at the hero
of this tragedy. A footman named Hamlet enters, and a
tankard-bearer asks him — "'Sfoole, Hamlet, are you
madr' — The frequent allusions of contemporary authora
to this play sufficiently show its popularity. Thus, in
Decker's Bel man's Nightwalkes, 4to. 1612, we have —
"But if any mad Hamlet, hearing this, smell villainie,
and rush in by violence to see what the tawny diuels
[gypsies] are dooing, then they excuse the fact," &c.
Again, in an old collection of satirical poems, called The
Night-Raven, is this couplet:

"I will not cry Hamlet Revenge my greeves,
"But I will call Hangman, Revenge on thieves."

Steevens.

Surely no satire was intended in Eastward Hoe, which
was acted at Shakspeare's own playhouse, (Blackfriars,)
by the children of the revels, in 1605. M.4I.one.=: The
following particulars relative to the date of this piece,
are borrowed from Dr. Farmer's Essay on the Learning
of Shakspeare, pp. 85, 86. second edition: —"Greene, in
the Epistle prefixed to his Arcadia, hath a lash at some
'vaine glorious tragedians,' and very plainly at Shakspeare
in particular. — 'I leave all these to the mercy of their
mother- tongue, that feed on nought but the crums that
fall from the translators trencher. — That could scarcely
latinize their neck verse if they should have neede,
jet English Seneca, read by candlelight, yields many
good sentences — hee will afford you whole Hamlets, I
should say, handfuls of tragicall speeches.' — I cannot
determine exactly when this Epistle was iirst published;
but, I fancy, it will carry the original Hamlet somewhat
further back than we have hitherto done: and it may be
observed, that the oldest copy now extant is said to be
'enlarged to almost as much againe as it was.' Gabriel
Harvey printed at the end of the year 1592, 'Foure Let-
ters and certaine Sonnetts, especially touching Robert
Greene:' in one of which his Arcadia is mentioned. Now
jVash'a Epistle must have been previous to these, as Ga-
briel is quoted in it with applause; and the Foure Let-
ters were the beginning of a quarrel. Nash replied in
'Strange News of the intercepting certaine Letters, and
a Convoy of Verses, as they were going privilie to victual
the Low Countries, 159.3.' Harvey rejoined the same year
in 'Pierce's Supererogation, or a new Praise of the old
Asse.' And Na-ih again, in 'Have with you to Saffron
JFalden, or Gabriell Harvey's Hunt is up;' containing a
full answer to the eldest sonne of the haltermaker, 1596."
— Nash died before 1606, aa appears from au old comedy

IV.

LX

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

[Pl:37.] Tit.S.

called The Return from Parnassus. Steevkns. = A play
on the subject of Hamlet had been exhibited on the stage
before the year 1589, of which Thomas Kyd was, I be-
lieve, the author. On that play, and on the bl. 1. His-
torie of Hamblet, our poet, I conjecture, constructed the
tragedy before us. The earliest edition of the prose-
narrative which I have seen was printed in 1608. but it
undoubtedly was a republication. — Shakspeare's Hamlet
was writlen, if my conjecture be well founded, in IKOO.

Mai.o>e. If the dramas of Shakspeare were to be

characterised, each by the particular excellence which
distinguishes it from the rest, we must allow to the tragedy
of Hamlet the praise of variety. The incidents are so
numerous, that the argument of the play would make
a long tale. The scenes are interchangeably diversified
with merriment and solemnity: with merriment that in-
cludes judicious and instructive observations; and solemnity
not strained by poetical violence above the natural senti-
ments of man. New characters appear from time to time
in continual succession, exhibiting various forms of life
and particular modes of conversation. The pretended
madness of Hamlet causes much mirth, the mournful dis-
traction of Ophelia fills the heart with tenderness, and
every personage produces the etfect intended, from (he
apparition that in the first Act chills the blood with hor-
ror, to the fop in the last, that exposes affectation to
just contempt. — The conduct is perhaps not wholly se-
cure against objections. The action is indeed for the most
part in continnal progression, but there are some scenes
which neither forward nor retard it. Of the feigned mad-
ness of Hamlet there appears no adequate cause, for he
docs nothing which he might not have done with the re-
putation of sanity. He plays the madman most, when he
treats Ophelia with so much rudeness, ■which seems to be
useless and wanton cruelty. — Hamlet is, through the
whole piece, rather an instrument than an agent. After
he has, by the stratagem of the play, convicted the King,
he makes no attempt to punish him ; and his death is at
last effected by an incident which Hamlet had no part
in producing. — The catastrophe is not very happily pro-
duced; the exchange of weapons is rather an expedient
of necessity, than a stroke of art. A scheme might easily
be formed to kill Hamlet with the dagger, and Laertes
with the bowl. — The poet is accused of having shown
little regard to poetical justice, and may be charged with
equal neglect of poetical probability. The apparition left
the regions of the dead to little purpose; the revenge
which he demands is not obtained, but by the death of him
that was required to take it; and the gratification, which
Mould arise from the destruction of an usurper and a mur-
derer, is abated by the untimely death of Ophelia, the young,
the beautiful, the harmless, and the pious. Johnson.::^

XXXVII. OTHELLO.

1 HE story of Othello is taken from Cynthio^s Novels. Pope.
= I have not hitherto met with any translation of this
novel (the seventh in the third decad) of so early a date
as the age of Shakspeare; but undoubtedly many of those
little pamphlets have perished between his time and ours.
— It is highly probable that our author met with the
name of Othello in some tale that has escaped our re-
searches ; as I likewise find it in Reynolds's (ioiVs Re-
venge against Adultery, standing in one of his Arguments
as follows: "She marries Othello, an old German soldier."
This History (the eighth) is professed to be an Italian
one. Here also occurs the name of lago. — It is like-
wise found, as Dr. Farmer observes, in "The History of
the famous Euordanus Prince of Denmark, M'ith the strange

Adventures of Iago Prince ofSaxonie; bl. 1. 4to. London,
1605." — It may indeed be urged that these names were
adopted from the tragedy before us : but I trust that every
reader who is conversant with the peculiar style and me-
thod in which the work of honest John Reynolds is com-
posed, will acquit him of the slightest familiarity with the
scenes of Shakspeare. — This play was first entered at
Stationers' Hall, Oct. 6, 1621, by Thomas Walkely. Stee-
vBNs. = I have seen a French translation of Cynthio, by
Gabriel Chappuys, Par. 1584. This is not a faithful one;
and I suspect, through this medium the work came into
English. FARinEn. = This tragedy I have ascribed to the
year 1604. Mai.one. = The time of this play may be
ascertained from the following circumstances; Selymus the
Second formed his design against Cyprus in 1369, and
took it in 1571. This was the only attempt the Turks
ever made upon that island after it came into the hands
of the Venetians, (which was in the year 1473,) wherefore
the time must fall in with some part of that interval. We
learn from the play that there was a junction of the
Turkish fleet at Rhodes, in order for the invasion of
Cyprus, that it first came sailing towards Cyprus, then
went to Rhodes, there met another squadron^ and then
resumed its way to Cyprus. These are real historical facts
which happened when Mustapha, Selymus's general, at-
tacked Cyprus in May, 1570, which therefore is the true
period of this performance. See Knolles's History of the
Turks, pp.838, 840, 867. REEn. = The beauties of this play
impress themselves so strongly upon the attention of the
reader, that they can draw no aid from critical illustration.
The fiery openness of Othello, magnanimous, artless, and
credulous, boundless in his confidence, ardent in his affec-
tion, inflexible in his resolution, and obdurate in his re-
venge; the cool malignity of Iago, silent in his resent-
ment, subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his
interest and his vengeance; the soft simplicity of Desde-
mona, confident of merit, and conscious of innocence, her
artless perseverance in her suit, and her slowness to sus-
pect that she can be suspected, are such proofs of Shak-
speare's skill in human nature, as, I suppose, it is vain
to seek in any modern writer. The gradual progress which
Iago makes in the Moor's convictiiin, and the circumstances
which he employs to inflame him, are so artfully natural,
that, though it Mill perhaps not be said of him as he says
of himself, that he is a man not easily jealous, yet we
cannot but pity him, when at last Me find him ■perplexed
in the extreme. — There is alMays danger, lest M'ickedness,
conjoined with abilities, should steal upon esteem, though
it misses of approbation ; but the character of Iago is so
conducted, that he is from the first scene to the last hated
and despised. — Even the inferior characters of this pliiy
would be very conspicuous in any other piece, not only for
their justness, but their strength. Cassio is brave, bene-
volent, and honest; ruined only by his M'ant of stubbornness
to resist an insidious invitation. Roderigo's suspicions cre-
dulity, and impatient submission to the cheats Mhich he sees
practised upon him, and M'hich by persuasion he suffers to
be repeated, exhibit a strong picture of a Meak mind be-
trayed by unlaM ful desires to a false friend ; and the virtue
of Emilia is such as Me often find, Morn loosely, but not
cast off, easy to commit small crimes, but quickened and
alarmed at atrocious villainies. — The scenes from the be-
ginning to the end are busy, varied by happy interchanges,
and regularly promoting the progression of the story; and
the narrative in the end, though it tells but what is
known already, yet is necessary to produce the death of
Othello. — Had the scene opened in Cyprus, and the pre-
ceding incidents been occasionally related, there had been
little M'anting to a drama of the most exact and scru-
pulous regularity. Johnson. =^

IV.

TEMPEST.

Act I.

for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown
furze, '^) any thing: The wills above be done! but
I would fain die a dry death. [Exit.

SCENE 11.

The Island: before the Cell o/Prospero.
Enter Puospkbo and Mibanda.

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them:
The «ky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch.
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd
With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, ' ^)
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er ' "*)
It should the good 'ship so have swallowed, and
The freighting souls within her.

Pro. Be collected;

No moi"e amazement: tell your piteous heart,
There's no harm done.

Mira. O, woe the day!

Pro. No harm. ^^)

1 have done nothing but in care of thee,
(Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!) who
Art ignorant of what thou art, not knowing
Of whence I am; nor that I am more better '^)
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, ^'')
And thy no greater father.

Mira. More to know

Did never meddle with my thoughts. ^'*)

Pro. 'Tis time

I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand.
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So;

[Lays down his Mantle.
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort.
The direful spectacle, of the wreck, which touch'd
The very viitue of compassion ^') in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely order'd, that there is no soul — -")
No, not so much perdition as an hair.
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.

Sit down;
For thou must now know further.

Mira. You have often

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition;
Concluding, Stay .not yet. —

Pro. The hour's now come ;

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell V
I do not think thou can'st; for then thou wast not
Out three years old. ^ ' )

Mira. Certainly, sir, I can.

Pro. By what? by any other house, or person?
Of any thing the image tell me, that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.

Mira. 'Tis far off.

And rather like a dream, than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants: Had I not
Four or five women once, that tended me?

Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: But how is it,
That this lives in thy mind? What see'st thou else
Li the dark backward and abysm of time?--)
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here.
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.

Mira. But that I do not.

Pro. Twelve years since, IVIiranda, twelve years
since, ^^)
Thy father Avas the duke of Milan, and
A prince of power.

Mira. Sir, are not you my father?

Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said — thou wast my daughter; and thy lather
Was duke of Milan; and his only heir
A princess; no worse issued.-^)

Mira. O, the heavens!

What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't, Ave did?

Pro. Both, both, my girl;

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence ;
But blessedly holp hither.

Mira. O, my heart bleeds

To think o'the teen -'") that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, further.

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, —
I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should
Be so perfidious! — he whom, next thyself,
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put
The manage of my state; as, at that time,
Through all the signlories it was the first.
And Prospero the prime duke; being so reputed
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts.
Without a parallel: those being all my study.
The government I cast upon my brother.
And to my state grew stranger, being transported,
And rapt in seci'et studies. Thy false uncle —
Dost thou attend me?

Mira. Sir, most heedfully.

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them ; w horn to advance, and whom
To trash for over-topping; ^'') nevs' created
The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd them,
Or else new form'd them; having both the key -')
Of officer and office, set all hearts-*^)
To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend' st not :
I pray thee, mark me. -^)

Mira. O good sir, I do.

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate^''}
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind
With that, which, but by being so retired,
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust,
liike a good parent, ^^) did beget of him
A falsehood, in its contrary as great
As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He, being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact, — like one,
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory.
To credit his own lie, ^-) — he did believe
He was the duke: out of the substitution, ^^)
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all pi'erogative ; — Hence his ambition
Growing, — Dost hear?

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd.
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library
Was dukedom large enough; of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable: confederates
(So dry he was for sway) ^'*) Avith the king of Naples,
To give him annual tribute, do him homage;
Subject his coronet to his croAvn, and bend
The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan!}
To most ignoble stooping.

Mira. O the heaA'ens !

Act I.

TEMPEST.

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me,
If this might be a brother.

Mira. I should sin

To think but nobly 3*) of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

Pro. Now the condition.

This king of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit:
Which was, that he in lieu o'the premises, — -'*)
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, —
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom; and confer fair Milan,
With all the honours, on my brother: Whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open
The gates of IVIiian; and, i'the dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me, and thy crying self.

Mira. Alack, for pity!

I, not rememb'ring how I cry 'd out then.
Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint, ^^)
That wrings mine eyes. ^^)

Pro. Hear a little further.

And then 111 bring thee to the present business
Which now's upon us; without the which, this story
W^ere most impertinent.

Mira. Wherefore did they not

That hoiu: destroy us?

Pro. Well demanded, wench;

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not;
(So dear the love my people bore me) nor set
A mark so bloody on the business; but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark;
Bore us some leagues to sea: where they prepar'd
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd.
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us.
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh
To the v>'inds, whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.

Mira. Alack! what trouble

Was I then to you!

Pro. O! a cherubim

Thou wast, that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile,
Infused vath. a fortitude from heaven.
When I have deck'd the sea ^') with drops full salt;
Under my burden groan'd; wliich rais'd in me
An undergouig stomach, "***) to bear up
Acainst what should ensue.

Mira. How came we ashore?

Pro. By Providence diyine.
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his chai-ity, (who being then appointed
Master of this design,) did give us; **) with
Rich gannents, linens, stuffs, and necessaries.
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness.
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me.
From my own library, with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.

Mira. 'Would I might

But ever see that man!

Pro. Now I arise: — *-)

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arrived ; and here
Have I, thy schoobnaster, made thee more profit
Than other princes can, that have more time
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.

Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray
you, sir,
(For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason
For raising this sea-storm?

Pro. Know thus far forth

By accident most strange, bountiful fortune.
Now my dear lady, '»^) hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore: and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon
A most auspicious star; whose intluence
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions ;
Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, *■*)
And give it way ; — I know thou can'st not choose. —

[Miranda aleeps.
Come away, servant, come: I am ready now;
Approach, my Ariel; come.

Enter Ariei..

Art. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly.
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl'd clouds; •**) to thy strong bidding, task
Ariel, and all his quality. '**')

Pro. Hast thou, spirit,

Perform'd to point *') the tempest that I bade thee?

Art. To every article.
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, **)
Now in the waist, "• ^ ) the deck, in every cabin,
I flam'd amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide.
And bui-n in many places; *") on the top-mast
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly.
Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precursors
O'the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight-out-running were not : The fire, and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble.
Yea, his dread trideut shake. *')

Pro. My brave spirit!

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
Would not infect his reason?

Art. Not a soul

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners,
Plung'd in the foaming brine and (juit the vessel, **)
Then all a-fire >\ith me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
With haii- up-staring (then like reeds, not hair,)
Was the first man that leap'd; cried. Hell is empty,
And all t/te devils are here.

Pro. Why, that's my spirit!

But was not this nigh shore?

Ari. Close by, my master.

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe?

Ari. Not a hair perish'd;

On their sustaining ^^) garments not a blemish.
But fresher than before: and, as thou bad'st me.
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle;
The king's son have I landed by himself;
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs.
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting.
His arms in this sad knot.

Pro. Of the king's ship.

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd.
And all the rest o'the fleet?

Ari. Safely in harbour

Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, *•*) there she's hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd;
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
1 have left asleep: and for the rest o'the fleet.
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again;
And are upon the Mediterranean flote, **)
Bound sadly home for Naples;
Supposing that they saw tlie king's ship wreck'd,
And his great person perish.

Pro. Ariel, thy charge

TEMPEST

Act I.

Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work:
What is the time o'the day?

Ari. Past the mid season:

Pro. At least two glasses : The time 'tv\ ixt six and now,
Must by us both be spent most preciously.

Ari. Is there more toil V Since thou dost give me pains,
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd,
Which is not yet perform'd me.

Fro. How now? moody?

W^hat is't thou can'st demand?

Ari. My liberty.

Pro. Before the time be out? no more.

Ari. I pray thee

Remember, I have done thee worthy service;
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd
Without or grudge, or grumblings ; thou didst promise
To bate me a full year.

Pro. Dost thou forget *'')

From what a torment I did free thee?

Ari. No.

Pro. Thou dost; and think 'st
It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep;
To run upon the sharp wind of the north;
To do me business in the veins o'the earth,
When it is back'd with frost.

Ari. I do not, sir.

Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age, and envy.
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

Ari. No, sir.

Pro. Thou hast: Where was she born?

speak; tell me.

Ari. Sii", in Argier. *^)

Pro. O, was she so? I must,

Once in a month, recount what thou hast been.
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thing she did.
They would not take her life: Is not this true?

Ari. Ay, sir.

Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child.
And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave,
As thou report' st thyself, wast then her servant:
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands.
Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee,
Ry help of her more potent ministers.
And in her most unmiti gable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain
A dozen years; within which space she died.
And left thee there ; where thou did'st vent thy groans,
As fast as mill-wheels strike : Then was this island,
(Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with
A human shape.

Ari. Yes; Caliban her son.

Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban,
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in: thy groans
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo; it was mine art.
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape
The pine, and let thee out.

Ari. I thank thee, master.

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak,
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

Ari. Pardon, master :

1 will be correspondent to command.

And do my spriting gently.

Pro. Do so; and after two days

I will discharge thee.

Ari. That's my noble master!

What shall I do? say what? what shall I do?

Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph o'the sea; *^)
Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible
To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape.
And hither come in't: hence,wlth diligence. [Exit /iniBL.
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;
Awake !

Mira. The strangeness ^') of your story put
Heaviness in me.

Pro. , Shake it off: Come on;

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.

Mira. 'Tis a villain sir,

I do not love to look on.

Pro. But, as 'tis.

We cannot miss him:'**) he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices
That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.

Cal. [within.] There's wood enough within.

Pro. Come forth, I say ; there's other business for thee :
Come forth, thou tortoise! when?

Re-enter Ariel, like a Water -Nymph.

Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.

Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit.

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

Enter Caliban.

Cal. As wicked dew '^) as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen.
Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye.
And blister you all o'er.

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stiches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins ''-)
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, ''^)
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made them.

Cal. I must eat my dinner.

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother.
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest first.
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; would'st

give me
Water with berries in't; and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less.
That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee,
And shew'd thee all the qualities o'the isle,
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile ;
Cursed be I that did so ! — All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
For I am all the subjects that you have.
Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest of the island.

Pro. Thou most lying slave,

Whom stripes may move, not kindness : I have us'd thee.
Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd thee
In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate
The honour of ray child.

Cal. O ho, O ho! '4) _ 'would it had been done!
Thou did'st prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

Pro. Abhorred slave;

Which any print of goodness will not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour

Act I.

TEMPEST.

One thing or other: when thou did'st not, savage.
Know thine own meaning, <• *) but would'st gabble like
A thing most brutish, 1 endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known: But thy ^-ile

race, '<•)
Though thou did'st learn, had that in't which good

natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deser\-edly confui'd into this rock.
Who had'st deserv'd more than a prison.

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you, *"")
For learning me your language!

Pro. Hag-seed, hence!

Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert best.
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps;
Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

Cal. No, pray thee! —

I must obey; his art is of such power. [Aside.

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, <•')
And make a vassal of him.

Pro. So, slave; hence! [Exit Calibax.

Re-enter Ariel invisible, <*'>) playing and singing;
Fkrdinand following him.

Akikl's Song.
Come unto these yellotc sands.

And then take hands:
Coiirt'sied when you have, and kiss' d, '"')

{The wild waves whist,)
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

Hark, Hark!
Bur. Bowgh. wowgh. [Dispertedly.

The watch-dogs bark:
Bur. Bowffh, \vo\v<rh. [Ditpertedly.

Hark, hark! / hear.
The strain of strutting chanticlere
Cry, Cock -a- doodle - doo.

Fer. Where should this music be? i'the air, or
the earth?
It sounds no more: — and sure it waits upon
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank
Weeping again the king my father's wreck, ^')
This musicic crept by me upon the waters;
Allaying both their fury, and my passion.
With its sweet air: thence 1 have follow'd it.
Or it hath drawn me rather: — But 'tis gone.
No, it begins again.

Ariei, slnjrs.
Full fathom fve thy father lies,

o/h- - '

')

his bones are coral made;
Tliose are pearls, that were his eyes :
Nothing of him that dot li fade, '^)
But doth suffer a sea -change
Into something ricli and strange.
Sea -nymphs hourly ring Itis knell:
Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
[Burden ding-dong. ^•')

JVr.The ditty does remember my drown'dfathen — ^ *)
This is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes: "") I hear it now above me.

Pro. The fringed curtains ' ' ) of thine eye advance
And say, what thou seest yond'.

Mir a. What is't? a spirit?

Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir.
It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit.

Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath such
senses
As we have, such: This gallant, which thou seest.
Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd
With grief, that's beauty's canker,thou might'st call him
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows.
And strays about to find them.

Mira. I might call him

A thing divine; for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble.

Pro. It goes on, "') [Jside.

As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free thee
Within two days for this.

Fer. Most sure, the goddess

On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe, my prayer
May know, if you remain upon this island;
And that you will some good instruction give,
How I may bear me here: My prime request.
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If vou be made or no? ^')

Mira. No wonder, sir;

But, certainly a maid.

Fer. My language! heavens! —

I am the best of them that speak this speech.
Were I but where 'tis spoken.

Pro. How, the best?

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee?
Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders

To hear thee speak of Naples: He does hear me;

And that he does, I weep: myself am Naples;

Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld

The king my father wreck'd.
Mira. Alack, for mercy!

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Alilan,

And his brave son, being twain. "*')
Pro. The duke of Milan,

And his more braver daughter, could controul thee, **)

If now 'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight [Aside.

They have chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel,

I'll set thee free for this! — A word, good sir;

I fear you have done yourself some wTong: *-) aword.
Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This

Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first

That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father

To be inclin'd my way!
Fer. O, if a virgin,

And your aflfection not gone forth, I'll make you

The queen of Naples.
Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. —

They are both in either's powers; but this swift business

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside.

Make the prize light. — One word more ; I charge thee.

That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp

The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself

Upon this island, as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on't.
Fer. No, as I am a man.

yiira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:

If the ill spirit have so fair an house.

Good things wiU strive to dwell with't.
Pro. Follow me. —

-^-' [To Fkbd.

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. — Come,

I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:

Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be

The fresh-brook muscles, -wither'd roots, and husks

Wherein the acorn cradled; Follow.
Fer. No;

I will resist such entertainment, till

INIine enemy has more power. [He draws.

Mira. O dear father.

Make not too rash a trial of him, for

He's gentle, and not feartul. *^)

6

TEMPEST

Act II.

Pro. What, I say.

My foot my tutor! Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who inak'st a shew, but dar'st not strike, thy

conscience
Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy Avard ; ^ ■'*')
For I can here disarm thee Avith this stick.
And make thy weapon drop.

Mir a. Beseech you, father!

Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments.

Mira. Sir, have pity;

I'll be his surety.

Pro. Silence! one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
An advocate for an impostor? hush!
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he.
Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish Avench!
To the most of men this is a Caliban,
And they to him are angels.

Mira. My affections

Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

Pro. Come on; obey: [To Ferd.

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,
And have no vigour in them.

Fer. So they are:

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. ^^)
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel.
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, ^^)
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o'the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I, in such a prison.

Pro. It works : — Come on. — •
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! — Follow me. —

[To Ferb. and Mira.
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel.

Mira. Be of comfort ;

My fatlter's of a better nature, sir.
Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted.
Which now came from him.

Pro. Thou shalt be as free

As mountain winds; but then exactly do
All points of my command.

Ari. To the syllable.

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene I. Another part of the Island.

Enter Alonso, Skbastian, Antonio, Gonzalo,
Adrian, Francisco, and others.

Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry : you have cause
(So have we all) of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss: Our hint of woe •)
Is common; every day, some sailor's wife.
The masters of some merchant, ^) and the merchant.
Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle, ^)
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.

Ant. The visitor *) will not give him o'er so.

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit;
By and by it will strike.

Gon. Sir, —

Seb. One: — Tell.

Gon. When every grief is entertaln'd, that's offer'd.
Comes to the entertainer —

Seb. A dollar.

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have
spoken truer than you purposed.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you
should.

Gon. Therefore, my lord, —

Ant. Fye, what a spendthrift Is he of his tongue!

Alon. I pr'ythee spare.

Gon. Well, I have done: But yet —

Seb. He will be talking.

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good
wager, first begins to crow?

Seb. The old cock.

Ant. The cockrel.

Seb. Done: the wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, —

Seb. Ha, ha, ha!

Ant. So, you've pay'd. ^)

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost Inaccessible, —

Seb. Yet,

Adr. Yet —

Ant. He could not miss it.

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and de-
licate temperance. '')

Ant. Temperance Avas a delicate Avench.^

Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly de-
Tnered.

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

Gon. Here Is every thing adAantageous to life.

Ant. True; sa^e means to live.

Seb. Of that there's none, or little.

Gon. How lush **) and lusty the grass looks? how
g''pen?

Ant. The ground. Indeed, Is tawny.

Sef). With an eve of green In't. ^)

Ant. He misses not much.

Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

Go7t. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed al-
most beyond credit) —

Seb. As many Aouch'd rarities are.

Go7i. That our garments, being, as they Avere,
drenched in the sea, hold , notwithstanding, their
freshness, and glosses: being rather new dy'd, than
staln'd with salt Avater.

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would
it not say he lies?

Seb. Ay, or Aery falsely pocket up his report.

Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as
Avhen we put them on first in Africk, at the mar-
riage of the king's fair daughter Claribel * ") to the
king of Tunis.

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well
in our return,

Adr. Tunis was never graced before Avith such a
paragon to their queen.

Gon. Not since Avidow Dido's time.

Ant. Widow? a pox o'that! How came that AvIdoAV
in? Widow Dido! ")

Seb. What if he had said, Avidower /lilneas too?
good Lord, how you take it!

Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study
of that: She v/as of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

Adr. Carthage?

Gon. I assure you, Carthage.

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. '*)

Seb. He hath rais'd the Avail, and houses too.

Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next?

Seb. 1 think he Avill cany this island home in his
pocket, and give it his son for an apple.

Act II.

TEMPEST

Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in tlie sea, bring
fortli more islands.

Gon. Ay?

Ant. Why, in good time.

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem
now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the
marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.

Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there.

Seh. '13ate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

Gon. Is not, sir, my doiiblet as fresh as the first
day I wore itV 1 mean, in a sort.

Ant. That sort was well fish'd for.

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?

Alon. You cram these woi'ds into mine ears, against
The stomach of my sense: *^) 'Would I had never
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence.
My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too.
Who is so far fx-om Italy remov'd,
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee!

Fran. Sir, he may live;

I saw him beat the surges under him.
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water.
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head
'Bove the contenljbtious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve hiin; I not doubt.
He came alive to land.

Alon. No, no, he's gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss;
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter.
But rather lose her to an African;
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye.
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.

Seh. You were kneel'd to, and iraportun'd otherwise
By all of us; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, ^•') between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o'the beam she'd bow. We have lost your son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making,
Thau we bring men to comfort them: ' ■"') The fault's
Your own,

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.

Gon. My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness.
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore.
When you should bring the plaster.

Seh. Very well.

Ant. And most chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir.
When you are cloudy.

Seb. Foul weather?

Ant. Very foul.

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my loi'd, —

Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed.

Seb. Or docks, or mallows.

Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do ?

Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I'the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things: for no kind of traffick
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; ^^) no use of service,
Of riches or of poverty; no contracts.
Successions; bomid of land, tilth, vineyard, none:
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too; but innocent and pure:
No sovereignty : —

Seb. And yet he would be king on't.

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets
the beginning. ' ' )

Gon. All things in common nature should produce.
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony.
Sword, pike, knife, gmi, or need of any engine, '*)
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth.
Of its own kind, all foizon, ") all abundance.
To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects?

Ant. None, man: all idle; whores, and knaves.

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age.

Seb. 'Save his majesty!

Ant. Long live Gonzalo!

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir? —

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more : thou dost talk nothing to me.

Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it
to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of
such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always
use to laugli at nothing.

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am no-
thing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at
nothing still.

Ant. What a blow was there given?

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long.

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you
would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would
continue in it five weeks without changing.

Enter Arikl invisible, playing solemn musich. -")

Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my
discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep,
for I ani very heavy ?

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.

\^AU sleep hut Aion. , Seb. and Ant.

Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I fiind.
They are inclin'd to do so.

Seb. Please you, sir,

Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth.
It is a comforter.

Ant. We two, my lord.

Will guard your person, while you take your rest.
And watch your safety.

Alon. Thank yon : wondrous heavy. —

[\LOJizo sleeps. Exit Ahikl.

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

Ant. It is the quality o'the climate.

Seb. Why

Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
Myself dispos'd to sleep.

Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.

They fell together all, as by consent;
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian ? — 0, what might? — No more: —
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face.
What thou should' st be: the occasion speaks thee; and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

Seb. What, art thou waking?

Ant. Do you not hear me speak?

Seb. I do 5 and surely.

It is a sleepy language; and thou speak'st
Out of thy sleep : What is it thou did'st say ?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving.
And yet so fast asleep.

^„f_ Noble SebastiaiH

I.

8

TEMPEST

Act it.

Thou let' St thy fortune sleep — die rather; whik'st
Whiles thou art waking.

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly;

There's meaning in thy snores.

Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do,
Trebles thee o'er. -^)

Seb. Well; I am standing water.

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.

Seh. Do so: to ebb,

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Ant. O,

If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish,
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it.
You more invest it! --) Ebbing men, indeed,
Most often do so near the bottom run.
By their own fear or sloth.

Seb. Pr'ythee say on:

The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed.
Which throes thee much to yield.

Ant. Thus, sir:

Although this lord of weak remembrance, -^) this
(Who shall be of as little memory.
When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded
(For he's a spirit of persuasion only,)
The king, his son's alive: 'tis as impossible
That he's imdrown'd, as he that sleeps here, swims. - ")

Seb. I have no hope
That he is undrown'd.

Ant. O, out of that no hope.

What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is
Another way so high an hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, -^)
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me.
That Ferdinand is drown'd?

Seb. He's gone.

Ant. Then, tell me,

Who's the next heir of Naples?

Seb. Claribel.

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis: she that dwells
Ten leagues beyond man's life; -'^) she that from

Naples
Can have no note, -') unless the sun were post,
(The man i'the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable; she, from whom -*)
We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; ^')
And, by that, destin'd *•*) to perfoi'm an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come.
In yours and my discharge. ^^)

Seb. What stuif is this? — How say you?

'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis:
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
There is some space.

Ant. A space whose every cubit

Seems to cry out, Hotv shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples ? — Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death
That now hath seiz'd them ; why, they were no worse
Than now they are: There be, that can rule Naples,
As Avell as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily,
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make
A chough ^-) of as deep chat. O, that you bore
The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
For your advancement! Do you understand me?

Seb. Methinks, I do.

Ant. And how does your content

Tender your own good fortune?

iSe6. I remember.

You did supplant your brother Prospero.

Ant. True:

And, look, how well my garments sit upon me;

Much feater than before: My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.

Seb. But, for your conscience —

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kybe,
'Twould put me to my slipper: But I feel not
This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences,
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they.
And melt, ere they molest ! ^ ^) Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon.
If he were that which now he's like: ^'*) whom I,
With this obedient steel, three inches of it.
Can lay to bed for ever: whiles you, doing thus,
To the perpetual wink for aye ^*) might put
This ancient morsel, ^<') this sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk; ^')
They'll tell the clock to any business that
We say befits the hour.

Seh. Thy case, dear friend,

Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st;
And I the king shall love thee.

Ant. Draw together:

And when I rear my hand, do you the like.
To fall it on Gonzalo. "^ \

Seb. O, but one word.

[They converse apart.

Musick. Re-enter Arikt., invisible,

Ari. My master, through his art foresees the danger

That these, his friends, are in; and sends me forth,

(For else his project dies,) to keep them living.^ ^)

\Singfi in Gonzalo's ear.

While you here do snoring licy
Open-ey'd conspiracy

His time doth take:
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber, and beware;

Awake ! Awake!

Ant. Then let us both be sudden.

Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king!

[They awake.

Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you
drawn? ^')
Wherefore this ghastly looking?

Gon. What's the matter?

Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose.
Even now we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions ; did it not wake you ?
It struck mine ear most terribly.

Alon. I heard nothing.

Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear;
To make an earthquake! sure it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.

Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo?

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming.
And that a strange one too, which did awake me:
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd; as mine eyes open'd,
I saw their weapons drawn: — there was a noise.
That's verity: 'Best stand upon our guard; *")
Or that we quit this place; let's draw our weapons.

Alon. Lead off this ground; and let's make further
search
For my poor son.

Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ;

For he is, sure, i'the island.

Alon. Lead away.

Art. Prospero my lord shall know what I have

done: [Aside.

So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.

Act II.

TEMPEST

9

Scene II.

Another part of the Itlani.

Enter Caliban, with a burden of Wood.

A noise of Thunder heard.

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me.
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i'the mire,
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but
For every trifle are they set upon me:
Sometimes like apes, that moe "* ' ) and chatter at me,
And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their pricks *-) at my foot-fall; sometimes am I
All wound with adders, *^) who, with cloven tongues,
Do hiss me into madness: — Lo! now! lo!

Enter TRracuto.
Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment mc.
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat;
Perchance, he will not mind me.

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off
any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I
hear it sing i'the wind: yond' same black cloud,
yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard **) that
would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it
did before, I know not where to hide my head :
yond* same cloud cannot chuse but fall by pailfuls.
— What have we here? a man or a fish? Dead or
alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient
and fish-like smell; a kind of, not of the newest,
Poor- John. A strange fish! Were I in England now,
(as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, **)
not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of
silver: there would this monster make a man; '*<')
any strange beast there makes a man: when they
will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they
will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like
a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o'my troth!
I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer;
this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately
suffered by a thunder-bolt. \^Thunder.'\ Alas! the
storm is come again: my best way is to creep under
his gaberdine; ■*') there is no other shelter here-
about: Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfel-
lows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the
storm be past.

Enter Stephano, singing; a Bottle in his hand.

Ste. / shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I dye ashore; —
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral :
Well, here's my comfort. [^Drinks.

The master, the swabber, the boatswain^ and I,

The gunner, and his mate,
Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car' d for Kate:
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor. Go, hang:
She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch.
Yet a tailor might scratch her ir here- e'er she did itch :
Then to sea boys and let her go hang.

This is a scurvy tune too: But here's my comfort.

^Drinks.

Cal. Do not torment me: O!

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do
you put tricks upon us with savages, **®) and men
of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be

afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said,
As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot
make him give ground : and it shall be said so again,
while Stephano breathes at nostrils.

Cal. The spirit torments me: OI

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four
legs; who hath got, as I take it, an ague: Where
the devil should he learn our language? I will give
him some relief, if it be but for that: If I can re-
cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples
with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever
trod on neat's leather.

Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee;
I'll bring my wood home faster.

Ste. He's in his fit now; and does not talk after
the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have
never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove
his fit: if I can recover him, and keep hiin tame,
I will not take too much '*') for him: he shall pay
for him that hath hiin, and that soundly.

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt
Anon, I know it by thy trembling; *")
Now Prosper works upon thee.

Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth: here
is that which will give language to you, cat; * ')
open your mouth: this Avill shake your shaking, I
can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell who's
your friend: open your chaps again.

Trin. I should know that voice : It should be — But
he is drowned : and these are devils : O ! defend me ! —

Ste. Four legs, and two voices; a most delicate
monster! His forward voice ^-) now is to speak well
of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul
speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my
bottle will recover him, I will help his ague : Come, —
Amen! ^*) I will pour some in thy other mouth.

Trin. Stephano, —

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! mercy !
This a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I
have no long spoon. *^)

Trin. Stephano! — if thou beest Stephano, touch
me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo; — be not
afeard, — thy good friend Trinculo.

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull
thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs,
these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed:
How cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-
calf? **) Can he vent Trinculos?

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunderstroke:
— But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope
now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm over-
blown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaber-
dine, for fear of the storm: And art thou living,
Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scap'd!

Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about; my stomach
is not constant.

Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor:
I will kneel to him.

Ste. How did'st thou 'scape? how cam'st thou
hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither.
I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors
heaved over-bo£ird, by this bottle ! which I made of
the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I
was cast a-shore.

Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy
True subject; for the licpior is not earthly.

Ste. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst. ") ^

Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck; I can swim
like a duck, I'll be sworn.

Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst swim
like a duck, thou art made like a goose.

Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this?

10

TEMPEST

Act III.

Ste. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock
by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now,
moon-calf? how does thine ague?

Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven? 5')

Ste. Out o'the moon, I do assure thee: I was the
man in the moon, when time Avas.

Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee;
My mistress shewed me thee, thy dog, and bush. * ^)

Ste. Cwne, swear to that; kiss the book: I will
furnish it anon with new contents: swear.

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow
monster: — I afeard of him? — a very weak mon-
ster: ^') — The man i'the moon? — a most poor cre-
dulous motr*!ter: Well drawn, monster, in good sooth.

Cal. I'll shew thee every fertile inch o'the island;
And kiss thy foot: ''") I pr'ythee, be my god.

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken
monster: when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle.

Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy subject.

Ste. Come on then; down and swear.

Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-
headed monster: a most scurvy monster! 1 could
find in my heart to beat him, —

Ste. Come, kiss.

Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink : An
abominable monster !

Cal. I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee
berries ;
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wond'rous man.

Trin. A most ridiculous monster; to make a wonder
of a poor drunkard.

Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;
Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmozet; I'll bring thee
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young sea-mells << ' ) from the rock: Wilt thou go
with me?

Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any
more talking. — ■ Trinculo, the king and all our com-
pany else being drowned, we will inherit here. —
Here; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill
him by and by again.

Cal. Farewell, master : farewellj farewell.

[Sings drunkenly.

Trin. A howling monster; a drunken uaonster.

Cal. No more dams I'll make for Jish ;
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring,
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish;
'Ban 'Ban, Ca — Caliban,
Has a new master — Get a tieto man. '^)
B^'eedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-
day, freedom!

Ste. O brave monster! lead the way. [Exeunt.

ACT HI.

Scene I. Before Prospero's Cell.

Enter Fkrdiivand, hearing a log.

Fer. There be some sports are painful; but their ')
labour
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters
Point to ricii ends. This my mean task would be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; -) but
The mistress, which I ser>e, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is

Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed:
And he's compos'd of harshness. I nuist remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up.
Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness
Had ne'er like executor. I forget: ^)
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours;
Most busy-less, when I do it.

Enter Miranda, and Prospkro at a distance.

Mira. . Alas, now! pray you,

Work not so hard; I would the lightning had
Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile!
Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns,
'Twill weep for having wearied you: My father
Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
He's safe for these three hours.

Fer. O most dear mistress.

The sun will set, before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.

Mira. If you'll sit down,

I'll bear your logs the while: Pray, give me that;
I'll carry it to the pile.

Fer. No, precious creature :

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back.
Than 'you should such dishonour undergo, ,

While I sit lazy by.

Mira. It would become me

As well as it does you: and I should do it
With much more ease; for my good will is to it.
And yours against. *)

Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ;

This visitation shews it.

Mira. You look wearily.

Fer. No, noble mistress : 'tis fresh morning with me.
When you are by at night. I do beseech you,
(Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,)
What is your name?

Mira. Miranda : — O my father,

I have broke your best *) to say so!

Fer. Admir'd Miranda!

Indeed, the top of admiration; worth
What's dearest to tlie world! Full many a lady
I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
Have I lik'd several women; never any
With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd.
And put it to the foil: But you, O you.
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.

Mira. I do not know

One of my sex: no woman's face remember.
Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend.
And my dear father: how features are abroad,
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty,
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape.
Besides yourself, to like of: But I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget. <'}

Fer. I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
(I would, not so!) and would no more endure
This wooden slavery, than I would suffer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. ' ) - Hear my soul speak ';-
The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service; there resides.
To make me slave to it; and for your sake,
Am I this patient log-man.

Act in.

TEMPEST

11

Mira. Do you love me?

Fer. O hoaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,
And crown what I profess with kind event.
If I speak true; if hollowly, invert
What best is boded me, to mischief! I,
Beyond all limit of what else i'the world, 8)
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira. I am a fool,

To weep at what I am glad of. ')

Pro. Fair encounter

Of two most rare afFections! Heavens rain grace
On that which breeds between them!

Fer. Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dai'e not offer
What I desire to give; and much less take.
What I shall die to want: But this is trifling;
And all the more it seeks to hide itself.
The bigger bulk it shews. Hence, bashful cunning!
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
I am your wife, if you will marry me;
If not, I'll die your maid; to be your fellow "')
You may deny me; but I'll be your senant,
Whether you will or no.

Fer. My mistress, flearest.

And I thus humble ever.

Mira. My husband then?

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.

Mira. And mine with my heart in't: ^ ') And now
fai'ewell.
Till half an hour hence.

Fer. A thousand! thousand!

[Exeunt Ferb. and Miba.

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be.
Who are surpriz'd with all; ^-) but my rejoicing
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book;
For yet, ere supper time, must I perform
Much business appertaining. [Exit.

Scene II.

Another part of the liland.

Enter Stephano and Trixculo; Cxiabxs following
with a Bottle.

Ste. Tell not me ; — w hen the butt is out, we will
drink w ater ; not a drop before : therefore bear up,
and board 'em: ^^) Ser> ant-monster, drink to me.

Trin. Servant - monster, the folly of this island!
They say, there's but five upon this isle: we are
three of them ; if the other two be brained like us,
the state totters.

Ste. Drink, sert'ant-monster, when I bid thee; thy
eyes are almost set in thy head.

Trin. Where should they be set else? he were a
brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.

Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in
sack; for my part, the sea cannot drown me: I
swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty
leagues, off and on, by tliis light. — Thou shalt be
my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.

IVtn. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no standard. * *)

Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster.

Trin. Nor go neither: but you'll lie, like dogs;
and yet say nothing neither.

Ste. Moon -calf, speak once in thy life, if thou
beest a good moon-calf.

Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe:
I'll not serve liim, — he is not valiant.

Tri7i. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am In
case to justle a constable: why, thou deboshed fish
thou, ^^) was there ever a man a coward, that hath
drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a

monstrous lie, being but lialf a fish, and half a
monster?

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my
lord?

Trin. Lord, quoth he! — that a monster should be
such a natural!

Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I pr'ythee.

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue In your head ; if
you prove a mutineer, the next tree — The poor mon-
ster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity.

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased
To hearken once again the suit ^'') I made thee?

Ste. Marry will I: kneel and repeat it; I will
stand, and so shall Trinculo.

Enter Akibl, invisible.

Cal. As I told thee
Before, I am subject to a tyrant; '')
A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath
Cheated me of tliis island.

Art. Thou liest.

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting ^nonkey, thou;
I would, my valiant master would destroy thee:
I do not lie.

Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his
tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.

Trin. Why, I said nothuig.

Ste, Mum then, and no more. — [To Caliban.

Proceed.

Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
From me he got it. If thy greatness will
Revenge It on him — for, I know, thou dar'st;
But this thing dare not.

Ste. That's most certain.

Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee.

Ste. How now shall this be compassed? Canst
thou bring me to the party?

Cal. Yea, yea, my lord ; I'll yield him thee asleep.
Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head.

Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not.

Cal. What a pied ninny's this? • ^) Thou scurvy
patch! —
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows.
And take his bottle from him: when that's gone,
Ke shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not shew him
Where the quick freshes are.

Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger: inter-
rupt the monster one word further, and, by this
hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a
stock-fish of thee.

Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing; I'll go
further off.

Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied?

Ari. Thou liest.

Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikeg him.] As
you like this, give me the lie another time.

Trin. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits,

and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! this

can sack, and drinking do. — A murrain on your
monster, and the de^il take your fingers!

Cal. Ha, ha, ha!

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand
further off. ^

Cal. Beat bun enough: after a little time,
I'll beat him too.

Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed.

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with hhn
I'the afternoon to sleep : there thou may'st brain him.
Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log
Batter his skull, or pamich him with a stake.
Or cut his wezand with thy knife : Remember,
First to possess his books; for without them
He's but a sot, as I am, ") nor hath not

I.

12

TEMPEST.

Act III

One spirit to command: They all do hate him,

As rootedly as I: Burn but his books;

He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,)

Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal.

And that most deeply to consider, is

The beauty of his daughter; he himself

Calls her a nonpareil: 1 ne'er saw woman, -")

But only Sycorax my dam, and she;

But she as far surpasseth Sycorax,

As greatest does least.

Ste. Is it so brave a lass?

Cal. Ay, my lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant.
And bring thee forth brave brood.

Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter
and I will be king and queen; (save our graces!)
and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : — Dost
thou like the plot, Trinculo?

Trin. Excellent.

Ste, Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee:
but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head.

Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep;
Wilt thou destroy him then?

Ste. Ay, on mine honour.

Ari. This will I tell my master,

Cal. Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of pleasure;
Let us be jocund: Will you troll the catch -')
You taught me but while-ere?

Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any
reason: Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings.

Flout 'em, and shout 'em; and skout 'em,

and flout 'em;
Thought is free.

Cal. That's not the tune.

[AkieIi plays the tune on a tabor and pipe.

Ste. What is this same?

Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by
the picture of No-body. ^-)

Ste. If thou beest a man, shew thyself in thy
likeness: if thou beest a devil, tak't as thou list.

Trin. O, forgive me my sins!

Ste. He that dies, pays all debts: I defy thee: —
Mercy upon us!

Cal. Art thou afeard? ^3)

Ste. No, monster, not I.

Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises.
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices.
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep.
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds, methought, would open, and shew riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak'd,
I cry'd to dream again.

Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where
I shall have my musick for nothing.

Cal. When Prospero is destroyed.

Ste. That shall be by and by: 1 remember the story.

Trin. The sound is going away: let's follow it,
and after, do our work.

Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow. — I would, I could
see this taborer: he lays it on.

Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. ^'*) [Exeunt.

Scene in.

Another part of the Island.

Enter Alonso, Srbvstian, Antonio, Gonzalo,
Adrian, B'rancisco, and others.

Gon. By'r lakin, ^*) I can go no further, sir;
My old bones ache: here's a maze trod, indeed,

Through forth-rights and meanders ! by your patience,
I needs must rest me.

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee.

Who am myself attach'd with weariness.
To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it
No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd,
Whom thus Ave stray to find; and the sea mocks
Our frustrate search -^) on land: Well, let him go;

Ant. 1 am right glad that he's so out of hope.

[Aside to Sebastian.
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
That you resolv'd to effect.

Seb. The next advantage

Will we take thoroughly.

Ant. Let it be to-night;

For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance.
As when they are fresh.

Seb. I say, to-night: no more.

Solemn and strange Musick; and Prospero above, in-
visible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing in a
Banquet; they dance about it with gentle actions of
salutation ; and inviting the King, ^c. to eat, they depart.

Alon. What harmony is this? my good friends, hark!

Gon. Marvellous sweet musick!

Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were
these?

Seb. A living drollery: ^'') Now I will believe.
That there are unicorns; that, in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne; ^^) one phoenix
At this hour reigning there.

Ant. I'll believe both;

And what does else want credit, come to me,
And I'll be sworn 'tis true : Travellers ne'er did lie.
Though fools at home condemn them.

Gon. If in Naples

I should report this now, would they believe me?
If I should say, I saw such islanders,
(For, certes, -') these are people of the island,)
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note.
Their manners are more gentle-kind, ^") than of
Our human generation you shall find
Many, nay, almost any.

Pro. Honest lord.

Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present,
Are worse than devils. [Aside.

Alon. I cannot too much muse, ^*)

Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing
(Although they want the use of tongue,) a kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.

Pro. Praise in departing. ^-)

[Aside.

Fran. They vanish'd strangely.

Seb. No matter, since

They have left their viands behind ; for we have sto-
machs. —
Will't please you taste of what is here?

Alon. Not I.

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear : When we were boys,
Who would believe that there were mountaineers, ^^)
Dew-la pp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging

at them
Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men.
Whose heads stood in their breasts?^'*) which now

we find.
Each putter-out on five for one, ^5) will bring us
Good warrant of.

Alon. I will stand to, and feed,

Although my last: no matter, since I feel
The best is past:^') — Brother, my lord the duke.
Stand to, and do as we.

I.

Act IV.

TEMPEST

13

Thunder and lis^htiiing. Enter Arikx. like a harpy;

clapg his wings upon the table, and, with a

quaint device, the banquet vanishes.^'')

Ari. You are three men of sin, Nvhoni destiny
(That hath to instrument this lower world, ^^)
And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to belch up; and on this island
Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;

\Secing Alon. Seb. ^-c. draw their swordt.
And even with such like valour, men hang and drown
Their proper selves. You fools! I and iny fellows
Are ministers of fate; the elements.
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One dowle that's in my plume; *') my fellow-ministers
Are like invulnerable: if you could hurt,
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths,
And Avill not be uplifted: But, remember,
(For that's my business to you,) that you three
From Milan dad supplant good Prospero;
Expos'd unto the sea, which hath reqult it,
Him, and his innocent child: for which foul deed
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures.
Against your peace: Thee, of thy son, Alonso,
They have bereft; and do pronounce by me,
Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death
Can be at once,) shall step by step attend
You, and your ways ; w hose wraths to guard you from
(Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow.
And a clear life "*") ensuing. •*■)
He vanishes in thunder: then to toft mutick, enter the

Shapes again, and dance with mops and mowes, *-)

and carry out the table.
Pro. [aside-l Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated,
In what thou hadst to say: so with good life,**)
And observation strange, my meaner ministers
Their several kinds have done: **) my high charms

work,
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up
In their distractions: they now are in my power;
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,)
And his and my loved darling.

[Exit Prosfebo from above.

Gon. Fthe name of something holy, sir, why stand you
In this strange stare?
Alan. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous I

Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it;
The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder.
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd
The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass.*^)
Therefore my son i'the ooze is bedded; and
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded,
[ And with him there lie mudded. '*<') [Exit.

Seb. But one fiend at a time,

I'll fight their legions o'er.

Ant. I'll be thy second.

[Exeunt Seb. and Art.

Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great guilt.
Like poison given ■*") to work a great time after.
Now 'guis to bite the spirits: — 1 do beseech you
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly,
And hinder them from what this ecstacy *^)
May now provoke them to.

Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I. Before Proapero's Cell.
Enter Prospero, Fkrdinvnd, and Miranda.

Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you,
Your compensation makes amends; for I
Have given you here a thread of mine own life, ')
Or that for which I live; whom once again
I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations
Were but ray trials of thy love, and thou
Hast strangely stood the test: -) here, afore Heaven,
I ratify this ray rich gift. O Ferdinand,
Do not smile at me, that I boast her off.
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise.
And make it halt behind her.

Fer. I do believe it.

Against an oracle.

Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition
Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But
If thou dost break her virgin knot before
All sanctimonious ceremonies^) may
With full and holy rite be minister'd.
No sweet aspersion * ) shall the heavens let fall
To make this contract grow: but barren hate,
Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly.
That you shall hate it both: therefore, take heed.
As Hjinen's lamps shall light you.

Fer. As I hope

For quiet days, fair issue, and long life.
With such love as 'tis now; the murkiest den.
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion
Our worser Genius can, shall never melt
Mine honour into lust; to take away
The edge of that day's celebration.
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd.
Or night kept chain'd below.

Pro. Fairly spoke: 5)

Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own, —
What, Ariel; my industrious servant Ariel!

Enter Ariel.

Ari. What would my potent master? here I am.

Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
Did worthily perform; and I must use you
In such another trick : go, bring the rabble, ')
O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place:
Incite them to quick motion; for I must
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
Some vanity of mine art; ') it is my promise,
And they expect it from me.

Ari. Presently ?

Pro. Aye, with a twink.

Ari. Before you can say. Come, and go.
And breathe twice; and cry, so, so;
Each one, tripping on his toe.
Will be here with mop and raowe;
Do you love rae, master? no.

Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do not approach.
Till thou dost hear me call.

Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit.

Pro. Look, thou be true; do not give dalliance
Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw
To the fire i'the blood: be more abstemious.
Or else, good night, your vow!

jPer. I warrant yon, sir.

The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
Abates the ardour of my liver.

Pro. Well. —

Now come, my Ariel: bring a coroUarj-, ^)
Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.—
No tongue; ') all eyes; be silent. [Soft tmmcft.

14

TEMPEST

Act IV.

A Masque. Enter Iris.
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep.
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, ^°) them to keep;
Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, ^^)
Which spongy Api'Il at thy best betrims,
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom

groves, ' - )
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lass-lorn; ^^) thy pole-clipt vineyard; ^*)
And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air: The queen o'the sky.
Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I,
Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace,
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place.
To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain;
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

Enter Ceres.

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
Who, with thy saffron Avings, upon my flowers
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers;
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
My bosky acres, ^ ^) and my unshrubb'd down,
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy (jueen
Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green V ^^)

Iri&. A contract of true love to celebrate;
And some donation freely to estate
On the bless'd lovers.

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow,

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know.
Do now attend the queen V since they did plot
The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got.
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company \
I have forsworn. f

Iris. Of her society I

Be not afraid; I met her deity ;

Cutting the clouds towards Paphos; and her son
Dove-drawn with her: here thought they to have done
Some Avanton charm upon this man and maid.
Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid
Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain;
Mars's hot minion is return'd again;
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows.
Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows,
And be a boy right out.

Cer. Highest queen of state,

Great Juno comes: I know her by her gait.

Enter Juno.
Jun. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me.
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be.
And honour'd in their issue.

Song.
Jun, Honour, riches, marriage -blessing,
Long continuance, and increasing.
Hourly joys he still upon you I
Juno sings Iter blessings on you.
Cer. Earth's increase, and foison plenty,^'')
Hams, and garners never empty;
Vines, with clusVring bunclws growing;
Plants, with goodly burden bowing;
Spring come to you, at the farthest,
In the very end of harvest!
Scarcity, and want, shall shun you;
Ceres' blessing so is on you.
Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and
Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold
To think these spirits?
Pro. Spirits, which by mine art

I have from their confines call'd to enact
My present fancies,

Fer. Let me live here ever;

So rare a wonder'd father, ^ **) and a wife.
Make this place paradise.

[Juno and Cebes whisper, and send Iris on employment.

Pro. Sweet now, silence;

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously;
There's something else to do: hush, and be mute.
Or else our spell is marr'd.

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring
brooks, *'■)
With your sedg'd crowns, and ever-harmless looks,
Jjeave your crisp channels, - ") and on this green land
Answer your summons: Juno does command:
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
A contract of true love; be not too late.

Enter certain Nymphs.
You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weai-y.
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ;
Make holy-day : your rye-stiaw hats put on.
And these fresh nymphs encounter every cue
In country footing.

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited; they join
with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards
the end whereof Prospkro starts suddenly, and

speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and
confused noise, they heavily vanish.

Pro. [asidei] I had fox'got that foul conspiracy
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates,
Against my life; the minute of their plot
Is almost come. — [to the Spirits.] Well done ; —
avoid ; — no more.

Fer. This is most strange: -*) your father's in some
passion
That works liim strongly.

Mira. Never till this day.

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort.
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir:
Our revels now are ended : these our actors.
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabrick of this vision.
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces.
The solemn temples, the great globe itself.
Yea, all which it inherit, --) sliall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, -^)
Leave not a rack behind: -^) We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd;
Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled.
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell.
And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk.
To still my beating mind.

Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt.

Pro. Come with a thought: — I thank you: — Aiiel,
come.

Enter Arii;i..

ylri.Thy thoughts I cleave to : - * ) what's thy pleasure ?

Pro. Spirit,

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. -<')

Ari. Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres,
I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd.
Lest I might anger thee.

Pro. Say again, where did'st thou leave these varlets ?

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking :
So full of valour, that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground

Act V.

TEMPEST

15

For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project: Then I beat my tabor.
At which, like imback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses.
As they smelt musick; so I chann'd their ears.
That, calf-like, they my lowing foUow'd, through
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, -") and

thorns,
"Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them
rthe filthy mantled pool beyond your cell,
I'here dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake
O'erstunk their feet.

Pro. This was well done, my bird ;

Thy shape invisible retain thou still:
The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither.
For stale to catch these thieves.-^)

Ari. I go, I go. [Exit.

I'ro. A devil, a bom devil, on whose nature
Nurture can never stick;-') on whom my pains.
Humanely taken, all, all lost, ^'') quite lost:
And as, with age, his body uglier grows,
;so his mind cankers: •'*) I will plague them all.

Re-enter Ariel loaden with glistering Apparel, cf-c.
Even to roaring: — Come, hang them on this line.

Prospero and Aribt, remain invisible. Enter Ca-
LiBAK, Stephaxo and Trixculo, all tcet.

C'al. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
Hear a foot fall:^^) we now are near his cell.

Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a
harmless fairy, has done little better than played
the Jack with us. ^^)

Trin. Alonster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at which
my nose is in great indignation.

Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should
take a displeasure against you ; look you, —

Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster.

Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still:
;'o patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to

lail hood- wink this mischance : therefore, speak softly,
xil's hnsh'd as midnight yet.

Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, —

Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in
that, monster, but an infinite loss.

Trin. That's more to me than my wetting: yet
this is your hannless fairy, monster.

Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er
1 ars for ray labour.

Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here,
This Is the mouth o'the cell: no noise, and enter.
j>o that good mischief, which may make this island
riiine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
I'or aye thy foot-licker.

Ste. Give me thy hand: I do begin to have bloody
thoughts.

Trin. O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Ste-
phano! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee! *■*)

Cal. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.

Trin. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs to
a fripperj : ^ ^ ) — O king Stephano !

Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand,
I'll have that gown.

Trin. Thy grace shall have it.

Cal. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you mean.
To doat thus on such luggage? Let's along, ^*)
And do the murder first: if he awake.
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches;
Make us strange stuff.

Ste. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is not
this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: ^'')
now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and
prove a bald jerkin.

Trin. Do, do: We steal by line and level, an't
like your grace.

Ste. I thank thee for that jest: here's a garment
for't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king
of this country: Steal by line and level, is an ex-
cellent pass of pate; there's another garment for't.

Trin. Monster, come, put some lime^"*) upon your
fingers, and away with the rest.

Cal. 1 will have none on't : we shall lose our time.
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes ^')
With foreheads villainous low. "*")

Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bear
this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll
turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry this.

Trin. And this.

Ste. Ay, and this.

A noite of Hunters heard. *') Enter divers Spir-
its, in shape of hounds, and hunt them about.
Prospkro and Aribl, setting tliem on.

Pro. Hey, Mountain, he) !

Ari. Silver! there it goes. Silver!

Pro. Fury, Fury ! there. Tyrant, there! hark, hark!
[Gal. Stk. and Trin. are driven out.
Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints
With drj convulsions; shorten up their sinews
With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them.
Than pard, or cat o'mounUdn.

Ari. Hark, they roar.

Pro. Let them be hunted soundly: At tlus hour
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies:
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou
Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little.
Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene I. Before the Cell o/ Prospero.
Enter Prospkro in his magick robes; and Abibi..

Pro. Now does my project gather to a head:
My charms crack not; ray spirits obey; and tirae
Goes upright with his carriage. •) How's the day?

Ari. On the sixth hour; at Avhich time, my lord.
You said our work should cease.

Pro. I did say so.

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit,
How fares the king and his? -}

Ari. Confin'd together

In the same fashion as you gave in charge;
Just as you left them, sir; all prisoners
In the lime-grove which weather-fends your cell;
They cannot budge, till your release. ^) The king
His brother, and yoiu-s, abide all three distracted;
And the remainder mourning over them.
Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly
Hun you term'd, sir. The good old lord, Gonzalo;
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
From eaves of reeds: your charm so strongly

works them.
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender. ^

Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit?

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human.

Pro. And mine shall.

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling *)
Of their afflictions? and shall not myself.
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply.
Passion as they, *) be kindlier mov'd than thou art?
Though with their high w rongs I am struck to the quick.
Yet, with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
Do I take part: the rarer action is

16

TEMPEST.

Act V.

In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further: Go, release them, Ariel;
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
And they shall be themselves.

Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. \Exit.

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and
groves; ^)
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him.
When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that
By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make.
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid
(Weak masters though ye be,) ') I have be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar: graves, at my command.
Have waked their sleepers; oped, and let them forth
By my so potent art: But this rough magick ^)
I here abjure: and, when I have requir'd
Some heavenly musick, (which even now I do,)
To work mine end upon their senses, that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff.
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth.
And deeper than did ever plumniet sound,
I'll drown my book. [Solemn musick.

Re-enter Arikt. : after Mm, Alonzo, with a fran-
tic gesture, attended by Gonzat,o; Skbastian and
A^TONIo in like manner, attended by Adrt\n and
Francisco : they all enter the circle which Pros-
PKRo had made, and there stand charmed; which
Prosfkro observing, speaks.

A solemn air, and the best comforter

To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, '^

Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! '") There stand,

For you are spell-stopp'd.

Holy Gonzalo, honourable man.
Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of thine.
Fall fellowly drops. ^ ') — The charm dissolves apace;
And as the morning steals upon the night.
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes '-) that mantle
Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir
To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces
Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act; — •
Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and

blood, '^)
You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
Expell'd i-emorse and nature; •'*) who, with Sebastian,
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,)
Would here have kili'd your king; I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art! — Their understanding
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores.
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them.
That yet looks on me, or would know me: — Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit Abiel.
I >vill dis-case me, and myself present.
As I was sometime Milan: — quickly, spirit;
Thou shalt ere long be free.

Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire
Prospbro.
Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck J;

In a cowslip's bell I lie: '*)

There I couch "■) when owls do cry. ")

On the bat's back I do fly,

After summer, merrily. '")

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now.

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. ' ')

Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel : I shall miss thee;
But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so. —
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art:
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
Under the hatches; the master, and the boatswain,
Being awake, enforce them to this place;
And presently, I pr'ythee.

Ari. I drink the air -°) before me, and return
Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel.

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement
Inhabits here: Some heavenly power guide us
Out of this fearful country!

Pro. Behold, sir king,

The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero:
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
And to thee, and thy company, I bid
A hearty welcome.

Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no, -^>

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,
As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse
Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee.
The affliction of my mind amends, with which,
I fear, a madness held me: this must crave
(An if this be at all,) a most strange story.
Thy dukedom I resign; --) and do entreat
Thou pardon me my wrongs : — ^But how should Prospero
Be living, and be hereV

Pro. First, noble friend.

Let me embrace thine age; whose honour cannot
Be measur'd, or confin'd.

Gon. Whether this be,

Or be not, I'll not swear.

Pro. You do yet taste

Some subtilties o'the isle, -^) that will not let you
Believe things certain: — Welcome, my friends all: —
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,

[Aside to Skb. and Ant.
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you,
And justify you traitors; at this time
I'll tell no tales.

Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside.

Pro. No:

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know.
Thou must restore.

Alon. If thou beest Prospero,

Give us particulars of thy preservation:
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since -"*)
Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost.
How sharp the point of this remembrance is!
My dear son Ferdinand.

Pro. I am woe for't, sir. -^)

Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and patience
Says, it is past her cure.

Pro. I rather think,

You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace
For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid.
And rest myself content.

Alon. You the like loss?

Pro. As great to me, as late; -^) and, portable
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
Than you may call to comfort you; for I
Have lost my daughter.

Act V.

TEMPEST.

17

Alon. A daughter?

0 heavens! that they were living both in Naples,
The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
Myself were imidded in that oozy bed

Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire,
That they devour their reason; and scarce think
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath: -') but, howsoe'er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain.
That I am Prospero, and that very duke
Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most strangely
Upon this shore, w here you w ere wreck'd, was landed.
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
This cell's my court; here have I few attendants.
And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.
My dukedom since you have given me again,

1 will requite you with as good a thing;

At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye.
As much as me my dukedom.

The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers
Fkrdinand and Mirakda playing at chess.

Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false.

Fer. No, my dearest love,

I would not for the world.

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms, -^) you should
wrangle,
And I Avould call it fair play.

Alon, If this prove

A vision of the island, one dear son
Shall I twice lose.

Seb. A most high miracle!

Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful :
I have cursM them without cause.

[Ferd. kneels to Alonso.

Alon. Now all the blessings

Of a glad father compass thee about!
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here.

Mira. O, wonder!

How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world.
That has such people in't!

Pro. 'Tis new to thee.

Alon. What is this maid, with Avhom thou wast at play?
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours;
Is she the goddess that has sever'd us,
And brought us thus together?

Fer. Sir, she's mortal;

But, by immortal providence, she's mine;
I chose her, when I could not ask my father
For his advice; nor thought I had one; she
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown.
But never saw before; of whom I have
Received a second life, and second father
This lady makes him to me.

Alon. I am hers:

But O, how oddly will it sound, that I
Must ask my child forgiveness!

Pro. There, sir, stop;

Let us not burden our remembrances

With a heaviness that's gone.
Gon. I have inly wept.

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,

And on this couple drop a blessed crown;

For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way

Which brought us hither!
Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo!

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy; and set it down
With gold on lastinj^ pillars: In one voyage
Did Claribel her hu.-«band find at Tunis;
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife.
Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom.
In a poor isle; and all of us, ourselves,
When no man was his own.

Alon. Give me your hands:

[To Fkri). and Mia^.
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart.
That doth not wish you joy!

Gon. Be't so! Amen!

Re-enter AxiKJ^,ifftththeM a at er anff Boatswain,
amazedlij following.

0 look, sir, look, sir; here are more of us!

1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land,

This fellow could not drown: Now, blasphemy.
That swear' st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore?
Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found
Our king, and company : the next, our ship, —
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, —
Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when
We first put out to sea.

Ari. Sir, all this service 1

Have I done since I went. | jhide.

Pro. My tricksy spirit ! - ') j

Alon. These are not natural events; they strengthen
From strange to stranger: — Say, how came you hither?

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, ^°)
And (how, we know not,) all clapp'd under hatches.
Where, but even now, with strange and several noises
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains.
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible.
We were awak'd; sti'aitway, at liberty:
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master
Cap'ring to eye her: On a trice, so please you.
Even in a dream, were we divided from them,
And were brought moping hither.

Ari. W^as't well done? i

Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be > Aside.
fi'ee. )

Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod:
And there is in this business more than nature
Was ever conduct of: ^^) some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.

Pro. Sir, my liege.

Do not infest your mind with beating on
The straiigeness of this business: ^-) at pick'd leisure.
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you
(Which to you shall seem probable,) ^^) of every
These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful.
And think of each thing w ell. — Come, hither, spirit ;

[Aside.
Set Caliban and his companions free:
Untie the spell. [Exit Abiei,.] How fares my gracious sir?
There are yet missing of your company
Some few odd lads, that you remember not.

Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephako,
and Trinculo, in their stolen Apparel.

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no
man take care for himself; for all is but fortune: —
Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio! ^*)

Triti. If these be true spies which I wear in my
head, here's a goodly sight.

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed!

18

TEMPEST.

Act V.

How fine my master is! I am afraid
He will cliastise me.

Scb. Ha, ha;

What things are these, my lord Antonio!
Will money buy themV

Ant. Very like; one of them
Is a plain fish, ^^) and, no doubt, marketable.

Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
Then say, if they be true: ^^) — This mis-shapen

knave,

His mother was a witch; and one so strong
That could control the moon, ^^) make flows and ebbs.
And deal in her command, without her power: ^^)
These three have robb'd me: and this demi-devil
(For he's a bastard one,) had plotted with them
To take my life: two of these fellows you
INIust know and own; this thing of darkness I
Acknowledge mine.

Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death.

Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine?

Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should they
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them? ^5) —
How cam'st thou in this pickle?

Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw
you last, that I fear me, will never out of my
bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing. ^°)

Seb. Why, how now, Stephano?

Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a
cramp. ^*)

Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah?

Ste. I should have been a sore one then. '*-)

Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on.

[Pointing to Caiiban.

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners.
As in his shape: — Go, sirrah, to my cell;
Take with you your companions; as you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,
And seek for grace: What a thrice-double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,
And worship this dull fool?

Pro. Go to; away!

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you
found it.

Seb. Or stole it, rather.

[Exeunt Cal. Ste. and Trin.

Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train.

To my poor cell; where you shall take your rest
For this one night; which (part of it,) I'll waste
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it
Go quick away: the story of my life,
And the particular accidents, gone by.
Since I came to this Isle: And in the morn,
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ;
And thence retire me to my Milan, Avhere
Every third thought shall be my grave.

Alon. I long

To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.

Pro. I'll deliver all;

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales.
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off. — My Ariel; — chick, —
That is thy charge; then to the elements
Be free, and fare thou well! — [Aside.] Please you,
draw near. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

«POKKN BY PROSPKRO.

Now my charms are all overthrown.
And tvhnt strength I have's mine own.
Which is most faint : now 'tis true,
I must be here confin'd by you.
Or sent to Naples: Let me not.
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island, by your spell;
But release me from my bands.
With the help of your good hands. ''^)
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please: Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair.
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer; ''■*)
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free. '*•'')

II.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

PERSONS BEPBESENTED.

Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia,

At 1 ., I Qgjifiejnen of Verona.
Proteus, ( •'

Antonio, Father to Proteus.
TnuRio, a foolish rival to Valentine.
Eglamour, agent for Silvia, in her escape.
Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine.
Launce, servant to Proteus.

Scene — sometimes in Verona; sometimes

Panthino, servant to Antonio.

Host, where Julia lodges in Milan.

Out - laws.

Julia, a Lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus.

Silvia, the Duke's Daughter, beloved by

Valentine.
LucETTA, waiting-woman to Julia.
Servants, Musicians.

in Milan; and on the frontiers of Mantua.

ACT I.

SCEIVE I. An open Place in Verona.
Enter Valentine and Proteus.
Valentine.
C/EASE to persuade, iny lo\ing Proteus;
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits;
Wer't not, atfection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company.
To see the wonders of the world abroad.
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home.
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. ')
But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein.
Even as I would, when I to love begin.

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness.
When thou dost meet good hap ; and, in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee.
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine.

Val. And on a love-book pray for my success.

Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee.

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love.
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. -)

Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love;
For he was more than over shoes in love.

Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swam the Hellespont.

Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. ^)

Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not.

Pro. What?

Val. To be

In love, where scorn is bought with groans ; coy looks.
With heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth.
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly ■*) bought with wit.
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove.

Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not love.

Val. Love is your master, for he masters you:
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.

Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

Val. And writers say. As the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow.
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud.
Losing his verdure even in the prime.
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more adieu: my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave.
At Milan, ^) let me hear from thee by letters.
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

Val. As much to you at home! and so, farewell.

[Exit Valentine.

Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love:
He leaves his friends, to dignify them more;
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time.
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

Enter Spbbd. <>)
Speed. Sir Proteus, save you: Saw you my master?
Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for

Milan.
Speed. Twenty to one then, he is shipped already;
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be awhile away.
Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd

then, and I a sheep?
Pro. I do. . .. L

Speed. Why then my horns are hjs horns, whether
I wake or sleep.

n.

20

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act I.

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

Speed. This proves me still a sheep.

Fro. True; and thy master a shepherd.

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

Pro. It shall go hard, but J'll prove it by another.

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the

sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my

master seeks not me: therefore, I am no sheep.

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd,

the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou

for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages

follows not thee; therefore, thou art a sheep.

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa.

Pro. But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter
to Julia?

Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter
to her, a laced mutton;^) and she, a laced mutton,
gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour!

Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a store
of muttons.

Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were
best stick her.

Pro. Nay, in that you are astray; 'twere best
pound you.

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me
for carrying your letter.

Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold.

Speed. From a pound to a pin? fold it over and
over, 'tis threefold too little for carrying a letter
to your lover.

Pro. But what said she? Did she nod? [Speed nods.

Speed. I.

Pro. Nod, I; why, that's noddy. ^)

Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and
you ask me, if she did nod; and I say, I.

Pro. And that set together, is — noddy.

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it
together, take it for your pains.

Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter.

Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear
with you.

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having
nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains.

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: What
said she?

Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the
matter, may be both at once delivered.

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains: What said
she ?

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

Pro. Why? could'st thou perceive so much from her?

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from
her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your
letter: And being so hard to me that bi'ought your
mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling
her mind. '). Give her no token but stones; for
she's as hard as steel.

Pro. What, said she nothing?

Speed. No, not so much as — take this for thy
pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, you
have testern'd me; '") in requital whereof, hence-
forth carry your letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll
commend you to my master.

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck;
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
Being destined to a drier death on shore : — -
I must go send some better messenger;
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.

^Exeunt.

Scene ii.

The same. Garden of Julia's home.
Enter Julia and Lucktta.

Jill. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,

Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love?

Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheedfully.

Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen,

That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion, Avhich is woi'thiest love?

Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.

Jul. What think'st thou of the fair sir Eglamour? » ■)

Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
But, wlpre I you, he never should be mine.

Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?

Luc. Well, of his wealth; but of himself, so, so.

Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?

Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us!

Jul. How now! what means this passion at his name ?

Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing shame.
That I, unworthy body as I am.
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. ^^)

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?

Luc. Then thus, of many good I think him best.

Jul. Your reason?

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason;
I think him so, because I think him so.

Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on him ?

Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.

Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'd me.

Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.

Jul. His little speaking shews his love but small.

Luc. Fire, that is '3) closest kept, burns most of all.

Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love.

Luc. O, they love least, that let men know their love.

Jul. I would I knew his mind.

Luc. Peruse this paper, madam.

Jul. To Julia. — Say, from whom?

Luc. That the contents will shew.

Jul. Say, say; who gave it thee?

Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from
Proteus ;
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way.
Bid in your name receive it: pardon the fault, I pray.

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! "*)
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
To whisper and conspire against my youth?
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,
And you an officer fit for the place.
There, take the paper, see it be return'd;
Or else retui-n no more into my sight.

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.

Jul. Will you be gone?

Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit.

Jul. And yet I would, I had o'erlook'd the letter.
It were a shame to call her back again,
And pray her to a fault for which I chid ^er.
What fool is she, that knows I am a maid.
And would not force the letter to my view?
Since maids, in modesty, say I^o, to that * ^)
Which they would have the profferer construe. Ay.
Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love.
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, •
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!
How churlishly I cliid Lucetta hence,
When willingly I would have had her here!
How angerly I taught my brow to frown.
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile!
My penance is, to call Lucetta back.
And ask remission for my folly past: —
What ho! Lucetta!

n.

Act I.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

21

Re-enter Llcktta.

Luc. What would your ladyship?

Jul. Is it near dinner-tiine?

Luc. I would it were;

That you might kill your stomach on your meat, "*)
And not upon your maid.

Jul. What is't you ") took up

So gingerly?

Luc. Nothing.

Jul. Why didst thou stoop then?

Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall.

Jul. And is that paper nothing?

Lmc. Nothing concerning me.

Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.

Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,
Unless it have a false interpreter.

Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.

Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune:
Give me a note: your ladyship can set.

Jul. Pls little by such toys as may be possible:
Best sing it to the tune of Light o'love.

Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.

Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then,

Luc. Ay ; and melodious w ere it, would you sing it.

Jul. And why not you?

Luc. I cannot reach so high.

Jul. Let's see your song; — How now, minion?

Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out:
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.

Jul. You do not?

Luc. No, madam; it is too sharp.

Jul. You, minion, are too saucy.

Luc. Nay, now you are too flat.
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: '*)
There wanteth but a mean ") to fill your song.

Jul. The mean is drown'd -vvith your unruly base.

Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. -")

Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil with protestation! — [Tears the letter.
C>o, get you gone; and let the papers lie:
Vou would be fingering them, to anger me.

Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be best

pleas'd
To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit.

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same!

0 hateful hands, to tear such losing words!
Injurious Avasps! to feed on such sweet honey.
And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings!
Ill kiss each several paper for amends.

And, here is writ — kind Julia; — unVind Julia!
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,

1 throw thy name against the bruising stones.
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
Look, here is writ — love-wounded Proteus : —
Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed,

Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd;

And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.

But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down:

Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away,

Till I have found each letter in the letter.

Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear

Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock.

And throw it thence into the raging sea!

Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, —

Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,

To the sweet Julia; that I'll tear away;

And yet I will not, sith so prettily

He couples it to his complaining names;

Thus will I fold them one upon another;

Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.

Re-enter Lucetta.
Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father stays.

Jul. Well, let us go.

Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ?

Jul. If you respect them, best to take tiiem up.

Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down:
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. -')

Jul. I see, you have a month's mind to them. --)

Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;
I see things too, although you judge I wink.

Jul. Come, come, will't please you go? [Exeunt.

SCEINE III.

The same. A Room in Antonio's House.

Enter Antonio and Panthino.

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk -') was that.
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?

Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.

Ant. Why what of him?

Pan. He wonder'd, that your lordslup

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home;
While other men, of slender reputation, -■*)
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there;
Some, to discover islands far away; -*)
Some, to the studious universities.
For any, or for all these exercises.
He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet:
And did request me, to unportune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age, - ')
In having known no travel in his youth.

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time;
And how he cannot be a perfect man.
Not being try'd, and tutor'd in the world:
Experience is by industry achiev'd,
And perfected by the swift course of time:
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him?

Pan. I think, your lordship is not ignorant.
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court. -')

Ant. 1 know it well.

Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him
thither :
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments.
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen;
And be in eye of every exercise.
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.

Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd:^
And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it.
The execution of it shall make known;
Even with the speediest execution
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.

Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso,
With other gentlemen of good esteem.
Are journeying to salute the emperor.
And to commend their service to his will.

Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go:
And, in good time, - « ) — now will we break with him. - »)

Enter Protbhs. —^

Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn:
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents!
O heavenly Julia!

Ant. How now? what letter are you readmg there?

Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
Of commendation sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.

22

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Act it.

Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news.

Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well-belov'd,
And daily graced by the emperor;
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune.

Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish?

Fro. As one relying on your lordship's will,
And not depending on his friendly wish.

Ant. My >vill is something sorted with his wish:
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed;
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentinus in the emperor's court;
What maintenance he from his friends receives,
Like exhibition ^^) shalt thou have from me.
To-tnorrow be in readiness to go:
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;
Please you, deliberate a day or two.

Ant. Look, what thou want 'st, shall be sent after thee :
No more of stay; to-morow thou must go. — •
Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd
To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Ant. and Pan.

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning ;
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd:
I feai'd to show my father Julia's letter.
Lest he should take exceptions to my love I
And with the vantage of mine own excuse
Hath he excepted most against my love.
O, hov/ this spring of love i"esembleth ^')

The uncertain glory of an April day ;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun.

And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Re-enter Paktiiino.

Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you;
He is in haste, therefore, I pray you go.

Pro. Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto;
And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [-Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene I. Milan. An Apartment ') in the
Duke's Palace.

Enter Valentine and Speed.

Speed. Sir, your glove.

Val. Not mine; my gloves are on.

Speed. Why, then this may be yours, for this is
but one. -)

Val. Ha ? let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine ; —
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!
Ah Silvia! Silvia!

Speed. Madam Sihia! madam Silvia!

Val. How now, siri'ah?

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.

Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her?

Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.

Val. Well you'll still be too forward.

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.

Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Silvia?

Speed. She that your worship loves?

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love?

Speed. Marry, by these special marks; First you
have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms
like a maleconteut; to relish a love-song, like a Ro-
bin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one that had the
pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost
his ABC; to weep, like a young wench that had
buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes
diet; 5) to watch, like one that fears robbing; to
speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. "*) You

were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock;
when you walked, to walk like one of the lions;
when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when
you looked sadly, it was for want of money; and
now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that,
when I look on you, I can hardly think you my
master.

Val. Are all these things perceived in me?

Speed. They are all perceived without yoU.

Val. Without me? they cannot.

Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, with-
out you were so simple, none else would: *) but you
are so without these follies, that these follies are
within you, and shine through you like the water
in an urinal; that not an eye, that sees you, but is
a physician to comment on your malady.

Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?

Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper ?

Val. Hast thou obsei-ved that? even she I mean.

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her,
and yet knowest her not?

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir?

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured.

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.

Val. What dost thou know? ^

Speed. That she is ' not so fair, as (of you) well
favoured.

Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her
favour infinite.

Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the
other out of all count.

Val. How painted? and how out of count?

Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair,
that no man 'counts of her beauty.

Val. How esteemest thou me? I account of her
beauty.

Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.

Val. How long hath she been deformed?

Speed. Ever since you loved her.

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and
still I see her beautiful.

Speed. If you love hex', you cannot see her.

Val. Why?

Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had
mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they
wei'e wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus
for going ungartered ! ')

Val. What should I see then?

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing
deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to
garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see
to put on your hose.

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last
mornhig your could not see to wipe my shoes

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I
thank you, you swinged me for my love, Avhich
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.

Speed. I would you were set; ') so your affection
would cease.

Val. Last night she enjoined me to wiite some
lines to one she loves.

Speed. And have you?

Val. I have.

Speed. Are they not lamely writ?

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them: —
Peace, here she comes.

Enter Silvia.
Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
now will he interpret to her. ^)
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows.

n.

Act JI.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA.

23

Speed. O, give you good even! here's a million of

manners. [Aside.

Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, ') to you two thou-
sand.
Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives

it him.
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I hare writ you a letter.

Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;

Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,

But for my duty to your ladyship.

<Si7. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly

done. ^0)
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;

For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.

iSi7. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write.
Please you command, a thousand times as much:
And yet, —

Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
And yet I w ill not name it : — and yet I care not ; —
And yet take this again; — and yet I thank you;

•Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.

Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. [Jride.

Val. What means you ladyship? do you not like it?

iSiY. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ:
liut since unwillingly, take them again;
Nay, take them.

Val. Madam, they are for you.

Sil. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request;
But I will none of them; they are for you:
I would have had them writ more movingly.

Val. Please you, I'll write yoiur ladyship another.

Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over:
And, if it please you, so: if not, why, so.

Val. If it please me, madam! what then?

iSi7. Why, if it please you, take it for yoiur labour.
And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia,

Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible.
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a

steeple!
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! was there ever heard abetter?
That my master, being scribe, to himself should
write the letter?

Val. How now, sir ? what are you reasoning with
yourself?

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have
the reason.

Val. To do what?

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.

I al. To whom?

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure.

Val. What figure?

Speed. By a letter, I should say.

I'al. Why, she hath not writ to me?

Speed. What needs she, w hen she hath made you write
to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest?

Val. No, believe me.

Speed. No, belieA-ing you indeed, sir: But did you
perceive her earnest?

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.

Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.

Val. That's the letter 1 writ to her friend.

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there
an end. ' *)

Val. I would, it were no worse.

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well:
Fur often you have writ to her; and she in modesty.
Or else for want of idle lime, could not again reply;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind
discover,

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto

her lover. —
All this I speak in print; *-) for in print I found it. —
Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time.

Val. I have duied.

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the cameleon
Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished
by my victuals, and would fain have meat; O, be not
like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt.

Scene U.

Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter Proteus and Julia.

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.

Jul. I must, wh^re is no remedy.

Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.

Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner:
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.

[Giving a Bing.

Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take
you this.

Jul. And seal the bargin with a holy kiss.

Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy;
And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day.
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake.
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness !
My father stays my coming; answer not;
The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;
That tide will stay me longer than I should:

[Exit JcMA.
Julia, farewell. — What! gone without a word?
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it.

Enter Panthino.
Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for.
Pro. Go; I come, 1 come: —
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dmnb. [£r«inf.

Scene III.

The same. A Street,

Enter Ladnce, leading a Dog.

Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done
weeping; all the kind of the Launces have tins very
fault: I have received ray proportion, like the pro-
digious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the
Imperial's court. I think. Crab my dog be the sour-
est-natured dog that lives: my mother ^^eepillg, my
father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling,
our cat wringing her hands, and all our house In a
great perplexitj, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur
shed one tear; he is a stone, a very pebble-stone,
and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew
would have wept to have seen our parting; why,
my grandam ha>ing no eyes, look you, wept herself
blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner
of it: This shoe is my father; — no, this left shoe
Is my father; no, no, this left shoe is my mother; —
nay, that camiot be so neither: — yes, it is so. It
Is so; It hath the worser sole; This shoe, with the
hole In it, Is my mother, and this my father: A
vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff Is my
sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and
as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I
am the dog: — no, the dog is himself, and I am
the dog, ^^) O, the dog is me, and I am myself;
ay, so, so. Now come I to jny father; Father, your
blessing; now should not the shoe speak a word
for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he

n.

24

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act I J.

weeps on: — now come I to my mother, (O, that
she could speak now!) like a wood woman; '*) —
well, I kiss her; — why, there 'tis; here's my mo-
ther's breath up and down; now come I to my sister;
mark the moan she makes: now the dog all this
while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see
how I lay the dust with my tears.

Enter Panthino.

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is
shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. W hat's
the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass;
you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.

Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost ; for it
is the unkindest ty'd that eVer any man ty'd.

Pati. What's the unkindest tide?

Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog.

Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood: and
in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing
thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy
master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy ser-
vice, — Why dost thou stop my mouth?

Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue.

Pan. Where should I lose my tongue?

Laun. In thy tale.

Pan. In thy tail?

Laun. Lose the tide, and the vogage, and the master,
and the sei-vice? The tide! *^} — Why, man, if the
river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the
wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.

Pan. Come, come away, man: I was sent to call
thee.

Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.

Pan. Will thou go?

Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt.

Scene IV.

Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thleio, and Si'j;ed.

.S'/7. Servant —

Val. Mistress?

Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you.

Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.

Speed. Not of you.

Val. Of my mistress then.

Speed. 'Twere good, you knocked him.

Sil. Servant, you are sad.

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.

Thu. Seem you that you are not?

Val. Haply, I do.

Thu. So do counterfeits.

Val. So do you.

Thu. What seem I, that I am not?

Val. Wise.

Thu. W^hat instance of the contrary?

Val. Your folly.

Thu. And how quote you my folly? '')

Val. I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly.

Thu. How?

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour?

Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of ca-
meleon.

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood,
than live in your air.

Val. You have said, sir.

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.

Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly
shot off".

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

Sil. Who is that, servant?

Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: sir
Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks,
and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company.

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me,
I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Val. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer
of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give
your followers; for it appears by their bare liveiies,
that they live by your bare words.

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more : here comes ray
father.

Enter Duke.

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health:
What say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news?

Val. My lord, I will be thankful

To any happy messenger from thence.

Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? '^)

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation.
And not without desert ^^) so well reputed.

Duke. Hath he not a son?

Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.

Duke. You know him well?

Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together:
And though myself have been an idle truant.
Omitting tlie sweet benefit of time.
To clothe mine age with angel- like perfection;
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name.
Made use and fair advantage of his days;
His years but young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature, and in mind.
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good.
He is as worthy for an empress' love,
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me.
With commendation from great potentates;
And here he means to spend his time awhile;
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.

Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth;
Silvia, I speak to you: and you, sir Thurio: —
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it: '^)
I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke.

Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship,
Had come along with me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.

Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.

Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still.

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you?

Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.

Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all.

Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
Upon a homely object love can wink.

Enter Proteus.

Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the gentleman.

Val. Welcome,dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I beseech you.
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.

5*7. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.

n.

Act JI.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

25

Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain Iiim
To be ray fellow-sen ant to your ladyship.

Sil. Too low a mistress for so liigh a servant.

Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.

Val. Leave off discourse of disability : —
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.

Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.

iSt7. And duty never yet did want his meed;
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.

Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself.

Sil. That you are welcome?

Pro. No; that you are worthless. *")

Enter Servant.

Ser. Madam, my lord your father ^i) would speak
with you.

Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. \Exit Servant.
Come, sir Thurio,
Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcome :
I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.

Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.

[Exeunt Silvia, Thukio, and Speed.

Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you
came ?

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much
commended.

Val. And how do yours?

Pro. I left them all in health.

Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives your love ?

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you;
I know, you joy not in a love-discourse.

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:
I have done penance for contemning love;
Whose high imperious --) thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans.
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love.
Love hath chac'd sleep from my enthralled eyes.
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord;
And hath so hiunbled me, as, I confess.
There is no woe to his correction, -^)
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep.
Upon the very naked name of love.

Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:
Was this the idol that you worship so?

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?

Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon.

Val. Call her divine.

Pro. I will not flatter her.

Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.

Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills;
And I must minister the like to you.

Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality, -*)
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.

Pro. Except my mistress.

Val. Sweet, except not any;

Except thou wilt except agaiiist my love.

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?

Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too:
She shall be dignified with this high honour, —
To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss.
And, of so great a favour growing proud.
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, -^)
And make rough winter, everlastingly.

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all 1 can, is nothing

To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
She is alone. -<')

Pro. Then let her alone.

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl.
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee.
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes,
Only for his possessions are so huge.
Is gone with her along; and I must after.
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.

Pro. But she loves you?

Val. Ay, we are betroth'd;

Nay, more, our marriage hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determin'd of: how 1 must climb her window;
The ladder made of cords; and all the means
Plotted; and 'greed on, for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber.
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.

Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth:
I must unto the road, - ' ) to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use;
And then I'll presently attend you.

Val. Will you make haste?

Pro. I will. — [Exit Vau

Even as one heat another heat expels.
Or as one nail by strength drives out another.
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, -®) or Valentinus' praise.
Her true perfection, or my false transgression.
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus?
She's fair; and so is Julia, that I love; —
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, -')
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold;
And that I love him not, as I was wont:
O! but I love his lady too, too much;
And that's the reason I loAe him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice, 3°)
That thus without advice begin to love her?
'Tis but her picture ^*) I have yet beheld.
And that hath dazzled ^-) my reason's light;
But when I look on her perfections.
There is no reason but I shall be blmd.
If I can check my erring love, I will;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit.

SCENE V.

The same. A Street.

Enter Speed and Laijncb.

Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. ^ ^)

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for I
am not welcome. I reckon this always — that a man
is never undone, till he be hanged; nor never wel-
come to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and
the hostess say, welcome.

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-house
with you presently ; where, for one shot of five-pence,
thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sir-
rah, how did thy master part with madam Julia?

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they
parted very fairly in jest.

Speed. But shall she marry lilm?

Laun. No.

Speed. How then? shall he marry her?

Laun. No, neither.

n.

26

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Act II.

Speed. What, are they broken?

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish.

Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them?

Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him,
it stands well with her.

Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not.

Laun. What a block art thou, that thou can'st
not? My staff understands me.

Speed. What thou say'st?

Laun. Ay, and what I do, too; look thee, I'll but
lean, and my staff understands me.

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one.

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match?

Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he
say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say no-
thing, it will.

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will.

Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me,
but by a parable.

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how
say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover ?^ *)

Laun. I never knew him otherwise.

Speed. Than how?

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.

Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy
master.

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.

Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn
himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale-
house, so ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and
not worth the name of a Christian.

Speed. Why?

Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee,
as to go to the ale ^^) with a Christian: Wilt thou go?

Speed. At thy service, [Exeunt.

Scene VI. 3«)

The same. An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter Proteus.

Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forswoi-n;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
And even that power, which gave me first my oath,
Provokes me to this thi'eefold perjury.
Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear:

0 sweet-suggesting love, ^^) if thou hast sinn'd.
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.

At first I did adore a twinkling star.

But now I worship a celestial sun.

Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;

And he wants wit, that wants resolved will

To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. —

Fye, fye, unreverend tongue! to call her bad.

Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd

With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do;

But there I leave to love, Avhere I should love.

Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose:

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;

If I lose them, thus find I by their loss.

For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.

I to myself am dearer than a friend;

For love is still more ^'*) precious in itself:

And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair,

Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.

I will forget that Julia is alive,

Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;

And Valentine I'll hold an enemy.

Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.

I cannot now prove constant to myself.

Without some treachery used to Valentine: —

This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder

To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window;

Myself in comisel, his competitor: ^9)

Now presently I'll give her father notice

Of their disguising, and pretended flight; '*")

Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine;

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:

But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross.

By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift.

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit.

SCENE VIL

Verona. A Room in Julia's House.

Enter Julia, and Lucetta.

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta! gentle girl, assist me!
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, —
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, —
To lesson me; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.

Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long.

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly;
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection as sir Proteus.

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return.

Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's
food?
Pity the dearth that I have pined in.
By longing for that food so long a time-
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire;
But qualify the fire's extreme rage,
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.

Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns;
The current, that with gentle murmur glides.
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered.
He makes sweet musick with the enamel'd stones.
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course;
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each weary step.
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

Lite. But in what habit will you go along?

Jul. Not like a wonmn; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men:
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.

Luc. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair.

Jul. No, girl; I'll kalt it up in silken strings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots;
To be fantastic, may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to be.

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall 1 make your
breeches?

Jul. That fits as well, as — tell me, good my lord,
"What compass will you wear your farthingale?"
Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta.

II.

Act hi.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

27

Luc. You must needs hare theia with a cod-piece,
madam.

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! "**) that will be ill-favoured.

Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin,
Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on.

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly:
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me,
For undertaking so unstaid a journey?
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.

Jul. Nay, that I will not.

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey, when you come,
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone:
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear:
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love, *-)
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men.

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect!
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth:
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, hLs thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.

Luc. Pi'ay heaven, he prove so, when you come to him I

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth:
Only deserve my love, by loving him;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of.
To furnish me upon my longing journey. '*^)
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose.
My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence:
Come, answer not, but to it presently;
I am impatient of my taniance. [Exeunf.

ACT III.

Scene I. Milan. An Ante-roo7n i7i the Duke'' s
Palace.

Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus.

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;

We have some secrets to confer about.

[Exit Tanjiio.
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with meV

Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover.
The law of friendship bids me to conceal:
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am,
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend.
This night intends to steal away your daughter;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
And should she thus be stolen away from you.
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift.
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down,
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;
Which to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep;

And oftentimes have purpo^'d to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court:
But, fearing lest my jealous aim ') might err.
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that 1 evej yet have shunn'd,)
1 gave him gentle looks; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower.
The key Avhereof myself have ever kept;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
How he her chamber-window will ascend.
And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
For which the youthful lover now is gone,
And this way comes he with it presently;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly.
That my discovery be not aimed at; -)
For love of you, not hate unto my friend.
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. ^)

Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had a;iy light from thee of this.

Pro, Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming.

[Exit.

Enter Valentine.

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast?

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger
That stays to bear my letters to my friends.
And I am going to deliver them.

Duke. Be they of much import?

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify
My health and happy being at your court.

Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me awhile;
I am to break with thee of some affairs.
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.

Val. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him?

Duke. No, tnist me ; she is peevish, sullen, froward.
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty;
Neither regarding that she is my child.
Nor fearing me as if I were her father:
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,
Upon ad\ice, hath drawn my love from her;
And, where "*) I thought the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherished by her child-like duty,
I now am full resolved to take a wife.
And turn her out to who will take her in:
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this?

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, *)
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy.
And nought esteems my aged eloquence:
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
(For long agone I have forgot to cotirt :
Besides, the fashion of the tiine ') is chang'd;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself,
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind.
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.

Val. A womansometimes scorns what best contents her:
Send her another; never give her o'er;
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.

II.

28

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act III

If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you,

But rather to beget more love in you:

If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone;

For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.

Take no repulse, whatever she doth say:

For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away:

Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces;

Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces.

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man.

If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth;
And kept severely from resort of men.
That no man hath access by day to her.

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe.
That no man hath recourse to her by night.

Val. What lets, ' ) but one may enter at her window?

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground;
And built so shehang, that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life.

Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords.
To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower.
So bold Leander would adventure it.

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood.
Advise me where I may have such a ladder.

Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.

Duke. This very night; for love is like a child.
That longs for every thing that he can come by.

Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;
How shall I best convey the ladder thither?

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
Under a cloak, that is of any length.

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?

Val. Ay, my good lord.

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak:
I'll get me one of such another length.

Vol. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? —
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. —
What letter is this same? What's here? — To Silvia?
And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. \Reads.
My thoughtx do harbour with my Silvia nightly?
And slaves they are to me, that send them flying:
O, could their master come and go as lightly,

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying.
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ;'^)
While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath
bless'd them,
Because myself do want my servants' fortune:
I curse myself, for they are sent by me, '^)
That they should harbour where their lord should be.
What's here?
Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee:

'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose.

Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) "*)

Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car.

And with thy daring folly burn the world?

Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?

Go, base intruder! over-weening slave!

Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;

And think, my patience, more than thy desert,

Is privilege for thy departure hence:

Thank me for this, more than for all the favours,

Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.

But if thou linger in my territories.

Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court.

By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love

I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Begone, I will not hear thy vain excuse.
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.

[Exit Ddke.
Val. And wiiy not death, rather than living torment?
To die, is to be banish'd from myself;
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her,
Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Unless it be to think that she is by,
And feed upon tlie shadow of perfection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night.
There is no musick in the nightingale;
Unless I look on Silvia in the day.
There is no day for me to look upon:
She is my essence; and I leave to be.
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : " )
Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.

Enter Protkus and Launch.

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.

Laun. So-ho! so-ho!

Pro. What see'st thou?

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's
head, but 'tis a Valentine.

Pro. Valentine?

Val. No.

Pro. Who then? his spirit?

Val. Neither.

Pro. What then?

Val. Nothing.

Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike?

Pro. Whom would'st thou strike?

Laun. Nothing.

Pro. Villain, forbear.

Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you, —

Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear : Friend Valentine, a word.

Val. Myearsarestopp'd,and cannot hear good news,
So much of bad already hath possess'd them.

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine.
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad.

Val. Is Silvia dead?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia! — •
Hath she forsworn me?

Pro. No, Valentine.

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! —
What is your news?

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd.

Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news;
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already.
And now excess of it will make me surfeit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished?

Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath ofl'er'd to the doom,
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in eff"ectual force,)
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd;
With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them,
As if but now they waxed pale for woe :
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up.
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears.
Could penetrate her uncompasslonate sire;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,
When she for thy repeal was suppliant.
That to close prison he commanded her.
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.

n.

Act III.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

29

Val. No more; unless the next word that thou
speak'st,
Have some malignant power upon my life:
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou can'st not help,
And study help for that which thou lament'st.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that,
And jnanage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence:
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. '-)
The time now serves not to expostulate:
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate;
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs:
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself.
Regard thy danger, and along Avith me.

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy.
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate.

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.

Val. O my dear Silvia, hapless Valentine!

\Exeunt Valestine and Pbotkhs.

Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have
the wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : but
that's all one, if he be but one knave. ^^) He lives
not now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in
love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from
me; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman: but
what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a
milk-maid; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had
gossips: *'*) yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's
maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities
than a water- spaniel, — which is much in a bare
christian. ' ^) Here is the cat-log \pulling out a paper]
of her conditions. ^') Imprimis, She can fetch and
carry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse
camiot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she bet-
ter than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a
sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.

Enter Speed.

Speed. How now, signior Launce, what news with
your mastership?

Laun. With my master's ship? why it is at sea.

Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word ;
What news then in your paper?

Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st.

Speed. Why, man, how black?

Laun. Why, as black as ink.

Speed. Let me read them.

Laun. Fye on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.

Speed. Thou liest, I can.

Laun. I will try thee: Tell me this: Who begot thee?

Speed. INIarrj', the son of my grandfather.

Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy
grandmother: ^ ") this proves, that thou canst not read.

Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper.

Laun. There; and saint Nicholas be thy speed ! **)

Speed. Imprimis, She can milk.

Laun. Ay, that she can.

Speed. Item, She brews good ale.

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, — Blessing
of your heart, you brew good ale.

Speed. Item, She can seio.

Laun. That's as much as to say, can she so?

Speed. Item, She can knit.

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a
wench, when she can knit him a stock. ^')

Speed. Item, She can wash and scour.

Laun. A special virtue: for then she need not be
washed and scoured.

Speed. Item, She can spin.

Laun. Then I may set the world on wheels, when
she can spin for her living.

Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues.

Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues;
that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore
have no names.

Speed. Here follow her vices.

Laun. Close at the heels of her Airtues.

Speed. Item, She is riot to be kissed fastingy in
respect of her breath.

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a
breakfast: Read on.

Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth.

Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath.

Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep.

Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in
her talk.

Speed. Item, She is slow in words.

Laun. O villain, -<*} that set this down among
her vices! To be slow in words, is a woman's only
virtue: I pray thee, out with't; and place it for
her chief virtue.

Speed. Item, She is proud.

Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy,
and cannot be ta'en from hef.

Speed. Item, She hath no teeth.

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.

Speed. Item, She is crust.

Laun. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.

Speed. SJie will often praise her liquor. -')

Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will
not, I will; for good things should be praised.

Speed. Item, She is too liberal. --)

Laun. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ
down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not;
for that I'll keep shut : now of another thing she
may; and that I cannot help. Well, proceed.

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, and
more faults titan hairs, and more wealth than
faults.

Laun. Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine,
and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article:
Rehearse that once more.

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, -^) —

Laun. More hair than wit, — it may be ; I'll prove
it: The cover of the salt hides the salt, and there-
fore it is more than the salt; the hair, that covers
the wit, is more than the wit; for the greater hides
the less. What's next?

Speed. — And more faults than hairs, —

Laun. That's monstrous: O, that that were out!

Speed. — And more wealth than faults.

Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gracious : - *)
Well, I'll have her: And if it be a match, as nothing
is impossible, —

Speed. What then?

Laun. Why, then will I tell thee, — that thy ma-
ster stays for thee at the north gate.

Speed. For me?

Laun. For thee? ay: who art thou? he hath staid
for a better man than thee.

Speed. And must I go to him?

Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid
so long, that going will scarce serve the turn.

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your
love-letters ! [Exit.

Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my
letter: An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him-
self into secrets ! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's
correction. [iJrit.

n.

30

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Act IV.

Scene II.

The same. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Dukk and Thurio; Protbus behiitd.

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love you,
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.

Thti. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most.
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure
Trenched in ice; -^) which with an hour's heat
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. —
How now, sir Proteus? Is your countryman.
According to our proclamation, gone?

Pro. Gone, my good lord.

Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously.

Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief,

Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. —
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee,
(For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,)
Makes me the better to confer with thee.

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace.
Let me not live to look upon your grace.

Duke. Thou know'st, how willingly I would effect
The match between sir Thurio and my daughter.

Pro. I do, my lord.

Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant
How she opposes her against my will.

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.

Duke. Ay, and perversely she pers(5vers so.
What might we do, to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio?

Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine
With falshood, cowardice, and poor descent;
Three things that women highly hold in hate.

Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate.

Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it:
Therefore it must, with circumstance,-'') be spoken
By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend.

Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him.

Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do:
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman;
Especially, against his very friend. -')

Duke Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him;
Therefore the office is indifferent.
Being entreated to it by your friend.

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it.
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise.
She shall not long continue love to him.
But say, this weed her love for Valentine,
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio.

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love -^) from him,
Lest it should ravel, and be good to none.
You must provide to bottom it on me:
Which must be done, by praising me as much
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine.

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind ;
Because we know, on Valentine's report,
You are already love's firm votary.
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
Upon this warrant shall you have access.
Where you with Silvia may confer at large;
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy.
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you;
Where you may temper her, - ') by your persuasion,
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend.

Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : —
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
You must lay lime, ^'') to tangle her desires,

By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows.

Duke. Ay, much the 'J) force of heaven-bred poesy.

Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:
Write, till your ink be dry; and with your tears
Moist it again; and frame some feeling line.
That may discover such integrity: ^-)
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews;
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigei-s tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire lamenting elegies,
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window.
With some sweet concert: to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump; ^ 3) the night's dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her. ^'*)

Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.

Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice:
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
Let us into the city presently «
To sort ^^) some gentlemen v^l skill'd in musick:
I have a sonnet, that will sei-ve the turn.
To give the onset to thy good advice.

Duke. About it, gentlemen.

Pro. We'll wait upon your grace, till after supper;
And afterward determine our proceedings.

Duke. Even now about it: I will pardon you. ^'')

[^Exennt.

ACT IV.

Scene I. A Forest near Mantua.
Enter certain Out- laws.

1 Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.

2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.

Enter Valkntinb and Spbed.

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about

you;
If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you.

Speed. Sir, we are undone! these are the villains
That all the travellers do fear so much.

Val. My friends, —

1 Out. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies.

2 Out. Peace; we'll hear him.

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we;
For he's a proper man. ^)

Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose;
A man I am, cross'd with adversity:
My riches are these poor habiliments.
Of which if you should here disfurnish me.
You take the sum and substance that I have.

2 Out. Whither travel you?
Val. To Verona.

1 Out. Whence came you?
Val. From Milan.

3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there?

Val. Some sixteen months ; and longer might have
staid.
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.

1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence?
Val. I was.

2 Out. For what offence?

Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse :
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;
But yet I slew him manfully in fight,
Without false vantage, or base treachery.

1 Out. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so:
But were you banish'd for so small a fault?

n.

Act IV.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

31

I'al. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.

1 Out. Have you the tongues?

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy;
Or else 1 often had been miserable.

3 Out. By the bare scalp ofRobin Hood's fat friar, -)
This fellow were a king for our wild faction.

1 Out. We'll have him: sirs, a word.

Speed. Master, be one of them;

It is an honourable kind of thievery.
Val. Peace, villain!

2 Out. Tell us this: Have you any thing to take to?
Val. Nothing, but my fortune.

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen,
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth

Thnist from the company of awful men: ^)
Myself was from Verona banished.
For practising to steal away a lady.
An heir, and near allied unto the duke.

2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman.
Whom, in my mood, •*) I stabb'd unto the heart.

1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these.
But to the purpose, — (for we cite our faults,
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,)
And, partly seeing you are beautified

With goodly shape; and by your own report
A linguist: and a man of such perfection.
As we do in our quality ^ ) much w ant ; — •

2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man,
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you:
Are you content to be our general?

To make a virtue of necessity.

And live, as we do, in this wilderness?

3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our

consort? <•)
Say, ay, and be the captain of us all:
We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee.
Love thee as our commander, and our king.

1 Out. But if thou scorn our coxutesy, thou diest.

2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have

offer'd.
Val. I take your offer, and ■will live with you;
Provided that you do no outrages
On silly women, or poor passengers.

3 Out. No, we detest such vile base practices.
Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews,
And show thee all the treasure we have got;
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.

[Exeunt.

Scene IL

Milan. Co urt of the Palace.

Enter Proteus.

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer:
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy.
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When I protest time loyalty to her.
She twits me with my falshood to my friend :
When to her beauty I commend my vows.
She bids me think, how I have been forsworn
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd:
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, ')
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope.
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,
The more it grows, and fawneth on her still.
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window.
And give some evening musick to her ear.

Enter Thurio and Musicians.
Thu. How now, sir Proteus ? are you crept before us ?

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go. ")

Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.

Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.

Thu. Whom? '] Silvia?

Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake.

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,
Let's tune, and to it lustily a while.

Enter Host, at a distance; and Julia in boy's
clothes.

Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're al-
lycholly; I pray you, why is it?

Jul. RIarry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.

Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you
where you shall hear musick, and see the gentle-
man that you ask for.

Jul. But shall I hear him speak?

Host. Ay, that you shall.

Jul. That will be musick. [Mtuick playt.

Host. Hark! Hark!

Jul. Is he among these?

Host. Ay: but peace, let's hear 'em.

Song.
Who is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heavens such grace did lend her.
That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair.

To help him of his blindness;
And, being help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,

That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing.

Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

Host. How now? are you sadder than you were
before? How do you, man? the musick likes you not.

Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not.

Host. Why, my pretty youth?

Jul. He plays false, father.

Host. How? out of tune on the strings?

Jul. Not so; but yet so false, that he grieves my
very heart-strings.

Host. You have a quick ear.

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have
a slow heart.

Host. I perceive, you delight not in musick.

Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.

Host. Hark, what fine change is in the musick!

Jul. Ay; that change is the spite.

Host. You would have them always play but one
thing?

Jul. I would always have one play but one thing.
But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on,
often resort unto this gentlewoman?

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me,
he loved her out of all nick. ^°)

Jul. Where is Launce?

Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow,
by his master's command, he must carry for a pre-
sent to his lady.

Jul. Peace! stand aside! the company parts.

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead,
That you shall say, my cumiing drift excels.

Thu. Where meet we?

Pro. At saint Gregory's well.

Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt Thi;»io aud Musicians

n.

J

32

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

Act IV.

Silvia appears above, at her window.

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship.
Sil. I thank you for your musick, gentlemen:

Who is that, that spake?
Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth.

You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice.
Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it.
Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.
Sil. What is your will?

Pro. That I may compass yours.

Sil. You have your wish ; my will is even this, —

That presently you hie you home to bed.

Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man!

Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless,

To be seduced by thy flattery.

That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows?

Return, return, and make thy love amends.

For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear,

I am so far from granting thy request.

That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit;

And by and by intend to chide myself.

Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;
But she is dead.

Jul. 'Twere false, if I should speak it;
For, I am sure, she is not buried. [Aside.

Sil. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend,
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness,
I am betroth'd: And art thou not asham'd
To wrong him with thy importunacy.

Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead.

Sil. And so, suppose, am I; for in his grave
Assure thyself, my love is buried.

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence ;
Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine.

Jul. He heard not that. [Aside.

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love.
The picture that is hanging in your chamber;
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep:
For, since the substance of your perfect self
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow;
And to your shadow I will make true love.

Jul. If 'twere a substance,youwould, sure, deceive it,
And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Aside.

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir;
But, since your falshood shall become you well "')
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it:
And so, good rest.

Pro. As wretches have o'er-night,

That wait for execution in the morn.

[Eseunt Proteus; and Silvia, from above.

Jul. Host, will you go?

Hogt. By my hallidom, I was fast asleep.

Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus?

Host. Marry, at my house : Trust me, I think, 'tis
almost day.

Jul. Not so; but it hath been the longest night
That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. ^-)

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

The same.
Enter Eglamour.

Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia
Entreated me to call, and know her mind;
There's some great matter she'd employ me in. —
Madam, madam!

Silvia appears above, at her window.

Sil. Who calls?

Egl. Your servant, and your friend ;

One that attends your ladyship's command.

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow.

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself.
According to your ladyship's impose, ^^}
I am thus early come, to know what semce
It is your pleasure to command me in.

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman,
(Think not, I flatter, for, I swear, I do not,)
Valiant, wise, remorseful, "*) well accomplish'd.
Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ;
Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Vain Thuiio, whom my veiy soul abhorr'd.
Thyself hast loved; and I have heard thee say,
No grief did ever come so near thy heart,
As w1ien thy lady and thy true love died,
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. • ^)
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
To Mantua, Avhere, I hear, he makes abode;
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy company.
Upon whose faith and honour I repose.
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,
But tliink upon my grief, a lady's grief;
And on the justice of my flying hence.
To keep me from a most unholy match.
Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues.
I do desire thee, even from a heart
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands.
To bear me company, and go with me :
If not, to hide what I have said to thee.
That I may venture to depart alone.
Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances; **)
Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd,
I give consent to go along with you ;
Recking as little ^') what betideth me
As much I wish all good befortune you.
When will you go?
Sil. This evening coming.

E^l. Where shall I meet you?

Stl. At friar Patrick's cell.

Where I intend holy confession.

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship :
Good-morrow, gentle lady.
Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt.

Scene IV.

T/te same-

Enter Launce, with his Dog.

When a man's servant shall play the cur with him,
look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a
puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when three
or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it!
I have taught him — even as one would say precise-
ly. Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to de-
liver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from my
master; and I came no sooner into the dining-cham-
ber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals her
capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing, when a cur cannot
keep himself "*) in all companies! I would have, as
one should say, one that takes upon him to be a
dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things.
If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault
upon me that he did, I think verily he had been
hanged for't; sure as I live, he had sulfered for't:
you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the com-
pany of three or four gentleman-like dogs, under the
duke's table : he had not been there (bless the mark)

n.

Act IV.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

33

a inssing while; ") but all the chamber smelt him.
Out with the dog, says one : What cur is that ?
says another; Wliip him out, says a third; Hang
him up, says the duke. I, having been acquainted
Avith the smell before, knew it was Crab; and goes
me to the fellow that whips the dogs; -"^) Friend,
quoth I, you mean to whip the dog? Ay, marry,
do I, quoth he. You do him the more wrong,
quoth I; 'twas I did the thing you wot of. He
makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the
chamber. How many masters would do this for
their -*} servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat
in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise
he had been executed : 1 hare stood on the pillory
for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered
for't : thou think'st not of this now ! — Nay, I re-
member the trick you sened me, when I took my
leave of madam SiUia ; did not I bid thee still mark
me, and do as I do ? When did'st thou see me heave
up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's
farthingale ? didst thou ever see me do such a trick ?

Enter Proteus and Julia.

Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well.
And will employ thee in some service presently.

Jul. In what you please; — I will do what 1 can.

Pro. I hope, thou wilt. — How now, you w horeson
peasant? [To Laukce.

WTiere have you been these two days loitering?

Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog
you bade me.

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel?

Laun. Marrj', she says, your dog was a cur; and
tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a
present.

Pro. But she received my dog?

Laun. No, indeed, she did not ; here have I brought
him back again.

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me?

Laun. Ay, sir; the other squirrel --) was stolen from
me by the hangman's boys in the market-place: and
then I offered her mine ow n : who is a dog as big
as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again.
Or ne'er return again into my sight.
Away, I say: Stay'st thou to vex me here?
A slave, that, still an end, ^^) turns me to shame.

[Exit Launce.
Sebastian, I have entertained thee.
Partly, that I have need of such a youth.
That caii with some discretion do my business,
For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt;
But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour:
Which (if my augury deceive me not)
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth:
Therefore know thou, -'*} for this I entertain thee.
Go presently, and take this ring with thee,
Deliver it to madam Silvia:
She loved me well, deliver'd it to me. ^^)

Jul. It seems, you loved her not, to leave her token : - ')
She's dead, belike.

Pro. Not so; I think, she lives.

Jul. Alas!

Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas?

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her.

Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her?

Jul. Because, methinks, that she loved you as well
As you do love your lady Silvia:
She dreams on him, that has forgot her love;
You dote on her, that cares not for your love.
'Tis pity, love should be so contrary;

And thinking on it makes me cry, alas!

Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal

This letter ; — that's her chamber. — Tell my lady,
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitarj^

[Exit Proteus.
Jul. How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertaui'd
A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs:
Alas, poor fool! why do I pity liim
That with his very heart despiseth me ?
Because he loves her, he despiseth me;
Because I love him, I must pity hun.
This ring I gave hun, when he parted from me,
To bind him to remember my good will:
And now am I (luihappy messenger)
To plead for that, which I would not obtain;
To carry that, which 1 woidd have refus'd;
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. -")
I am my master's true confirmed love;
But cannot be true servant to my master.
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet I will woo for him; but yet so coldly.
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.

Enter Silvia, attended.
Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean
To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia.

Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she?

Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.

iSi7. From whom?

Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam.

iSi7. O ! — he sends you for a picture ?

Jul. Ay, madam.

jSi7. Ursula, bring my picture there.

[Picture brought.
Go, give your master this: tell hiju from me.
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget.
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter.

Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd
Delivered you a paper that I should not;
This is the letter to your ladyship.

Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again.

Jul. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.

Sil. There, hold.
I Avill not look upon your master's lines:
I know, they are stuff'd with protestations.
And full of new-found oaths; which he will break.
As easily as I do tear his paper.

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.

Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me ;
For, I have heard him say a thousand times.
His Julia gave it him at his departure:
Though his false finger hath - *} profan'd the ring,
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.

Jul. She thanks you.

iSi7. What say'st thou?

Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her:
Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much.

St7. Dost thou know her?

Jul. Ahnost as well as I do know myself:
To think upon her woes, I do protest.
That I have wept an hundred several times.

Sil. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.

Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow.

Si7. Is she not passing fair?

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is:
When she did think my master lov'd her well.
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;
But since she did neglect her looking-glass.
And threw her sun-expelling mask away.
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks,

3

n.

34

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Act V.

And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face,
That now she is become as black as I.
Sil. How tall was she ? - ' )
Jul. About iny stature: for, at Pentecost,
When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown;
Which serv'd me as fit, by all men's judgment.
As if the garment had been made for me:
Therefore, I know she is about my height.
And, at that time, T made her weep a-good, '")
For I did play a lamentable part;
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning ^i)
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight:
Which I so lively acted with my tears.
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal.
Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead, *
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!

<Sj7. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth! —
Alas, poor lady! desolate and left! —
I weep myself, to tliink upon thy words.
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her.
Farewell. [i;xjt Silvia.

Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.
A virtuous gentleAvoman, mild, and beautiful.
I hope my master's suit will be but cold.
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. ^^)
Alas, how love can tiifle with itself!
Here is her picture: Let me see; I think.
If I had such a tire, this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers:
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little.
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her air is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:
If that be all the difference in his love,
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. ^^)
Her eyes are grey as glass ; ^ '*) and so are mine :
Ay, but her forehead's low, ^ ^) and mine's as high.
What should it be that he respects in her.
But I can make respective ^'') in myself.
If this fond love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form.
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd;
And, were there sense in his idolatry,
My substance should be statue in thy stead. ^'')
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake.
That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes,
To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit.

ACT V.

Scene I. The same. An Abhey.

Enter Eglamour,

Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky;
And now, it is about the very hour
That Silvia, at Patrick's '■} cell, should meet me.
She will not fail; for lovers break not hours.
Unless it be to come before their time;
So much they spur their expedition.

Enter Silvia.
See, where she coincs: Lady, a happy evening!

Sil. Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour,
Out at the postern by the abbey-wall;
I fear, I am attended by some spies.

Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off:
If we recover that, wc are sure enough. -)

[Exeunt.

Scene ll.

The same. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Thurio, Protkus, and Julia.

Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?

Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;
And yet slie takes exceptions at your person.

Thu. What, that my leg is too long?

Pro. No; that it is too little.

Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder.

Pro. But love Avill not be spurr'd to what it loathes.

Thu. What says she to my face?

Pro. She says, it is a fair one.

Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies; my face is black.

Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is.
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 3)

Jul. 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ;
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside.

Thu. How likes she my discourse?

Pro. Ill, when you talk of war.

Thu. But well, when I discourse of love, and peace ?

Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.

[Aside.

Thu. What says she to my valour?

Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.

Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.

[Aside.

Thu. What says she to my birth?

Pro. That you are well deriv'd.

Jul. True, from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside.

Thu. Considers she my possessions?

Pro. O, ay; and pities them.

Thu. Wherefore?

Jul. That such an ass should owe them. [Aside.

Pro. That they are out by lease. '*)

Jul. Here comes the duke.

Enter Dckk.

Duhe. How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurio?
Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late?

Thu. Not L

Pro. Nor L

Duhe. Saw you my daughter?

Pro. Neither.

Duke. Why, tlien she's fled unto that peasant Va-
lentine ;
And Eglamour is in her company.
'Tis true; for friar Lawrence met them both,
As he in penance wander'd through the forest:
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she;
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it;
Besides, she did intend confession
At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not:
These likelihoods confirm her flight fi'om hence.
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse.
But mount you presently; and meet with me
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled.
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit.

Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, ^)
That flies her fortune when it follows her:
I'll after; more to be reveng'd on Eglamour,
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. '') [Exit.

Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love.
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit.

Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love.
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit.

Scene in.

Fron tier.'! 0/ M a n t u a . The Forest.
Enter Silvia, and Out-laws.
1 Out. Come, come;
Be patient, we must bring you to our captain.

n.

Act V.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

35

iSi7. A thousand more mischances than this one
Haye learn'd me how to brook this patiently.

2 Out. Come, bring her away.

1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her?

3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us,
But ftloyses, and Valerius, follow him.

Go thou with her to the west end of the wood,
There is our captain: we'll foUoAv him that's fled ;
The thicket is beset, he camiot 'scape.

1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave;
Fear not; he bears an honourable mind.
And will not use a woman lawlessly.

Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee. [Exeunt,

SCEIVE IV.
Another part of the Forest.
Enter VALE^TINK.
Vol. How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrecjuented woods,
1 better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And, to the nightingale's complaining notes,
Tune my distresses, and record my woes. ')

0 thou that dost inhabit in my breast.
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall.
And leave no memory of what it was! ^)
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;

Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain! —
What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day?
These are my mates, that make their wills their law.
Have some unhappy passenger in chase:
They love me well; yet I have much to do,
To keep them from uncivil outrages.
Withdraw thee, Valentine; who's this comes here?

[Steps aside.

Enter Proteus, Sit.via, and JuiiiA.

Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you,
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth,)
To hazard life, and rescue you from him
That wou'd have forced your honour and your love.
Vouchsafe me for my meed ') but one fair look;
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg.
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.

Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear!
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside.

Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am!

Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came;
But, by my coming, I have made you happy.

Sit. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy.

Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pre-
sence. , [Aside.

Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion,

1 would have been a breakfast to the beast.
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.

0 heaven be judge, how I love Valentine,
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul;
And full as much, (for more there cannot be,)

1 do detest false peijur'd Proteus:
Therefore be gone, solicit me no more.

Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death.
Would I not undergo for one calm look?
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, '")
When women cannot love, where they're belov'd.

iSi7. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd.
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love,
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths
Descended into perjury, to love me.
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two,
And that's far worse than none; better have none

Than plural faith, which is too much by one:
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend!

Pro. In love.

Who respects friend?

Sil. All men but Proteus.

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end;
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you.

iSi7. O heaven!

Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire.

Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch;
Thou friend of an ill fashion!

Pro. Valentine !

Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love ;
(For such is a friend now,) treacherous man!
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes ; nought but mine eye
Could have persuaded me: Now I dare not say,
I have one friend alive; thou would'st disprove me.
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand * ^}
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus,
I am sorry, I must never trust thee more.
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
The private wound is deepest: '^) O time, most curst!
'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst!

Pro. My shame and guilt confound me. —
Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender it here; I do as truly suffer,
As e'er I did commit.

Val. Then I am paid;

And once again I do receive thee honest; —
Who by repentance is not satisfied.
Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd :
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : —
And, that my love may appear plain and free,
All that was mine In Silvia, I give thee. ^^)

Jul. O me, unhappy! [Faints.

Pro. Look to the boy.

Val. Why, boy! why, wag! how now? what is the
matter?
Look up; speak.

Jul. O good sIi", my master charg'd me

To deliver a ring to madam Silvia; ^•*)
Which, out of my neglect, was never done.

Pro. Where is that ring, boy?

Jul. Here 'tis : this Is it.

[Gives a ring.

Pro. How! let me see:
Why this is the ring I gave to Julia.

Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook;
This is the ring you sent to Silvia.

[Shows another ring.

Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring? at my
depart,
I gave this unto Julia.

Jul. And Julia herself did give It me;
And Julia herself hath brought it hither.

Pro. How! Julia!

Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, '5)
And entertaln'd them deeply in her heart:
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root?"')
O Proteus, let this habit make thee bhish!
Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me
Such an Immodest raiment; if shame live ")
In a disguise of love:
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds.
Women to change their shapes, than men their minds.

Pro. Than men their minds! 'tis true; O heaven!
were man
But constant, he were perfect: that one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all sins:
Inconstancy falls off, ere It begins:

n.

36

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

Act V.

What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye?

Val. Come, come, a hand from either:
Let me be blest to make this happy close;
'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.

Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.

Jul. And I have mine. ^^}

Enter Out- laws, tpith Duke and Thurio.

Out. A prize, a prize, a prize !

Val. Forbear, I say; it is my lord the duke.
Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,
Banished Valentine.

Duke. Sir Valentine!

Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine.

Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death ;
Come not within the measure *') of my wrath:
Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, —
Milan shall not behold thee. ^°) Here she stands,
Take but possession of her with a touch ; —
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. —

Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger
His body for a girl that loves him not:
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.

Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou.
To make such means for her as thou hast done, ^ ' )
And leave her on such slight conditions. —
Now, by the honour of my ancestry,
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,
And think thee worthy of an empress' love.
Know then, I here forget all fonner griefs, --)

Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. —
Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit.
To which I thus subscribe, — sir Valentine,
Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd;
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her.

Val. I thank youx grace; the gift hath made me
happy.
I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake,
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.

Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be.

Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal.
Are men endued with worthy qualities;
Forgive them what they have committed here,
And let them be recall'd from their exile:
They are reformed, civil, full of good.
And fit for great employment, worthy lord.

Duke. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee ;
Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts.
Come, let us go; we will include all jai's -^)
With triumphs, -■*) mirth, and rare solemnity.

Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold
With our discourse to make your grace to smile:
What think you of this page, my lord?

Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him ; he blushes.

Val. I warrant you, my lord ; more grace than boy.

Duke. What mean you by that saying?

Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along.
That you will wonder, what hath fortuned. —
Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance, but to hear
The story of your loves discovered:
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. [Exeunt.

n.

III.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

PEBSONS HEPRESENTED.

Sir John Falstaff.

Fknton.

Shallow, a country Justice.

Slender, Cousin to Shallow.

IMr. foRD, ( ^^^ Gentlemen dwelling at Windsor.

Mr. Page, j

William Page, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page.
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welch Parson.
Dr. Caixjs, a French Physician.
Host of the Garter Inn.

BVSDOLPH,

Pistol, ^ Followers of Falstaff.

Nrsi,

Robin, Page to Falstaff.

Simple, Servant to Slender.

Rugby, Servant to Dr. Caius.

Mrs. Ford.

Mrs. Page.

IMrs. Anne Page, Iter Daughter, in love leith Fenton.

Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius.

Servants to Page, Ford, <J-c.

Scene — Windsor; and the Parts adjacent.

ACT I.

Scene I. Windsor. Before Page's House.

Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir Hugh
Evans.

Shallow.
Sir Hugh, *) persuade me not; I will make a star-
chamber matter of it : if he were twenty sir John Fal-
staft's, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.

Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace,
and coram,

SJial. Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum.

Slen. Ay , and ratolorum too; and a gentleman bom,
master parson; who writes himself armigero; -) in
any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero.

Shal. Ay, that we do; and have done any time
these three hundred years.

Slen. All his successors, gone before hire, have done't ;
and all his ancestors, that come after him, may : they
may give the dozen white luces in their coat.

Shal. It is an old coat.

Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old
coat well; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar
beast to man, and signifies — love.

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is
an old coat. ^)

Slen. I may quarter, coz?

Shal. You may, by marrying.

Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it.

Shal. Not a whit.

Eva. Yes, py'r-lady; if he has a quarter of your
coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple
conjectures : but this is all one : If sir John Falstaff
have committed disparagements unto you, I am of
the church, and will be glad to do my benevolence,
to make atonements and compromises between you.

Shal. The council shall hear it ; it is a riot. ■*)

Eva. It is not meet the council hear a riot; there
is no fear of Got In a riot: the council, look you,
shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to
hear a riot; take your vizaments in that. *)

Shal. Ha! o'my life, if I were young again, the
>^word should end it.

Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end
it : and there is also another device in my prain, which,
peradventure, prings good discretions with it : There
is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George
Page, which is pretty virginity.

Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair,
and speaks small like a woman.

Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as
just as you will desire; and seven hundred pounds
of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandslre,
upon his death'sbed, (Got deliver to a joyful resur-
rections !) give, when she Is able to overtake seven-
teen years old : it were a good motion, if we leave
our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage
between master Abraham, and mistress Anne Page.

Shal. Did her grandslre leave her seven hundred
pound?

Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.

Shal. I know the young gentlewoman; she has
good gifts.

Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, b
good gifts.

Sfial. Well, let us see honest master Page : is Fal-
staff there ?

Eva. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar,
as I do despise one that is false; or, as I despise
one that is not true. The knight, sir John, is there ;
and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-mllers.
I will peat the door [tnocAr*] for master Page. What,
hoa! Got pless your house here!

Enter Page.

Page. Who's there?

Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and
justice Shallow: and here young master Slender;
that peradventures, shall tell you another tale, if
matters grow to your likings.

Page. I am glad to see your worships well: I
thank you for my venison, master Shallow.

Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you; Much
good do it your good heart! I wished your venison
better; it was ill klU'd :— How doth good mistress
Page? — and I love you <>) always with my heart,
la; with my heart.

m.

38

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR,

Act I.

Page. Sir, I thank you.

S/ial. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.

Page. 1 am glad to see you, good master Slender.

Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sirV I
heard say, he was out-run on Cotsale. '')

Page. It could not be judg'd, sir.

Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess.

Shal. That he will not; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your
fault : — 'Tis a good dog.

Page. A cur. Sir.

Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: Can
there be more said'V he is good, and fair. Is sir
John Falstaff here?

Page. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do
a good office between you.

Eva. It is spoke as a christians ought to speak.

Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page.

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.

Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd; is not
that so, master Page V He hath wrong'd me ; indeed,
he hath ; — at a word he hath ; — believe me ; Ro-
bert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd.
Page. Here comes sir John.

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bakdolph, Njtm, and
Pistol.

Fal. Now, master Shallow; you'll complain of me
to the king?

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my
deer, and broke open my lodge.

Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter?

Shal. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd.

Fal. I will answer it straight; — I have done all
this: — That is now answer'd.

Shal. The council shall know this.

Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in
counsel: you'll be laugh'd at.

Kva. Pauca verba, sir John, goot worts.

Fal. Good worts ! good cabbage. ") — Slender, I broke
your head; What matter have you against me?

Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against
you; and against your coney-catching rascals, '■')
Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the
tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked
my pocket.

Bard. You Banbury cheese! '°)

Slen. Ay, it is no matter.

Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ? '')

Slen. Ay, it is no matter.

Ny7n. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that's my
humour.

Slen. Where's Simple, my man? — can you tell,
cousin?

Eva. Peace: I pray you! Now let us understand:
There is three umpires in this matter as I under-
stand: that is — master P-dge, Jidelicet, master Page;
and there is myself, fidelicet, myself; and the three
party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.

Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them.

Eva. Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my
note-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the
cause, with as great discreetly as we can-
Fa/. Pistol, —

Pist. He hears with ears.

Eva. The tevil with his tarn; what phrase is this.
He hears with ear? Why, it is affectations.

Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse?

Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I
might never come in mine own great chamber again
else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two
Edward shovel-boards, '■-) that cost me two shilling
and two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves.

Fal. Is this true. Pistol?

Eva, No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse-

Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreijgner I — Sir John and
master mine,
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo: *^)
Word of denial in thy labras *"*) here;
Word of denial: froth and scum, thou liest.

Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he.

fiym. Be avised, sir, and pass good humours: I
will say, marry, trap, ^^) with you, if you run the
nuthook's humour ' <') on me: that is the very note of it,

Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it:
for though I cannot remember what I did when you
made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.

Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John? ^')

Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman
had drunk himself out of his live sentences.

Eva. It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is !

Bard. And being fap, ^^) sir, was, as they say,
cashier'd; and so conclusions pass'd the careires. ^'^)

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 'tis no
matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but
in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick: if I
be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the
fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.

Eca. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind-

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle-
men; you hear it.

Enter INIistress Annk Pagk with Wine; Mistress
Ford and Mistress Page following.
Page. Nay, daughter, cany the wine in; we'll
drink within. [Exit A>nk Page.

Slen. O heaven! this is mistress Aiuie Page.
Page. How now, mistress Ford?
Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well
met: by youi' leave, good mistress. [Kissing her.

Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : — ■ —
Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner; come,
gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
[Exeunt all but Suai.. Slender, and Evans.
Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had uiy
book of Songs and Sonnets here: -")

Enter Simple.
How now, Simple! Where have you been? I must
wait on myself, must I? You have not The Book
of Riddles -') about you, have you?

Sim. Book of Riddles! why, did not you lend it
to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fort-
night afore Michaehnas? --)

Shal. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A
word Avith you, coz ; marry, this, coz ; There is, as
'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off
by sir Hugh here; — Do you understand me?

Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it
be so, I shall do that that is reason.

Shal. Nay, but understand me.

Slen. So I do, sir.

Eca. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I will
description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.

Sleii. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says : I
pray you, pai'don me; he's a justice of peace in his
countiy, simple though I stand here.

Eva. But this is not the question; the question is
concerning your marriage.

Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir.

Eva. Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mistress
Anne Page.

Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon any
reasonable demands.

Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us com-
mand to know that of your mouth, or of your lips ;
for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parcel

m.

Act J.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

3»

of the mouth ; — Therefore, precisely, can you carry
your good will to the maid ■?

Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?

Slen. I hope, sir, — 1 will do, as it shall become
one that would do reason.

Eca. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must
speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires
towards her.

Shal. That you mustt Will you, upon good dowry,
marry her?

Slen. I will do a gi-eater thing than that, upon
your request, cousin, in any reason.

Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz;
what I do, is to pleasure you, coz: Can you love
the maid?

Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if
there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven
may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we
are married, and have more occasion to know one
another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more
contempt: but if you say, marry her, I will mairy
her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely.

Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the faul'
is in the 'ort dissolutely: the 'ort is, according to
our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good.

Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.

Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la.

Re-enter Annb Pack.

Sltal. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would I
were young, for your sake, mistress Anne!

Anne. The dinner is on the table; my father de-
sires your worship's company.

Shal, I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne.

Eca. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at
the grace. [^Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evass.

Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir?

Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am
very well.

Anne. The dinner attends you, sir.

Slen. I am not a-hungiy, I thank you, forsooth.
Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon
my cousin Shallow: [£xit Simple.] A justice of
peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for
a man : — I keep but three men and a boy yet, till
my mother be dead: But what though? yet I live
like a poor gentleman born.

Anne. I may not go in without your worship : they
will not sit, till you come.

Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much
as though I did.

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in.

Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you ; I bruised
my shin the other day with plajing at sword and
dagger with a master of fence, -^) three veneys for
a dish of stewed prunes; -■*) and, by my troth, I
cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do
your dogs bark so? be tliere bears i'the town.

Anne. I tliink, there are, sii*; I heard them talked of.

Slen. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon
quarrel at it, as any man in England : — You are
afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not?

Anne. Ay, indeed, sir.

Slen. That's meat and drink to me now: I have
seen Sackerson -*) loose, twenty times; and have
taken him by the chain: but, I warrant you, the
women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it
pass'd:^') — but women, indeed, camiot abide 'em;
they are very ill favoured rough thmgs.

Re-enter Pagk.
Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come : we stay
for you.

Slen. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.

Page. By cock and pye, -') you shall not choose,
sir: come, come.

Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way.

Page. Come on, sir.

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first

Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on.

Sleii. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la: I will
not do you that wrong.

Anne. I pray you, sir.

Sien. I'll rather be unmannerly, than troublesome;
you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. {Exeunt.

Scene II.

The same.

Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple.

Eva. Go your ways, and ask of doctor Cains' house,
which is the way: and there dwells one mistress
Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or
his di-j-nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer,
and his wringer.

Simp. Well, sir.

Eva. Nay, it is petter yett give her this let-
ter; for it is a 'oman that altogether's aquaintance
with mistress Anne Page: and the letter is, to de-
sire and require her to solicit your master's desires
to mistress Aiuie Page : I pray you, be gone ; I will
make an end of my dinner; there's pippins and
cheese to come. [Exeuar.

Scene Iir.

A Room in the Garter Jniu

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Ntm, Pistol,
and Robin.

Fal. Mine host of the Garter, —

Host. What says my bully-rook? -^) Speak schol-
arly, and wisely.

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of
my followers.

Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them
wag; trot, trot.

Fal. I sit at ten pounds a-week.

Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Kelsar, - ') and
Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw,
he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ?

Fal. Do so, good mine host.

Host. I have spoke; let hiin follow: Let me see thee
froth, and lime : ^ ") I am at a word ; follow. [Exit Hont.

Fal. Bardolph, follow him : a tapster is a good trade:
an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered serving-
man, a fresh tapster: Go; adieu.

Bard. It is a fife that I have desired; I will thrive*

[Exit Bard.

Pist. O base Gongarian wight! ^^) wilt thou the
spigot wield?

^ii/m. He was gotten in drink: Is not the humour
conceited? His mind is not heroic, and there's the
humour of it.

Fal. I am glad, I am so acquit of this tinder-box ;
his thefts were too open; his filching was like an
unskilful singer, he kept not time.

Nyni. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's rest.

Pist. Convey, the wise it call: Steal! foh; a fico
for the phrase! ^-)

Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.

Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue.

Fal. There is no remedy; I must coney-catch; I
must shift.

Pist. Young ravens must have food. ^

Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town?

ni.

40

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR,

Act I.

Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.

Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

Pist. Two yards and more.

Fal. No quips now, Pistol; Indeed I am in the
waist two yards about: but I am now about no
waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to
make love to Ford's wife; I spy entertainment in
her; she discourses, she carves, ^^) she gives the
leer of invitation : I can construe the action of her
familiar style; and the hardest voice of her beha-
viour, to be English'd rightly, is, / am sir J»hn
Fahtaff's.

Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated her
well; out of honesty iivto English.

Nym. The anchor is deep : ^ '* ) Will that humour pass ?

Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of
her husband's purse; she hath legions of angels.

Pist. As many devils entertain; ^^) and, To her,
boy, say I.

Nym. The humour rises; it is good: humour me
the angels.

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and here
another to Page's wife; who even now gave me
good eyes too, examin'd my parts with most judi-
cious eyliads: ^^) sometimes the beam of her view
gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly.

Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

^ym. I thank thee for that humour.

Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with
such a greedy intention, ^'') that the appetite of her
eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning glass !
Here's another letter to her: she bears the purse
too; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty.
I will be cheater to them both, and they shall be
exchequers to me; ^^) they shall be my East and
West Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go,
bear thou this letter to mistress Page ; and thou this
to mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will thrive.

Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become.
And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer, take all!

Nym. I will run no base humour: here, take the
humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation.

Fal. Hold, sirrah, [to Rob.] bear you these letters
tightly; 3 9)
Sail like my pinnace ''<') to these golden shores, —
Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;
Trudge, plod, away, o'the hoof; seek shelter, pack !
Falstaff will learn the humour of this age,
French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page.
[Exeunt Falstaff and Robin.

Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd, and

fullam holds.
And high and low beguile the rich and poor; *')
Tester I'll have in pouch, when thou shalt lack,
Base Phrygian Turk !

Nym. I have operations in my head, which be hu-
mours of revenge.

Pist. Wilt thou revenge?

Nym. By welkin, and her star!

Pist. With wit, or steel?

Nym. With both the liumours, I:
I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.

Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold.

How Falstaff, varlet vile.

His dove will prove, his gold will hold,

And his soft couch defile.

Nym. My humour shall not cool: I will incense

Page *^) to deal with poison; I will possess him

with yellowness, ^■^) for the revolt of mien ^^) is

dangerous: that is my true humour.

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents: I second

thee; troop on.

[Exeunt.

SCEISfE IV.

A Room in Dr. Caius's House.

Enter Mrs. QuicKLy, Simple, ajid Rugby.

Quick. What: John Rugby! — I pray thee, go to
the casement, and see if you can see my master,
master Doctor Caius, coming: if he do, i'faith and
find any body in the house, here will be an old
abusing of God's patience, and the king's English.

Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugby.

Quick. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at
night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. ^^)
An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall
come in house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-
tale; nor no breed-bate: '*') his worst fault is, that
he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that
way ; but nobody but has his fault ; — but let that
pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is?

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better.

Quick. And master Slender's your master?

Sim. Ay, forsooth.

Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard,
like a glover's paring knife?

Sim. No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, ^')
with a little yellow beard; a Cain-coloured beard.* ^)

Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?

Sim. Ay, fox-sooth: but he is as tall a man of his
hands, as any is between this and his head ; he hath
fought with a warrener.

Quick. How say you? — O, I should remember
him; Does he not hold up his head, as it were?
and strut in his gait?

Sim. Yes, indeed, does he.

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse for-
tune! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what lean
for your master : Anne is a good girl, and I wish —

Re-enter Rugby.

Rug. Out, alas! here comes my master.

Quick. We shall all be shent;'*'^ Run i^ here, good
young man; go into this closet. [SAuf« Simple in the
cloget.] He will not stay long. — What, John Rugby !
John, what John, I say ! — Go, John, go inquire for
my master ; I doubt, he be not well, that he comes not
home : — and down, down, adown-a, (fee. [Sings.

Enter Doctor Caius. *")

Caius. Vat is you sing? I do not like dese toys;
Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier
verd; a box, a green-a box; Do intend vat I speak?
a green-a box.

Quick. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad
he went not in himself: if he had found the young
man, he would have been horn-mad.

Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe! ma foi, it fait fort chaud.
Je m'en vais a la cour, — la grande affaire.

Quick. Is it this, sir?

Caius. Ouy; mette le au mon pocket; DepecJte,
quickly; — Vare is dat knave Rugby?

Quick. What, John Rugby! John!

Rug. Here, sir.

Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack
Rugby: Come, take-a your rapier, and come after
my heel to de court.

Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long: — Od's me!
Qu'ay foublie? dere is some simples in my closet,
dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.

Quick. Ah me! he'll find the young man there,
and be mad!

Caius. O diable, diablel vat is in my closet? —
Villainy! larroui [jiulling SiMPiB out.] Rugby, my
rapier.

in.

Act II.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

41

Quick. Good master, be content.

Cuius. Verefore shall I be content-a?

Quick. The young man is an honest man.

Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet?
dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet.

Quick. I beseech you, be not so flegmatic; hear
the trath of it: He came of an errand to me from
parson Hugh.

Caius. Veil.

Si7n. Ay, foi'sooth, to desire hpr to —

Quick. Peace, I pray you.

Caius. Peace-a your tongue: — Speak-a your tale.

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid,
to speak a good word to Mrs. Aime Page for my
master, in the way of marriage.

Quick. This is all, indeed, la; but I'll ne'er put
my finger in the fire, and need not.

Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you? — Rugby, baillezme
some paper: Tarry you a little-a while. [Writes.

Quick. I am glad he is so quiet: if he had been
thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so
loud, and so melancholy; — But notwithstanding, man,
I'll do your master what good I can; and the very
yea and the no is, the French doctor, my master. —
I may call him my master, look you, for I keep his
house; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress
meat and drink, make the beds, and do all myself: —

Sitn. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one body's
hand.

Quick. Are you avis'd o'that? you shall find it a
great charge : and to be up early and down late ; —
but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear ; I would
have no words of it;) my master himself is in love
with mistress Anne Page : but notwithstanding that, — I
know Anne's mind, — that's neither here nor there.

Caius. You jack'nape ; give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh ;
by gar, it is a shallenge: I vill cut his treat in de
park; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest
to meddle or make: — you may be gone; it is not
good you tarry here : — by gar, I vill cut all his
two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone to
trow at his dog. [Exit Simple.

Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.

Caius. It is no matter-a for dat: — do not you
tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? —
by gar, I vill kill de Jack Priest; ^^) and I have
appointed mine host of de Jarterre to measure our
weapon : — by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page.

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be
well: we must give folks leave to prate: What,
the good-jer! ^-)

Caius. Rugby, come to de court vit me: — By gar,
if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head
out of my door: — Follow my heels, Rugby.

[Exeunt Caius and Rugby.

Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own.
No, I know Anne's mind for that : never a woman in
Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do;
nor can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven.

Fent. [Within.] Who's within there, ho?

Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house,
I pray you.

Enter Fbnton.

Fent. How now, good woman; how dost thou?

Quick. The better, that it pleases your good wor-
ship to ask.

Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne?

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest,
and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell
you that by the way; I praise heaven for it.

Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? Shall I
not lose my suit?

Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but
notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a
book, she loves you : — Have not your worship a
wart above your eye?

Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?

Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale; — good faith,
it is such another Nan; — but, I detest, *^) an ho-
nest maid as ever broke bread: — We had an hour's
talk of that wart; — I shall never laugh but in that
maid's company ! — But, indeed, she is given too
much to allicholly, *'*) and musing: But for you —
Well, go to.

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day; Hold, there's
money for thee; let me have thy voice in my be-
half: if thou seest her before me, commend me —

Quick. Will I? i'faith, that we will: and I will
tell your worship more of the wart, the next time
we have confidence; and of other wooers.

Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now. [Exit.

Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an honest
gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know
Anne's mind as well as another does : — Out upon't !
what have I forgot? [Exit.

ACT II.

Scene I. Before Page's House.
Enter Mistress Pace, with a Letter.
Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'scap'd love-letters in the
holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a sub-
ject for them? Let me see: [Reads.
Ask me no reason why I love you; for though
love use reason for his precisian, he admits him
not for his counsellor: ^) You are not young, no
more am I; go to then, there's sympathy: you are
merry, so am I; Ha! ha! then, there's more sym-
pathy: you love sack, and so do I; Would you
desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, mis-
tress Page, (at the least, if the love of a soldier
can suffice,) that I love thee. I will not say, pity
me, 'tts not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, love
me. By me.

Thine own true knight.

By day or night,

Or any kind of light,

With all his might.

For thee to fight, John Falstaff.

What a Herod of Jewry is this? — O wicked, wicked
world ! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with
age, to show himself a young gallant! What an un-
weighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked
(with the devil's name) out of my conversation, that
he dares in this manner assay me? Why, he hath
not been thrice in my company ! — What should I
say to him? — I was then frugal of my mirth:
heaven forgive me ! — Why, I'll exhibit a bill in
the parliament for the putting down of men. -) How
shall I be revenged on him ? for revenged I will be,
as sure as his guts are made of puddings.

Enter Mistress Ford,

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going
to your house.

Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you.
You look very ill.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that: I have to
show to the contrary.

Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind.

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then; yet, 1 say, I could
show you to the contrary: O, mistress Page, give
me some counsel!

in.

42

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act II.

Mr$. Page. What's the matter, woman?

Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling

respect, I could come to such honour!
Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour :

What is it? dispense with trifles; — what is it?

Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal

moment, or so, I could be knighted.
Mrs. Page. What? — thou llest! — Sir Alice Ford!

These knights will hack; and so thou shouldst

not alter tlie article of thy gentry. ^)
Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light: *) — here, read,

read; — perceive how I might be knighted. — 1

shall thhik the worse of fat men, as long as I have

an eye to make difference of men's liking: ^) And

yet he would not swear; praised women's modesty:

And gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof

to all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his
disposition would have gone to the truth of his
words; but they do no more adhere and keep place
together than the hundreth psalm to the tune of

Green sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this
whale with so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore
at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I
think the best way were to entertain him with hope,
till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his
own grease. — Did you ever hear the like ?

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name of
Page and Ford difl"ers! — To thy great comfort in
this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother
of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I protest,
mine never shall. I warrant, he hath a thousand of
these letters, writ with blank space for different
names, (sure more,) and these are of the second
edition: He will print them out of doubt; for he
cares not what he puts into the press, when he
would put us two. I had rather be a giantess, and
lie under mount Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty
lascivious turtles, ere one chaste man.

Mrs. Ford. Why this is the very same; the very
hand, the very words: What doth he think of us?

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not : It makes me almost
ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll enter-
tain myself like one that I am not acquainted withal ;
for, sure, unless he knew some strain in me, that I
know not myself, he would never have boarded me
in this fury.

Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it ? I'll be sure to
keep him above deck.

Mrs. Page. So will I ; if he come under my hatches,
I'll never to sea again. Let's be revenged on him : let's
appoint him a meeting : give him a show of comfort in
his suit ; and lead him on with a fine-baited delay, till
he hath pawn'd his horses to mine host of the Garter.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy
against him, that may not sully the chai'iness of our
honesty. <*) O, that my husband saw this letter! it
would give eternal food to his jealousy.

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes; and my
good man too; he's as far from jealousy, as I am
from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an un-
measurable distance.

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman.

Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this greasy
knight: Come hither. [They retire.

Enter Ford, Pistoi,, Page, and Nym.

Ford. Well, I hope it be not so.

Pist. Hope is a curtail dog ') in some affairs:
Sir John affects thy wife.

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young.

Pist. He wooes both high and low, both rich and poor.
Both young and old, one with another. Ford;
He loves thy gally-mawfry ; ^) Ford, perpend.

Ford. Love my wife?

Pist. With liver burning hot; Prevent, or go thou„
Like sir Acteon he, with Ring-wood at thy heels : —
O, odious is the name;

Ford. What name, sir?

Pist. The horn, I say: Farewell.
Take heed ; have open eye ; for thieves do foot by night :
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do

sing. —
Away, sir coi'poral Nym. — - —
Believe it. Page; he speaks sense, [Exit Pistol

Ford. I will be patient; I will find out this.

Nym. And this is true; [to Pack.] I like not the
humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some hu-
mours: I should have borne the humoured letter to
her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite, upon
my necessity. He loves your wife; there's the short
and the long. My name is corporal Nym; I speak,
and 1 avouch. 'Tis true : — my name is Nym, and
FalstafF loves your wil^'. — Adieu ! I love not the
humour of bread and cheese; and there's the hu-
mour of it. Adieu. [Exit Nym.

Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a I here's a fellow
frights humour out of his wits.

Furd. 1 will seek out Falstaff.

Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.

Ford. If I do find it, well.

Page. I will not believe such a Catalan, '>) though
the priest o'the town commended him for a true man.

Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow: *°) Well.

Page. How now, Meg?

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George? — Hark you.

Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ? why art thou
melancholy?

Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. — Get
you home, go.

Mrs Ford. 'Faith thou hast some crotchets in thy
head now. — Will you go, mistress Page ?

Mrs. Page. Have with you. — You'll come to dinner,
George? — Look, who comes yonder: she shall be our
messenger to this paltry knight. [Aside to Mrs. Fohb.

Enter Mrs. Quickly.

Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll fit it.

Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne ?

Quick. Ay, forsooth; And, I pray, how does good
mistx'ess Anne?

Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see ; we have an hour's
talk with you. [Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and

Mrt). Quickly.

Page. How now, master Ford?

Ford. You heard what this knave told me; did
you not?

Page. Yes; And you heard what the other told me?

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them?

Page. Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think the knight
would offer it: but these that accuse huu in his
intent towards our wives, are a yoke of discarded
men: very rogues, now they be out of service.

Ford. Were they his men?

Page. Marx'y, were they.

Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does
he lie at the Garter?

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this
voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose to
him; and what he gets of her more than sharp
words, let it lie on my head.

Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I would be
loth to turn them together : A man may be too con-
fident : I would have notiiing lie on my head : I
cannot be thus satisfied.

Page. Look, where my ranting host of the Garter
comes: there is either liquor in his pate, or money

in.

Act II.

MERKY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

43

in his purse, ^vlieu ho looks so merrily. — How novr,
mine host?

Enter Host and Shallow.

Host. How now, bully-rook! thou'it a gentleman:
cavalero-justice, * ' ) I say.

Shal. 1 follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even,
and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, will
you go with usV we have sport in hand.

Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice ; tell him, bully-rook.

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between sir
Hugh the Welsh priest, and Caius the French doctor.

Ford. Good mine host o'the Garter, a word with you.

Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook? [They go aside.

Shal. Will you [to Pace] go with us to behold it V
My merry host hath had the measiu'ing of their
weapons ; and I think, he hath appointed them con-
trary places; for, believe me, I hear, the parson is
no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be.

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my
guest-cavalier V

Ford. None, I protest : but I'll give you a pottle of
burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell
him, my name is Brook; only for a jest.

Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress and
regress ; said 1 well V and thy name shall be Brook :
It is a merry knight. Well you go on, hearts? ^-\

Shal. Have with you, mine host.

Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good
skill in his rapier.

Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more; In
these times you stand on distance, your passes,
stoccadoes, and I know not what; 'tis the heart,
master Page; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the
time, with my long sword, I would have made you
four tall fellows ' ^) skip like rats.

Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag?

Page. Have with you: — I had rather hear them
scold than fight. [Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page.

Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands
so firmly on his wife's frailty, ^^) yet I cannot put
off my opinion so easily: She was in his company
at Page's house; and, what they made there, ' ^) I
know not. Well, 1 will look further into't: and I
have a disguise to sound Falstaff: If I find her ho-
nest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis
labour well bestowed, [Exit.

SOE\E II.

A Room in the Garter Inn.

Enter Falstaff and Pistol.

Fal. I will not lend thee a penny.

Pist. Why, then the world's mine oyster.
Which I with sword will open. —
I will retort the sum in equipage. ^')

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you
should lay my countenance .to pawn: I have grated
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you
and your coach-fellow, Nym: ^') or else you had
looked through the grate, like a geminy of baboons.
I am dannied in hell, for swearing to gentlemen my
friends, you were good soldiers, and tall fellows : and
when mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, ^^)
I took't upon mine honour, thou hadst it not.

Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not fifteen
pence ?

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason: Think'st thou I'll
endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, hang no more
about me, 1 am no gibbet for you : — go. — A shoi-t
knife and a throng: — to your manor of Pickt-
hatch, ^9) go. — You'll not bear a letter for me,

you rogue! — You stand upon your honour! — Why,
thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do,
to keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I my-
self sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven on the
left hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity,
am fain to shuille, to hedge, and to lurch; and yet
you, rogue, will ensconce your rags, -'') your cat-a-
mountain looks , your red-lattice phrases, - ' ) and
your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your
honour! You will not do it, you?
Pist. I do relent; what would'st thou more of man?

Enter Rouin.
Rob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.
Fal. Let her approach.

Enter Mistress Quickly.

Quick. Give your worship good-morra\T.

Fal. Good-morrow, good wife.

Quick. Not so, an't please your worship.

Fal. Good maid, then.

Quick. I'll be sworn; as my mother was, the first
hour I was born.

Fal. I do believe the swearer: What with me?

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two ?

Fal. Two thousand, fair wonmn: and I'll vouch-
safe thee the hearing.

Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir ; — I pray,
come a little nearer this ways : — I myself dwell
with master doctor Caius.

Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, —

Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray your
worship, come a little nearer this ways.

Fal. 1 wai-rant thee, nobody hears ; mine own peo-
ple, mine own people.

Quick. Are they so ? Heaven bless them, and make
them his servants!

Fal. Well: Mistress Ford; — what of her?

Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord,
lord! your worsliip's a wanton: Well, heaven for-
give you, and all of us, 1 pray !

Fal. Mistress Ford; — come, mistress Ford, —

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it;
you have brought her into such a canaries, ^-) as
'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when
the court lay at Windsor, could never have brought
her to such a canary. Yet there has been knights,
and lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches; I war-
rant you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift
after gift; smelling so sweetly, (all musk,) and so
rushling, I wan-ant you, in silk and gold; and in
such alligant terms; and in such wine and sugar of
the best, and the fairest, that would have won any
woman's heart: and, I warrant you, they could never
get an eye-wink of her. — I had myself twenty an-
gels given )ne this morning; but I defy all angels,
(in any such sort, as they say,) but in the way of
honesty: — • and, I warrant you, they could never
get her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest
of them all: and yet there has been earls, nay, which
is more, pensioners; *^) but I warrant you, all is
one with her.

Fal. But what says she to me? beJbrief, my good
she-Mercury.

Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter; for
the which she thanks you a thousand times : and she
gives you to notify, that her husband will be ab-
sence from his house between ten and eleven.

Fal. Ten and eleven?

Quick. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and
see the picture, she says, that you wot of; — -♦)
master Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas !
the sweet woman leads an ill life with hiin; he's a

m.

44

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act JI.

very jealousy man: she leads a very frampold -^)
life with hiiii, good heart.

Fat. Ten and eleven: Woman, commend me to her;
I will not fail her.

Quick. Why, you say well: But I have another
messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her
hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me tell
you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest
wife, and one (I tell you) tiiat will not miss you
morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor,
whoe'er be the other: and she bade me tell your
worship, that her husband is seldom from home ; but,
she hopes, there will come a time. I never knew a
woman so dote upon a man; surely, I think you
have charms, la, yes, in truth.

Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction of
my good parts aside, I have no other charms.

Quick. Blessing on your heart for't!

Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's
wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how
they love me?

Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have not
so little grace, I hope : — that were a trick, indeed !
But mistress Page would desire you to send her
your little page, of all loves; -<•) her husband has
a marvellous infection to the little page : and, truly,
master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in Wind-
sor leads a better life than she does; do what she
will, say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed
when she list, rise when she list, all is as she will ;
and, truly, she deserves it: for, if there be a kind
woman in Windsor, she is one. You must send her
your page; no remedy.

Fal. Why, I will.

Quick. Nay, but do so then : and, look you, he may
come and go between you both; and, in any case,
have a nay- word, ^') that you may know one an-
other's mind, and the boy never need to understand
any thing; for 'tis not good that children should
know any wickedness: old folks, you know, have
discretion, as they say, and know the world.

Fal. B\re thee well : commend me to them both :
there's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go

along with this woman. This news distracts

roe! \_Exeunt QuiCKiY and Robin.

Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : —
Clap on more sails : pursue, up with your fights ; - ^ )
Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all !

[Exit Pistol.

Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'll
make more of thy old body than I have done. Will
they yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the ex-
pence of so much money, be now a gainer? Good
body, I thank thee : Let them say, 'tis grossly done ;
so it be fairly done, no matter.

Enter Bardolph.

Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with
you ; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught
of sack.

Fal. Brook, is his name?

Bard. Ay, sir.

Fal. Call him in; [exit Bardolph.] Such Brooks
are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. Ah!
ah! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I en-
compassed you? go to; via! ^')

Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised.
Ford. Bless you, sir.

Fal. And you, sir: Would you speak with me?
Ford. I make bold, to press with so little prepa-
ration upon you.

Fal. You're welcome; What's your will? Give us
leave, drawer. [Exit BAaooLFU.

Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much;
my name is Brook.

Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint-
ance of you.

Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours : not to charge
you; -'") for I must let you understand, I think my-
self in better plight for a lender than you are: the
which hath something emboldened me to this unsea-
soned intrus'on: for they say, if money go before,
all ways do lie open.

Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here
troubles me: if you will help me to bear it, sir John,
take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage.

Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be
your porter.

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the
hearing.

Fal. Speak, good master Brook; I shall be glad to
be your servant.

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be brief
with you ; — and you have been a man long known
to me, though I had never so good means, as de-
sire, to make myself acquainted with you. I shall
discover a thing to you, wherein I must very much
lay open mine own imperfection: but, good sir John,
as you have one eye upon my follies, as you hear
them unfolded, turn another into the register of your
own; that I may pass with a reproof the easier,
sith ^ ' ) you yourself know, how easy it is to be
such an offender.

Fal. Very well, sir; proceed.

Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her
husband's name is Ford.

Fal. Well, sir.

Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest to you,
bestowed much on her ; followed her with a doating
observance; engrossed opportunities to meet her;
fee'd every slight occasion, that could but niggardly
give me sight of her ; not only bought many presents
to give her, but have given largely to many, to
know what she would have given: briefly, I have
pursued her, as love hath pursued me; which hath
been, on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever
I have merited, either in my mind, or in my means,
meed, ^-) I am sure, I have received none; unless
experience be a jewel: that I have purchased at an
infinite rate; and that hath taught me to say this:

Love like a sliadow flies, when substance love

pursues ;
Pursui7ig that that flies, a7id flying what pursues.

Fal, Have you received no promise of satisfaction
at her hands?

Ford. Never.

Fal. Have you importuned her to such a purpose?

Ford. Never.

Fal. Of what quality was your love then?

Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's
ground ; so that I have lost iny edifice, by mistaking
the place where I erected it.

Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?

Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you
all. Some say, that though she appear honest to me,
yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth so far,
that there is shrewd construction made of her. Now,
sir John, here is the heart of my purpose : You are
a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable dis-
course, of great admittance, ^^) authentic in your
place and person, generally allowed ^ *) for your many
war-like, .court-like, aiid learned preparations.

m.

Act II.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

45

Fal. O, sir!

Ford. Believe it, for you know it: — There is
money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all
I have; only give me so much of your time in ex-
change of it, as to lay an amiable siege ^^) to the
honesty of this Ford's wife : use your art of wooing,
win her to consent to you; if any man may, you
may as soon as any.
Fal, Would it apply well to the vehemency of your
affection, that I should >vin what you would enjoy ? Me-
thinks, you prescribe to yourself very preposterously.
Ford. O, understand my drift! she dwells so securely
on the excellency of her honour, that the folly of my
soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to be
looked against. Now, could I come to her with any
detection in my hand, my desires had instance and
argument ^'') to coimnend themselves: I could drive
her then from the ward of her purity,^') her repu-
tation, her marriage vow, and a thousand other her
defences, which now are too strongly embattled
against me: What say you to't, sir John?
Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your
money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, as I am
a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's vnie.
Ford. O good sir!
Fal. Master Brook, I say you shall.
Ford. Want no money, sir John, you shall want none.
Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you
shall want none. I shall be with her, (I may tell
you,) by her own appointment; even as you came
in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from
me : I say, I shall be >vith her between ten and
eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally knave,
her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at
night; you shall know how I speed.

Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you
know Ford, sir?
Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I know him
not: — yet 1 wrong him, to call him poor: they
say, the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of mo-
ney; for the which his wife seems to me well-fa-
voured. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly
rogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home.
Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir; that you might
avoid him, if you saw him.

Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I
will stare him out of his wits ; I will awe him \vith
my cudgel: it shall hang like a meteor o'er the
cuckold's horns: master Brook, thou shalt know, I
will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shalt lie
with his wife. — Come to me soon at night : — Ford's
a knave, and I will aggravate his stile; ^^) thou,
master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold : —
come to me soon at night. [Exit.

Ford. What a damned epicurean rascal is this! —
My heart is ready to crack with impatience. — Who
says, this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath
sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made.
Would any man have thought this ? — See the hell
of having a false woman! my bed shall be abused,
my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at ; and I
shall not only receive this villainous wrong, but stand
under the adoption of abominable terms, and by
him that does me this wrong. Terms! names! — —
Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, ^')
well; yet they are devil's additions, the names of
fiends: but cuckold! wittol - cuckold ! ♦") the de^il
himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a se-
cure ass; he will trust his wife, he will not be
jealous ; I will rather trust a Fleming with my but-
ter, parson Hugh the Welchman with my cheese,
an Irishman with my aqua-vitse bottle, or a thief to
walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with her-

self: then she plots, then she ruminates, then she
devises: and what they think in their hearts they
may effect, they will break their hearts but they
>vill effect. Heaven be praised for my jealousy ! —
Eleven o'clock the hour; — I will prevent this, de-
tect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and laugh
at Page. I will about it; better three hours too
soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie! cuckold!
cuckold! cuckold! [Exit.

Scene in.

Windsor Park.

Enter Caius and Rugbt.

Cuius. Jack Rugby!

Rug. Sir.

Caius. Vat is de clock. Jack?

Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro-
mised to meet.

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no
come; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no
come: by gar. Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if
he be come.

Rug. He is wise, sir : he knew, your worship would
kill him, if he came.

Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill
kill him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you
how I vill kill him.

Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence.

Caius. Villainy, take your rapier.

Rug. Forbear; here's company.

Enter Host, Shali-ow, Slender, and Page.

Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor.

Shal. Save you, master doctor Caius.

Page. Now, good master doctor!

Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir.

Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come
for?

Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, **) to
see thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there ;
to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock,-*-) thy re-
verse, thy distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my
Ethiopian? is he dead, my Francisco?*^) ha, bully!
What says my iEsculapius? my Galen? my heart
of elder? **) ha! is he dead, bully Stale? is^ he dead?

Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the
vorld; he is not show his face.

Host. Thou art a Castilian "**) king. Urinal! Hec-
tor of Greece, my boy!

Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay six
or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come.

Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is
a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you
should fight, you go against the hair "'') of your
professions; is it not true, master Page?

Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a
great fighter, though now a man of peace.

Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be old,
and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches
to make one : though we are justices, and doctors, and
churchmen, master Page, we have some salt of our
youth in us ; we are the sons of women, master Page.

Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow.

Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Master
doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am
sworn of the peace; you have showed yourself a
wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a
wise and patient churchman : you must go with me,
master doctor.

Host. Pardon, guest justice : — A word, monsieur
Muck-water. *")

Caius. Muck-vater! vat is dat?

m.

46

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act III

Host. Muck-water> ig our English -tongue, is va-
lour, bully.

Cuius. By gar, then I have as much iiui<:k-vater

as de Enolisliman: Scurvy jack-dog priest! by

gar, me vill cut liis ears.

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.

Cuius. Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat?

Host. That is, he will make thee amends.

Cuius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de-claw
me; for, by gar, me vill have it.

Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.

Cuius. Me tank you for daU

Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master guest,
and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, go you
througli the town to Frogmore, f^Aside to them.

Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he?

Host. He is there: see what humour he is in ; and
I will bring the doctor about by the fields: will it
do well?

Shal. We will do it

Page. ShuL and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor.
[Exeunt Pace, Shallow, and Slender.

Cuius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak
for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page.

Host. Let him die: but, first, sheath thy impatience;
throw cold water on thy choler: go about the fields
with me through Frogmore ; I w ill bring thee where
mistress Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting:
and thou shalt woo her: Cry'd game, said I well?'*")

Cuius. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I love
you; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl,
de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients.

Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary
towards Anne Page; said I well?

Cuius. By gar, 'tis good; veil said.

Host. Let us wag then.

Cuius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene I. A Field ncur Frogmore.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simplh.

Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's serv-
ing-man, and fi-iend Simple by your name, which
way have you looked for master Caius, that calls
himself Doctor of Physic?

Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, •) the park-ward,
every way; old Windsor way, and every way but
the town way.

Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also
look that way.

Sim. I will, sir.

Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, and
trempling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he have de-
ceived me: — how melancholies I am! — I\vill knog
his urinals about his knave's costard, when I have
good opportunities for the 'ork — 'pless my soul ! [Sing*.

To shallow rivers, -) to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals ;
There will we make our peds of roses,
And u thousand frugrunt posies.
To shallow •

'Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry.

Melodious birds sing madrigals : —

When as I sat in Pubylon,

And u thousund vugram posies.
To shallow

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh.

Eva. He's welcome:

To shallow rivers, to whose falls

Heaven prosper the right! — What weapons is he?

Sim. No weapons, sir: There comes my master,
master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frbg-
more, over the stile, this way.

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep
it in your arms.

Enter Pack, Shat.i,ow, and Slrndrb.

Shal. How now, master parson? Good-morrow,
good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and
a good student from his bock, and it is wonderful.

Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page!

Page. Save you, good sir Hugh!

Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you !

Shal. What! the sword and the word 1 do you
study them both, master parson?

Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose,,
this raw rheumatic day ?

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it.

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office,
master parson.

Eva. Fery well: What is it?

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who
belike, having received wrong by some person, is
at most odds with his own gravity and patience,
that ever you saw,

Shal. I have lived fourscore years, and upward;
I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learn-
ing, so wide of his own respect.

Eva. What is he?

Puge. I think you know him ; master doctor Caius,
the renowned French physician.

Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I
had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.

Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and
Galen, — and he is a knave besides; a cowardly
knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal.

Puge. I warrant you, he's the man should fight
with him.

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page!

Shut. It appears so by his weapons : — Keep them
asunder ; — here comes doctor Caius.

Enter Host, Caius, and Rugbt.

Puge. Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon.

Shal, So do you, good master doctor.

Host. Disarm them, and let them question: let them
keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.

Cuius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your
ear: Verefore vill you not meet a-me?

Eva. Pray you, use your patience: In good time.

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog,
John ape.

Evu. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to
other men's humours; I desire you in friendship,
and I will one way o/ other make you amends : —
I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogs-
comb, for missing your meetings and appointments.

Caius. Diable! — Jack Rugby, — mine host de
Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have
I not, at de place I did appoint?

Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look you,
this is the place appointed; I'll be judgment by
mine host of the Garter.

Host. Peace, I say, Guallia and Gaul, French and
Welch; soul-curer and body-curer.

Caius. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!

Host. Peace, I say; hear mine host of the Garter.
Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel?
Shall 1 lose my doctor? no; he gives me the potions.

ni.

Act III.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

47

and the motions. Shall I lose my parson; iny priest?
my sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and
the no-verbs, — Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; so : —

Give me thy hand, celestial: so. ■ Boys of art,

I have deceived you both; I have directed you to
wrong places; your hearts are mighty, your skins
are >vhole, and let burnt sack be the issue. — Come,
lay their swords to pawn: — Follow rae, lad of
peace; follow, follow, follow.

Shal. Trust me, a mad host: — Follow, gentle-
men, follow.

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page !

\Exeunt Shallow, Slrnder, Pace and Host.

Caiut. Ha! do I perceive dat? have you make-a
de sot of us? ^)? ha, ha!

Eva. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-
stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends ; and
let us knog our prains together, to be revenged on
this same scall, scurvy, '*) cogging companion, the
host of the Garter.

Caiut. By gar, vit all my heart; he promise to bring
me vere is Anne Page ; by gar, he deceive me too.

Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles: — Pray you,
follow. [Exeunt.

Scene IL

The Street in Windsor.
Enter Mrs. Page and Robin.

Mn. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant;
you ^^ere wont to be a follower, but now you are
a leader: Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes,
or eye your master's heels?

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a
man, than follow him like a dwarf.

Mrs. Page. O, you are a flattering boy t now, I
see, you'll be a courtier.

Enter Ford.

Ford. Well met, mistress Page: Whither go you?

Mn. Page. Truly, sir, to see jour wife; Is she
at home?

Ford. Ay: and as idle as she may hang together,
for w ant of company : I think, if your husbaads
were dead, you two would marry.

Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands.

Ford. Where had you this pretty weathercock?

Mrs. Page. I caimot tell what the dickens his name
is my husband had liim of: What do you call your
knight's name, sirrah?

Rob. Sir John FalstaflF.

Ford. Sir John Falstaff!

Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit on's name. —
There is such a league between my good man and
he ! — Is your wife at home, mdeed ?

Ford. Indeed, she is.

Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir ; — I am sick till I
see her. ^Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin.

Ford. Has Page any brains ? hath he any eyes ? hath
he any thinking ? sure, they sleep ; he hath no use
of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty
miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank
twelve score. He pieces-out his wife's inclination;
he gives her folly motion, and advantage : and now
she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her.
A man may hear this shower sing in the wind! —
and FalstafTs boy with her ! — Good plots ! — they
are laid; and our revolted wives share damnation
together. Well; I will take him, then torture my
wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from the
so seeming mistress Page, *) divulge Page himself
for a secure and wilful Actaeon ; and to these violent

proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim. «)
[Clock Ktriket.] The clock gives me my cue, and my
assurance bids me search; there I shall find Fal-
staff: I shall be rather praised for this, than mocked;
for it is as positive as the earth is firm, that Fal-
staff is there: I will go.

Enter Pace, Shallow, Slkndkr, Host, Sir Hogh
Evans, Caics, and Rugby.
Shal. Page, «fcc. Well met, master Ford.

Ford. Trust me, a good knot: I have good cheer

at home; and I pray you, all go with rae.
Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford.
Slen. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to
dine with Mrs. Anne, and I would not break with

her for more money than I'll speak of.

Shal. We have fingered about a match between
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day
we shall have our answer.

Slen. I hope, I have your good will, father Page.

Page. You have, master Slender; I stand wholly
for you : — but my wife, master doctor, is _for you
altogether.

Caius. Ay, by gar; and de maid is love-a me;
my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush.

Host. What say you to young master Fenton ? he
capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes
verses, he speaks holyday, ') he smells April and
May: he will carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in his
buttons; ^) he >vill carry't.

Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gen-
tleman is of no ha\ing: ') he kept company with
the wild prince and Poins; he is of too high a re-
gion, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a
knot in his fortunes with the finger of my substance :
if he take her, let him take her simply; the wealth
I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes
not that way.

Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home
with me to diiuier: besides your cheer, you shall
have sport; I will show you a monster. — • Master
doctor, you shall go ; — so shall you, master Page ;
and you, sir Hugh.

Shal. Well, fare you well : — we shall have the
freer wooing at master Page's.

[^Exeunt SnALLow and Slekdeb.

Caius. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon.

[^Exit RvcBY.

Hosi. Farewell, my hearts; I will go to my honest
knightFalstaff, and drink canary with him. [Exit Host.

Ford. [Jside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe-wine
first with him; I'll make him dance. Will you go,
gentles?

All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt.

SCEXE III.

A Room in Ford's House.

Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page.

Mrs. Ford. What, John! what, Robert!

Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : Is the buck-basket —

Mrs Ford. I warrant: — What, Robin, I say.

Enter Servants with a Basket.

Mrs. Page. Come, come, come.

Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down.

Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge; we must
be brief.

Mrs. Ford, Marry, as I told you before, John and
Robert, be ready" here hard by in the brew house;
and when I suddenly call you, come forth, and
(without any pause, or staggering,) take this basket

m.

48

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act in.

on your shoulders: that done, trudge with it in all
haste, and carry it among the whitsters ^") in Dat-
chet mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch,
close by the Thames side.

Mrs. Page. You will do it?

Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over; they
lack no direction: Be gone, and come when you
are called. [Exeunt Servants.

Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin.

Enter Robin.

Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket? •') what
news >vith you?

Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back-
door, mistress Ford; and requests your company.

Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent, ^-) have you
been true to us?

Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn: My master knows not of
your being here; and hath threatened to put me
into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it; for, he
swears, he'll turn me away.

Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy: this secrecy of
thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee
a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide me.

Mrs. Ford. Do so: — Go tell thy master, I am alone.
Mistress Page, remember you your cue. [Exit Robin.

Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, hiss
me. [Exit Mrs. Page.

Mrs. Ford. Go to then : we'll use this unwhole-
some humidity, this gross watry pumpion ; — we'll
teach him to know turtles from jays.

Enter Fal staff.

Fal. Have I catight thee, my heavenly jewel? *^)
Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough ;
this is the period of my ambition ; O this blessed hour !

Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John!

Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,
mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would
thy husband were dead ; I'll speak it before the best
lord, I would make thee my lady.

Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas, I should
be a pitiful lady.

Fal. Let the court of France show me such an-
other; I see how thine eye would emulate the dia-
mond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow
that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any
tire of Venetian admittance. ^*)

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows
become nothing else; nor that well neither.

Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so: thou would'st
make an absolute courtier; and the firm fixture of
thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait,
in a semicircled farthingale. I see what thou wert,
if fortune thy foe were not; nature is thy friend:
Come, thou canst not hide it.

Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in me.

Fal. What made me love thee? let that persuade
thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come,
I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and that, like
a many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come
like women in men's apparel, and smell like Buck-
ler's-bury '*) in simple time; I cannot: but I love
thee; none but thee; and thou deservest it.

Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir; I fear, you
love mistress Page.

Fal. Thou raight'st as well say, I love to walk
by the Counter-gate; which is as hateful to me as
the reek of a lime-kiln.

Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows, how I love you;
and you shall one day find it.

Fal. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or
else I could not be in that mind.

Rob. [Within.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford ! here's
mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing,
and looking wildly, and would needs speak with
you presently.

Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce me be-
hind the arras.

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she's a very tattling
woman. — [Falstaff hides himself.

Enter Mrs. Page and Robin.

What's the matter? how now?

Mrs. Page. O, mistress Ford, what have you done?
You're shamed, you are overthrown, you are un-
done for ever.

Mrs Ford. What's the matter, good mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress Ford! having
an honest man to your husband, to give him such
cause of suspicion!

Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion?

Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ! — Out upon
you ! how am I mistook in you !

Mrs. Ford. Why, alas! what's the matter?

Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, woman,
with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a
gentleman, that, he says, is here now in the house,
by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his
absence : You are undone.

Mrs. Ford. Speak louder. — [Aside.] — 'Tis not so,
I hope.

Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have
such a man here; but 'tis most certain your hus-
band's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to
search for such a one. I come before to tell you :
If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of it:
but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him
out. Be not amazed : call all your senses to you ;
defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good
life for ever.

Mrs. Ford. What shall I do? — There is a gentle-
man, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own shame,
so much as his peril : I had rather than a thousand
pound, he were out of the house.

Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had rather,
and you had rather ; your husband's here at hand,
bethink you of some conveyance: in the house you
cannot hide him. — O, how have you deceived me ! —
Look, here is a basket: if he be of any reasonable
stature, he may creep in here ; and throw foul linen
upon him, as if it were going to bucking : Or, it is
whiting-tirae , ^<') send hiin by your two men to
Datchet mead.

Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: What
shall I do?

Re-enter Falstaff.

Fal. Let me see't, let me see't! O let me see't!
I'll in, I'll in : follow your friend's counsel ; — I'll in.

Mrs. Page. What! sir John Falstaff! Are these
your letters, knight?

Fal. I love thee, and none but thee; help me away:
let me creep in here; I'll never —

[He goes into the Basket, they cover
him ivith foul linen.

Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: Call
your men, mistress Ford : — You dissembling knight !

Mrs. Ford. What John, Robert, John! [Exit Robin.
Re-enter Servants.] Go take up these clothes here,
quickly; where's the cowl-staff? ^') look, how you
drumble; ^^) carry them to the laundress in Datchet
mead ; quickly, come.

nx.

Act III

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

49

Enter Ford, Pagb, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evaks.

Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect without
cause, Avhy then make sport at me, then let me be
your jest; I deserve it. — How now? whither bear
you this?

Serv. To the laundress, forsooth.

Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they
bear it ? You were best meddle with buck-washing.

Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the
buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; I warrant you,
buck ; and of the season too : it shall appear. ^ ^) [Exeunt
Servants with the Basket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed
to-night ; I'll tell you my dream. Here, here, here be
my keys: ascend my chambers, search, seek, find
out: I'll warrant, we'll unkennel the fox: — Let
me stop this way first: — so, now uncape. -")

Page. Good master Ford, be contented: you wrong*
yourself too much.

Ford. True, master Page. — Up, gentlemen; you
shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. [Exit.

Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies.

Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is
not jealous in France.

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue
of his search.

[Exeunt Evans, Pace, and Caihs.

Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this?

Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better,
that my husband is deceived, or sir John.

Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your
husband asked who was in the basket!

Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of
washing; so throwing him into the water will do
him a benefit.

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would
all of the same strain were in the same distress.

Mrs. Ford. I think, my husband hath some special
suspicion of FalstafFs being here; for I never saw
him so gross in his jealousy till now.

Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that: And we
will yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his disso-
lute disease will scarce obey this medicine.

Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion,
mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing
into the water; and give him another hope, to be-
tray him to another punishment?

Mrs. Page. We'll do it; let him be sent for to-
morrow eight o'clock, to have amends.

Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans.

Ford. 1 cannot find him : may be, the knave brag-
ged of that he could not compass.

Mrs. Page. Heard you that?

Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace: — You use me well,
master Ford, do you?

Ford. Ay, I do so.

Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your
thoughts !

Ford. Amen.

Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, mas-
ter Ford.

Ford. Ay, ay: I must bear it.

Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in
the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses,
heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment!

Caius. By gar, nor I too; dere is no bodies.

Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed?
What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination?
I would not have your distemper in this kind, for
the wealth of Windsor castle.

Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page: I suffer for it.

Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife

is as honest a 'oraans, as I will desires among five
thousand, and five hundred too.

Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.

Ford. Well; — I promised you a dinner: — Come,
come, walk in the park: I pray you, pardon me;
I will hereafter make known to you, why I have
done this. — Come, wife; — come, mistress Page; I
pray you pardon me; pray heartily, pardon me.

Page. IjeVa go in, gentlemen; but, tnist me, we'll
mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to
my house to breakfast; after, we'll a birdiiig to-
gether; I have a fine hawk for the bush: Shall it
be so?

Ford. Any thing.

Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the
company.

Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a de
turd.

Eoa. In your teeth: for shame.

Ford. Pray you go, master Page.

Eod. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on
the lousy knave, mine host.

Caius. Dat is good; by gar, vit all my heart.

Eoa. A lousy knave; to have his gibes and his
mockeries. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Page's House.

Enter Fenton and Mistress Annk Pagb.

Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love;
Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan,

Anne. Alas! how then?

Fent. Why, thou must be thyself.

He doth object, I am too great of birth;
And that, my state being gall'd with my expence,
I seek to heal it only by his wealth :

Besides these, other bars he lays before me,

My riots past, my wild societies;
And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible
I should love thee, but as a property.

Anne. May be, he tells you true.

Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!
Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne:
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;
And 'tis the very riches of thyself
That now I aim at.

Anne. Gentle master Fenton,

Yet seek my father's love : still seek it, sir :
If opportunity and humblest suit
Cannot attain it, why then, — Hark you hither.

[They convene apart.

Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Qlicklx.

Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly; my kins-
man shall speak for himself.

Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: -') slid,
'tis but venturing.

Shal. Be not dismay 'd. "^

Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for
that, — but that 1 am afeard.

Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a
word with you.

Anne. I come to him. — This is my father's choice.
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
Looks handsome in tliree hundred pounds a year!

[Mide.

Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray
you, a word with you.

m. 4

50

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

Act III.

Shut. She's coining; to her, coz. O boy, thou

hadst a father I

Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne; — my uncle

can tell you good jests of him: — Pray you, uncle,

tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two
geese out of a pen, good uncle.

Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.

Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman
in Giocestershire.

Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, -^)
under the degree of a 'squire.

Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds
jointure.

Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for himself.

Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for
that good comfort. She calls you, coz : I'll leave you.

Anne. Now, master Slender.

Slen. Now, good mistress Anne.

Anne. What is your will?

Slen. My A'vill? od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest,
indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven ; I
am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.

Anne. 1 mean, master Slender, what would you
with me?

Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or
nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, have
made motions: if it be my luck, so; if not, happy
man be his dole! -^") They can tell you how things
go, better than I can: You may ask your father;
here he comes.

Enter Page and Mistress Page.

Page. Now, master Slender ; — Love him, daugh-
ter Anne. —
Why, how now! what does master Fenton here?
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house:
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of.

Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient.

Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my
child.

Page. She is no match for you.

Fent, Sir, will you hear me?

Page. No, good master Fenton.

Come, master Shallow; come, son Slender; in: —
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton.
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and SiiEnder.

Quick. Speak to mistress Page.

Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your
daughter
In such a righteous fashion as I do,
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,
I must advance the colours of my love.
And not retire: Let me have your good will.

Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool.

Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better
husband.

Quick. That's my master, master doctor.

Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i'the earth,
And bowl'd to death with turnips. ^^)

Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: good mas-
ter Fenton,
I will not be your friend, nor enemy:
My daughter will I question how she loves you.
And as 1 find her, so am I affected:
Till then, farewell, sir: — She must needs go in:
Her father will be angry.

[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne.

Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.

Quick. This is my doing now: — ^Nay, said I, will
you cast away your child on a fool, and a phy-
sician? Look on master Fenton: — this is my
doing. I ty* « ,U'

Fent. I thank thee; and 1 pray thee, once to-night ^5)
Give my sweet Nan this ring : there's for thy pains.

[Exit.

Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune! A
kind heart he hath: a woman would run through
fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I
would my master had mistress Anne; or I would
master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would mas-
ter Fenton had her: I will do what I can for
them all three: for so I have promised, and I'll be
as good as my word ; but speciously ^^) for master
Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to sir John
Falstaff from my two mistresses; What a beast am
I to slack it? -'). [Exit.

SCENE V.

A Room in the Garter Inn.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, I say, —

Bard. Here, sir.

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in't.
[Exit Bahd.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket
like a barrow of butcher's offal; and to be thrown
into the Thames? Well, if I be served such an-
other trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and but-
ter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift.
The rogues slighted me into the river with as little
remorse as they would have drowned a bitch's
blind puppies, fifteen i'the litter; and you may know
by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sink-
ing; if the bottom were as deep as hell, I should
down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was
shelvy.and shallow; a death that I abhor; for the
water swells a man; and what a thing should I
have been, when I had been swelled ! I should have
been a mountain of miunmy.

Re-enter Bardolph, with the Wine.

Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you.

Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames
water; for my belly's as cold, as if I had swallowed
snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.

Bard. Come in, woman.

Enter Mrs. Quicklt.

Quick. By your leave; I cry you mercy: Give
yojir worship good morrow.

Fal. Take away these chalices: Go, brew me a
pottle of sack finely.

Bard. With eggs, sir?

Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my
brewage. — [Exit Bardolph.] — How now?

Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from
mistress Ford.

Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I was
thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of ford.

Quick. Alas the day! good heart, that was not
her fault: she does so take on with her men: they
mistook their erection.

Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's
promise.

Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would
yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this
morning a birding; she desires you once more to
come to her between eight and nine: I must carry
her word quickly: she'll make you amends, I war-
rant you.

Fal. Well, I will visit her: Tell her so; and bid
her think, what a man is: let her consider his
frailty, and then judge of my merit.

Quick. I will tell her.

III.

Act IV.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

51

Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou?

Quick. Eight and nine, sir.

Fal. Well, be gone : 1 will not miss her.

Quick. Peace be with you, sir! [Exit.

Fal. 1 marvel, I hear not of master Brook; he
sent me word to stay within: I like his money well.
O, here he comes.

Enter Ford.

Ford. Bless you, sir!

Fal. Now, master Brook? you come to know what
hath passed between me and Ford's wife?

Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business.

Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you: I was
at her house the hour she appointed me.

Ford. And how sped you, sir?

Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook.

Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her determin-
ation ?

Fal. No, master Brook; but the peaking cornuto
her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continued
'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our
encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested,
and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy:
and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither
provoked and instigated by his distemper, and, for-
sooth, to search his house for his wife's love.

Ford. What, while you were there?

Fal. While I was there.

Ford. And did he search for you, and could not
find you?

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have it,
comes in one mistress Page; gives intelligence of
Ford's approach; and, by her invention, and Ford's
wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-
basket.

Ford. A buck-basket!

Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket: rammed me in
with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings,
and greasy napkins; that, master Brook, there was
the rankest compound of villainous smell, that ever
offended nostril.

Ford. And how long lay you there?

Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I
have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your
good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple
of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by
their mistress, to carry me in the name of foul
clothes to Datchet-lane: they took me on their
shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in
the door; who asked them once or twice, what they
had in their basket: I quaked for fear, lest the
lunatic knave w ould have searched it ; but fate, or-
damlng he should be a cuckold, held his band. Well:
on went he for a search, and away went I for foul
clothes. But mark the sequel, meister Brook: I suf-
fered the pangs of three several deaths: tirst, an
intolerable fright, to be detected with -^) a jealous
rotten bell-wether: next, to be compassed, like a
good bilbo, -') in the circmnference of a peck, hilt
to point, heel to head: and then, to be stopped in,
like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes that
fretted in their own grease: think of that, — a man
of my kidney, — think of that : that am as subject
to heat, as butter; a man of continual dissolution
and thaw; it was a miracle to 'scape suffocation.
And in the height of this bath, when I was more
than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to
be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing
hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe, think of that,
— hissing hot, — think of that, master Brook.

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I cim sorry that for my

sake you have suffered all this. My suit then is
desperate; you'll undertake her no more?

Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into ^tna,
as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her
thus. Her husband is this morning gone a birding;
I have received from her another embassy of meet-
ing; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, master Brook.

Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir.

Fal. Is it? I will then address me ^'^) to my ap-
pointment. Come to me at your convenient leisure,
and you shall know how I speed ; and the conclusion
shall be crowned with your enjoying her: Adieu.
You shall have her, master Brook; master Brook,
you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit.

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream?
do I sleep? blaster Ford, awake; awake, master
Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, mas-
ter Ford. This 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have
linen, and buck-baskets! — Well, I will proclaim
myself what I am: I will now take the lecher; he
is at my house: he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impos-
sible he should; he cannot creep into a half- penny
purse, nor into a pepper-box; but, lest the devil
that guides him should aid him, I will search im-
possible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid,
yet to be what I would not, shall not make me
tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let the
proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Eait.

m.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Street.
Enter Mrs. Pagb, Mrs. QuicKLr, and William.

Mrt. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st
thou?

Quick. Sure, he is by this ; or will be presently :
but truly, he is very courageous mad, about his
throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires you
to come suddenly.

Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but
bring my young man here to school; Look, where
his master comes; 'tis a playing-day, I see.

Enter Sir Hugh Evans.
How now, sir Hugh? no school to-day?

Eoa. No, master Slender is let the boys leave to
play.

Quick. Blessing of his heart.

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son
profits nothing in the world at his book; I pray
you, ask him some questions in his accidence.

£va. Come hither, William; hold up your head;
come.

Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah: hold up your head;
answer your master, be not afraid.

Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns?

Will. Two.

Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one nom-
ber more; because they say, od's nouns.

Eva. Peace your tattlings. What is /a»r, William?

Will. Pulcher. _-

Quick. Poulcats! there are fairer things than poul-
cats, sure.

Eoa. You are a very simplicity 'oman; I pray
you, peace. What is lapis, William?

Will. A stone.

Eoa. And what is a stone, William?

Will. A pebble.

Eoa. No, it is lapis; I pray you, remember in
your prain.

Will. Lauia.

4*

52

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

Act IV.

Eva. That is good, William. What is he, William,

that does lend articles?
Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun; and

be thus declined, Singiilariter, nominativo, hie,

hiBC, hoc.

Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, Jtog; — pray you,

mark: genitivo hujus: Well, what is your accu-
sative case i

Will. Accusative, hinc?

Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child;
Accusative, king, hang, hog.

Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.

Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the
focatiAe case, William?

Will. O — vocative, O.

Eva. Remember, William; focative is, caret.

Quick. And that's a good root.

Eva. 'Oman, forbear.

Mrs. Page. Peace.

Eva. What is your genitive case plural, William?

Will. Genitive case'f

Eva. Ay.

Will. Genitive, — horum, harum, Jiorum.

Quick, 'Vengeance of Jenny's case! fie on her! —
never name her, child, if she be a whore.

Eva. For shame, 'oman.

Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words:
he teaches him to hick and to hack, ') which they'll
do fast enough of themselves ; and to call horum : —
fie upon you!

Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no un-
derstandings for thy cases, and the numbers of the
genders? Thou art as foolish christian creatures,
as I would desires.

Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee hold thy peace.

Eva. Shew me now, William, some declensions of
your pronouns.

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot.

Eva. It is ki, k(B, cod; if you forget your kies,
your kas, and your cods, you must be preeches. -)
Go your ways, and play, go.

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar, than I thought
he was.

Eva. He is a good sprag ^) memory. Farewell,
mistress Page.

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir Hugh.]
Get you liome, boy. — Come, we stay too long.

[Exeunt.

SCENE n.

A Room in E'ord's House.
Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford.

Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up
my sulferance : I see, you are obsequious in yoitf
love, '*) and I profess requital to a hair's breadth;
not only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love,
but in all the accoutrement, complement, and cere-
mony of it. But are you sure of your husband now ?

Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John.

Mrs. Page. [IFithin.] What hoa, gossip Ford!
what hoa !

Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John.

[Exit Faistaff.

Enter Mrs. Page.

Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart? who's at home
beside yourself?

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people.

Mrs. Page. Indeed?

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly; — Speak louder. [Aside.

Mrs. Page, Truly, I am so glad you have nobody
here.

Mrs. Ford. Why?

Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his
old lunes *) again: he so takes on ^) yonder with
my husband; so rails against all married mankind;
so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion
soever; and so buffets himself on tlie forehead,
crying Peer -eut, peer -out! "i) that any madness,
I ever yet beheld, seemed but tameness, civility,
and patience, to this his distemper he is in now:
I am glad the fat knight is not here.

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him?

Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears he was
carried out the last time he searched for him, in a
basket: protests to my husband, he is now here;
and hath drawn him and the rest of their company
from their sport, to make another experiment of
his suspicion: but I am glad the knight is not
here; now he shall see his own foolery.

Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page?

Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end; he will be
here anon.

Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is here.

Mrs. Page. W^hy, then you are utterly shamed,
and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? —
Away with him, away with him ; better shame than
murder. ,

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go ? how should
I bestow him ? Shall I put him into the basket again?

Re-enter Falstafp.

Fal. No, I'll come no more i'the basket: May I
not go out, ere he come?

Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers
watch the door with pistols, ^) that none shall
issue out; otherwise you might slip away ere he
came. But what make you here?

Fal. What shall I do? — I'll creep up into the
chimney.

Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge
their birding pieces: Creep into the kiln-hole.

Fal. Where is it?

Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word.
Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but
he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such
places, and goes to them by his note : There is no
hiding you in the house.

Fal. I'll go out then.

Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance,
you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised, —

Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him?

Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is
no woman's gown big enough for hun; otherwise,
he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief,
and so escape.

Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any extremity,
rather than a mischief.

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of
Brentford, has a gown above.

Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him ; she's
as big as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and
her muffler too: ') Run up, sir John.

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress Page,
and I, will look some linen for your head,

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you
straight: put on the gown the while. [Exit Falstaff.

Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him
in this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of
Brentford; he swears, she's a witch; forbade her
my house, and hath threatened to beat her.

Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's
cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!

Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming?

Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he; and he

m.

Act IV.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

53

talks of the basket too, ho\\soeYer he hath had
intelligence.

Mrs. Ford. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my
men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the
door with it, as they did last time.

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently : let's
go dress him like the witch of Brentford.

Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they
shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen
for him straight. [Exit.

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we cannot
misuse him enough.

We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,

Wives may be merry, and yet honest too :

We do not act, that often jest and laugh;

'Tis old but true, Still swine eat all the draff.

[Exit.

Re enter Mrs. Ford, with two Servants.

Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on

your shoulders; your master is hard at door; if he

bid you set it down; obey him: quickly, despatch.

[Exit.

1 Serv. Come, come, take it up.

2 Sere. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight * " }
again.

1 Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much lead.

Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir
Hugh Evans.

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have
you any way then to imfool me again? — Set down

the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife :

You, youth in a basket, come out here! — O you
panderly rascals! there's a knot, a ging, '*) a pack,
a conspiracy against me: Now shall the doil be
shamed. What! wife, I say! come, come forth; be-
hold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching.

Page. Why, this passes! *-) Master Ford, you are
not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned.

Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad dog !

Shal. Lideed, master Ford, this is not well ; indeed.

Enter Mrs. Ford.

Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress
Ford; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath tlie jealous
fool to her husband! — I suspect without cause,
mistress, do IV

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you
suspect me in any dishonesty.

Ford. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.

Come forth, sirrah. [Pulls the clothes out of the basket.

Page. This passes!

Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the clothes
alone.

Ford. I shall find you anon.

Eoa. 'Tis unreasonable! WUI you take up your
wife's clothes? Come away.

Ford. Empty the basket I say.

Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — ■

Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was
one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this
basket: Why may not he be there again? In my
house I am sure he is : my intelligence is time ; my
jealousy is reasonable: Pluck me out all the linen.

Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die
a flea's death.

Page. Here's no man.

Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master
Ford; this wrongs you. *')

Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the
imaginations of your own heart : this is jealousies.

Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for.

Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain.

Ford. Help to search my house this one time: if
I find not what I seek, show no colour for my ex-
tremity, let me for ever be your table-sport; let
them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that searched
a hollow walnut for his wife's leman. ^■*) Satisfy
me once more; once more search with me.

Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page! come you,
and the old woman, down; my husband will come
into the chamber

Ford. Old woman! What old woman's that?

Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brent-
ford.

Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean!
Have I not forbid her my house ? she comes of er-
rands, does she? We are simple men; we do not
know what's brought to pass under the profession
of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells,
by the figure, and such daubery **) as tills is;

beyond our element : we know nothing. Come

down, you witch, you hag you; come down, I say.

Mrs.' Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman.

Enter Falstaff in women's clothes, led by
Mrs. Pagk.

Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me
your hand.

Ford. I'll prat her: Out of my door, you

witch! [beats him] you rag, ") you baggage, you
polecat, you ronyon! *') out! out! I'll conjure you,
I'll fortune-tell you. [Exit Fawtaff.

Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed? I think you
have killed the poor woman.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it : — 'Tis a goodly
credit for you.

Ford. Hang her, witch!

Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch
indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ;
I spy a great peard under her muffler.

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you,
follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry
out thus upon no trail, **) never trust me when I
open again.

Page. Let's obey his humour a little further : Come,
gentlemen.

[Exeunt Pace, Ford, Shallow, and Evans.

Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not;
he beat him most unpitlfully, methought.

Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and hung
o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious service.

Mrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the
warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good
conscience, pursue him with any further revenge?

Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure,
scared out of him; if the devil have him not iu
fee-simple, with fine and recovery, ") he will never,
I think. In the way of waste, attempt us again.-")

Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we
have ser\'ed him?

Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means; if it be but to
scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If
they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous
fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two
will still be the ministers.

Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly
shamed : and, inethinks, there would be no period = ' )
to the jest, should he not be publicly shamed.

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape
it: 1 would not have things cool. [Exeunt.

ni.

54

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act IV.

SCENE III.

A Room in the Garter Inn.

Enter Host and Babdolpu.

Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of
your horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow
at court, and they are going to meet him.

Host. What duke should that be, comes so se-
cretly? I hear not of him in the court: Let me
speak with the gentlemen; they speak English?

Bard. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you.

Host. They shall have my horses; but I'll make
them pay, I'll sauce them: they have had my hou-
ses a week at command; I have turned away my
other guests: they must come o£F; ^-) I'll sauce
them: Come. \Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Ford's House.

Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, IVIrs. Ford, and
Sir Hugh Evans.

Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman
as ever 1 did look upon.

Page. And did he send you both these letters at
an instant?

Mr«. Page. Within a quarter of an hour.

Ford. Pardon me, wife: Henceforth do what thou
wilt;
I rather will suspect the sun with cold,
Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour

stand.
In him that was of late an heretic,
As firm as faith.

Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more.

Be not as Extreme in submission.
As in offence;

But let our plot go forward: let our wives
Yet once again, to make us public sport.
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow.
Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it.

Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of.

Page. How ! to send him word tliey'll meet him in
the park at midnight! fie, fie; he'll never come.

Eva. You say, he has been thrown into the rivers;
and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman :
methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he
should not come; methinks, his flesh is punished,
he shall have no desires.

Page. So think I too.

Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when
he comes.
And let us two devise to bring him thither.

Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme
the hunter.
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest.
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight.
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle; -^j
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner:
You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you know.
The susperstitious idle-headed eld -'*)
Received, and did deliver to our age.
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth.

Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak:
But what of this?

Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device;
That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us.
Disguised like Heme, with huge horns on his head.

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come,

And in this shape: When you have brought him

thither.
What shall be done with him? Avhat is your plot?

Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon,
and thus:
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,
And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress
Like urchins, ouphes, 2*) and fairies, green and white,
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads.
And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden.
As Falstaff, she and I, are newly met,
lict them from forth a saw-pit rush at once
With some diffused song; -<') upon their sight,
We two in great amazedness will fly:
Then let them all encircle him about.
And, fairy-like, to-piiich the unclean knight : ^ '')
And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel.
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread,
In shape profane.

Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the tmth,

Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, ^^)
And burn him with their tap'ers.

Mrs. Page. The tmth being known.

We'll all pi'esent ourselves; dis-horn the spirit.
And mock him home to Windsor.

Ford. The children mast

Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't.

Eva. 1 will teach the children their behaviours;
and I will be like a Jack-an-apes also, to burn the
knigiit with my taber.

Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards.

Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the
fairies,
Finely attired in a robe of white.

Page. That silk w ill I go buy ; — and in that time
Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside.

And marry her at Eton Go, send to Falstaff

straight.

Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook:
He'll tell me all his purpose: Sure, he'll come.

Mrs. Page. Fear not you that: Go, get us pro-
perties, *')
And tricking for our fairies. ^°)

Eva. Let us about it: It is admirable pleasures,
and fery honest knaveries.

[Exeunt Page, Foed, and Evans.

Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford,
Send Quickly to sir John, to know his mind.

[Exit Mrs. Foao.
I'll to the doctor; he hath my good will,
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot:
And he my husband best of all affects :
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends
Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her.
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave
her. [Exit.

SCENE V.
A Room in the Garter Inn.

Enter Host and Simple.

Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what, thick-
skin ? speak, breathe, discuss : brief, short, quick, snap.

Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John
Falstaff' from master Slender.

Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle,
his standing-bed, and tmckle-bed ; 'tis painted about
with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new : Go,
knock and call; he'll speak like an anthropophagi-
nian ^') unto thee: Knock, I say.

Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone

ni.

Act IV.

MERRY WIVES OF WIXDSOR.

55

up into his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till
she come down; I come to speak with her indeed.

Host. Ha! a fat woman! the knight may be rob-
bed: I'll call. — Bully knight! Bully sir John! speak
from thy lungs military: Art thou there? it is thine
host, tliine Ephesian, ^-) calls.

Fal. [Jbove.] How now, mine host?

Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming
dowu of thy fat woman; Let her descend, bully, let
her descend; my chambers are honourable: B^ye! pri-
vacy? fyel

Enter Falstaff.

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even
now with me; but she's gone.

iSiMi. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of
Brentford?

Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What would
you with her?

Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to
her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir,
whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain,
bad the chain, or no.

Fal. I spake with the old woman about it.

Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir?

Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man, that
beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him of it.

Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the woman
herself; I had other things to have spoken with her
too, from him.

Fal. What are they? let us know.

Host. Ay, come; quick.

Sim. I may not conceal them, sir.

Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest.

Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress
Anne Page; to know, if it were my master's fortune
to have her, or no.

Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune.

Sim. What, sir?

Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman
told me so.

Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir?

Fal. Ay, sir Tike; who more bold?

Sim. I thank your worship: I shall make my master
glad with these tidings. [Exit Simple.

Host. Thou art clerkly, ^^) thou art clerkly, sir
John: Was there a wise woman with tliee?

Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host : one that hath
taught me more wit than ever I learned before in
my life: and I paid nothing for it, neither, but was
paid for my learning. ■''*)

Enter Bardoi.ph.

Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ! meer cozenage !

Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them,
varletto.

Bard. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon
as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from
behind one of them, in a slough of mire; and set
spurs, and away, like three German devils, three
doctor Faustuses.

Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain :
do not say, they be fled; Germans are honest men.

Enter Sir Hugh Evans.

Eva. Where is mine host?

Host. What is the matter, sir?

Eva. Have a care of your entertainments: there
is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is
three couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts
of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of hor-
ses and money. 1 tell you for good-will, look you:
you are wise, and full of gibes, and vloutiug stogs;

and 'tis not convenient you should be cozened : Fare
you well. ' [Exit.

Enter Doctor Caius.

Caiut. Vere is mine host de Jarterre?

Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and
doubtful dilemma.

Caius. I cannot tell vat Is dat: But It Is tell-a
me, dat you make grand preparation for a duke
de Jarmany: by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de*
court is know to come; I tell you for good-vill:
adieu. [Exit.

Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : — assist me, knight;
I am undone: fly, run, hue and cry, villain! 1 am
undone! [Exeunt Host aiul Uakdolph.

Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened;
for I have been cozened, and beaten too. If it
should come to the ear of the court, how I have
been transformed, and how my transformation hath
been washed and cudgeled, they would melt me
out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor ftsheruieu's
boots with me; I warrant, they would whip me
with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a
dried pear. 1 never prospered since I forswore my-
self at primero. ^*) Well, if my wind were but
long enough to say my prayers, 1 would repent. —

Enter Mrs. Quickly.

Now! whence come you?

Quick. From the two parties, forsooth.

Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the
other, and so they shall be both bestowed! I have
sufl"ered more for their sakes, more, than the vil-
lainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to
bear.

Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I war-
rant; speciously one of them; mistress Ford, good
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you camiot
see a white spot about her.

Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I
wais beaten myself into all the colours of the rain-
bow ; and I was like to be apprehended for the witch
of Brentford; but that my admirable dexterity of wit,
ray counterfeiting the action of an old woman, de-
livered me, the knave constable had set me i'the
stocks, i'the common stocks, for a witch.

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham-
ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant,
to your content. Here is a letter will say somewhat.
Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together!
Sure, one of you does not serve heaven well, ^')
that you are so crossed.

Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeuaf.

SCENE \T.

Another Room in the Garter Inn.

Enter Fenton and Host.

Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind is
heavy, I will give over all.

Fent. Yet hear me speak: Assist me in my purpose,
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll giv^e thee
A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss.

Host. I w ill hear you, master Fenton ; and 1 will,
at the least, keep your counsel.

Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;
Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection
(So far forth as mvself might be her chooser,)
Even to my wlsh:*l have a letter from her
Of such contents as you will wonder at;
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter.

m.

56

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act V.

That neither, singly, can be manifested,

Without the show of both; — wherein fat Falstaff

Hath a great scene: the image of the jest

[Showing the letter.
I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host :
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,
Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen;
The purpose why, is here; in which disguise.
While other jests are something rank on foot, ^ ')
Her father hath commanded her to slip
Away with Slender, and with him at Eton
Immediately to marry: she hath consented:
Now, sir,

Her mother, even strong against that match,
And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed
That he shall likewise shuffle her away,
While other sports are tasking of their minds,
And at the deanery, Avhere a priest attends,
Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot
She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath
Made promise to the doctor; — Now thus it rests:
Her father means she shall be all in white ;
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
To take her by the hand, and bid her go,
She shall go with him: her mother hath intended,
The better to denote her to the doctor,
(For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,)
That, quaint in green, ^^) she shall be loose enrob'd,
With ribbands pendant, flaring 'bout her head;
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token.
The maid hath given consent to go with him.

Host. Which means she to deceive? her father or
mother?

Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me:
And here it rests, — that you'll procure the vicar
To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one,
And, in the lawful name of marrying,
To give our hearts united ceremony.

Host. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar:
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.

Fent. So shall I ever more be bound to thee;
Besides, I'll make a present recompense. \Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene I. A Room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly.

Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling : — go. I'll

hold: *) This is the third time; I hope, good luck
lies in odd numbers. Away, go; they say there is
divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance,
or death. — A^ay.

Quick. I'll provide you a chain; and I'll do what
I can to get you a pair of horns.

Fal. Away, I say; time wears: hold up your head,
and mince. -) [Exit Mrs. Qdickly.

Enter Ford.

How now, master Brook? master Brook, the matter
will be known to night, or never. Be you in the
park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall
see wonders.

Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you
told me you had appointed ?

Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see,
like a poor old man: but 1 came from her, master
Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave.
Ford her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jea-

lousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed
phrenzy. I will tell you. — He beat me grievously,
in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man,
master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's
beam; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am
in haste; go along with me; I'll tell you all, master
Brook. Since I plucked geese, ^) played truant, and
whipped top, I knew not what it was to be beaten,
till lately. Follow me: I'll tell you strange things
of this knave Ford; on whom to-night 1 will be
revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your
hand. — Follow: Strange things in hand, master
Brook! follow. [Exeunt.

SCENE 11.

Windsor Park.

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.

Page. Come, come; we'll couch i'the castle-ditch,
till we see the light of our fairies, — Remember,
son Slender, my daughter.

Slen. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and
we have a nay-word, '^) how to know one another.
I come to her in white, and cry, mum; she cries,
budget; ^) and by that we know one another.

Shal. That's good too: but what needs either your
mum, or her budget? the white will decipher her
well enough. — It hath struck ten o'clock.

Page. The night is dark: light and spirits will
become it well. Heaven prosper our sport! No man
means evil but the devil, and we shall know him
by his horns. Let's away; follow me. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Street in Windsor.

Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caics.

Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in green :
when you see your time, take her by the hand,
away with her to the deanery, and despatch it
quickly : Go before into the park ; we two must go
together.

Caius. I know vat I have to do; Adieu.

Mrs. Page. B'are you well, sir. [Exit Caius.] My
husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of
Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying
my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little
chiding, than a great deal of heart-break.

Mrs. Ford. W^here is Nan now, and her troop of
fairies? and the Welch devil, Hugh?

Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard
by Heme's oak, '') with obscured lights; which at
the very instant of FalstafTs and our meeting, they
will at once display to the night.

Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him.

Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked;
if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked.

Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely.

Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their lechery.
Those that betray them do no treachery.

Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on; To the oak, to
the oak! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Windsor Park.

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies,

Eva. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your

parts: be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit;

m.

Act V.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

57

and vr hen I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you ;
Come, come; Uib, trib. [Rxaua.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Park.

Knter Falstapp disguised; with a buck's head on.

Fal. The Windsor bell hath strack twelve; the
minute draws on : Now, the hot-blooded gods assist
me: — Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy
Europa; love set on thy bonis. — O, powerful
love! that, in some respects, makes a beast a man;
in some other, a man a beast. — You were also,
Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda ; — O, omni-
potent lore! how near the god drew to the com-
plexion of a goose? — A fault done first in the
form of a beast; — O Jove, a beastly fault! and
then another fault in the semblance of a fowl;
think on't, Jove; a foul fault. — When gods have
hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am
here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I think, i'the
forest: Send me a cool rut -time, Jove, or who can
blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here?
my doe?

Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Pagb.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John? art thou there, my deer?
my male deer?

Fal. My doe with the black scut? — Let the sky
rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green
Sleeves; hail kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let
there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter
me here. [Embracing her.

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet-
heart.

Fal. Divide me like a bride-buck, each a haunch :
I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for
the fellow of this walk, ") and my horns I bequeath
your husbands. Am I a woodman? *) ha! Speak I
like Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a
child of conscience; he makes restitution. As I am
a true spirit, welcome! [Noise within.

Mrs. Page. Alas! what noise?

Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins!

Fal. What should this be?

Mrs. Ford. J . r^ ^

Mrs. Page. ] ^"^^^'^ *^^y- ^^^ ""* *'^-

Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned,
lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire;
he would never else cross me thus.

.Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a Satyr; Mrs. Quicklt,
and Pistol; Aknk Page, as the Fairy Queen, at-
tended by her Brother and others, dressed like ■
Fairies, with waxen tapers on their heads.

Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white.
You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night.
You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, ')
Attend your office, and your quality.
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-jes.

Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy toys.
Cricket, to Windsor chimnies shalt thou leap:
Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths uu-

swept,
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: '**)
Our radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery.

Fal. They are fairies; he that speaks to them,
shall die:
I'll wink and couch: no man their works must eye.
[Lie* down upon bit face.

Eva.

Go yon, and where yea

Where's Ptdef
find a maid.

That, ere she sleeps, has thrice her prayers said.
Raise up the organs of her fantasy, **)
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy;
But those as sleep, and think not on their sins.
Pinch them, arms, legs, back, shoulders, sides, and
shins.

Quick. About, about;
Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out:
Strew good luck, ouphes, on everj- sacred room;
That it may stand till the perpetual doom.
In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit;
\Northy the owner, and the owner it.
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm, and every precious flower:
Each fair instabnent, coat, and several crest.
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing.
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring:
The expressure that it bears, green let it be,
More fertile-fresh than all the fields to see;
And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write.
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white;
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, l

I Buckled below fair knight-hood's bending knee: \
Fairies use flowers for their characterj-. * -) (

Away; disperse: But, till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of custom, round about the oak
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget.

Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in
order set:
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But, stay; I smell a man of middle earth. ^^)

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welch fairy!
lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!

Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy
birth. '^)

Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end:
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend.
And turn him to no pain; but if he start.
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.

Pist. A trial, come.

Eva. Come, will this wood take fire?

[They bum him u>ith their tojtert.

Fal. Oh, oh, oh!

Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;
And, as you trip, still pinch hua to your time.

Eva. It is right; indeed he is full of lecheries
and iniquity.

Song.

Fye on sinful fantasy !

Fye on lust and luxury!

Lust is but a bloody fire.

Kindled with unchaste desire.

Fed in heart; witose flames aspire,

As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.

Pinch him, fairies, mutually;

Pinch him for hi* villainy; ^
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about.
Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine, be out.

During thit Song, the Fairies finch Famtaff. Doctor

Caius come* one way, and ileal* away a Fairy ra
green; Slender another way, and take* off a Fairy
in white; and Fentox come*, and iteal* away Mrs.
.^l«^B Pace. ^ noi*e of hunting it made within. Jtt
the Fairies run away. FAWTAfy pulU off hi* budc't
head and ri*e*.

ni.

58

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Act V.

Enter Pack, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford :
they lay hold on him.

Page. Nay, do not fly; I think, we have watch'd
you now;
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn?

Mrs. Page. I pray you, come; hold up the jest
no higher : —
Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes
Become the forest better than the town? **)

Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? — Master
Brook, FalstafTs a knave, a cuckoldy knave; here
are his horns, master Brook: And, master Brook,
he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-
basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money;
which must be paid to master Brook ; his horses
are arrested for it, master Brook.

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we
could never meet. I will never take you for my
love again, but I will always count you my deer.

Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made
an ass.

Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are
extant.

Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or
four times in the thought, they were not fairies:
and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden sur-
prize of my powers, drove the grossness of the fop-
pery into a received belief, in despite of the teeth
of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies.
See now, how wit may be made a Jack-a-lent,
when 'tis upon ill-employment.

Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your
desires, and fairies will not pinse you.

Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh.

Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till
thou art able to woo her in good English.

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried
it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-
reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat
too? Shall I have a coxcomb of frize? "■) 'Tis
time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese.

Eva. Seese is not good to give putter; your pelly
is all putter.

Fal. Sees and putter! have I lived to stand at
the taunt of one that makes fritters of English?
This is enough to be the decay of lust and late-
walking, through the realm.

Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though
we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by
the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves
without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could
have made you our delight?

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?

Mrs. Page. A puffed man?

Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable en-
trails ?

Fvrd. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?

Page. And as poor as Job?

Ford. And as wicked as his wife?

Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns,
and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drink-
ings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and
prabbles?

Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start
of me: I am dejected; I am not able to answer
the Welch flannel: ignorance itself ia a pluimnet
o'er me ; ' ' ) use me as you will.

Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to
one master Brook, that you have cozened of money,
to whom you should have been a pander : over and

above that you have suffered, I think, to repay
that money will be a biting affliction.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends :
Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends.

Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at last.

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a
posset to-night at my house; where I will desire
thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee :
Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter.

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be
my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife.

\_Aaide.

Enter Slender.

Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page!

Page. Son! how now? how now, son? have you
despatched?

Slen. Despatched! — I'll make the best in Gloces-
tershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else.

Page. Of what, son?

Sle7i. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress
Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy ; If it
had not been i'the church, I would have swinged
him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not
think it had been Anne Page, would I might never
stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy.

Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong.

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so,
when I took a boy for a girl: If I had been mar-
ried to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I
would not have had him.

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell
you, how you should know my daughter by her
garments ?

Slen. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum,
and she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed;
and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy.

Eva. Jeshu! Master Slender, cannot you see but
marry boys?

Page. O, I am vexed at heart: What shall I do?

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew
of your purpose; turned my daughter into green;
and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the
deanery, and there married.

Enter Caius.

Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am co-
zened; I ha' married un gargon, a boy; un pai-
san, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar,
I am cozened.

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green?

Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, I'll
raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius.

Ford. TMs is strange: Who hath got the right
Anne?

Page. My heart misgives me: Here comes nxaster
Fenton.

Enter B'enton and Anne Page.

How now, master Fenton?

Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother,
pardon!

Page. Now, mistress? how chance you went not
with master Slender?

Mrs. Pnge. Why went you not with master doc-
tor, maid?

Fent. You do amaze her: '*) Hear the truth of it.
You would have married her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted.
Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us.
The offence is holy, that she hath committed:

m.

Act V.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

59

And this deceit loses the name of craft.

Of disobedience, or unduteous title;

Since therein she doth evitate and shun

A thousand irreligious cursed hours.

Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.

Ford. Stand not amaz'd: here is no remedy: —
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special
stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.

Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give
thee joy!
What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd.

Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are

chas'd.
Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding.
Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further : — Mas-
ter Fenton,
Heaven give you many, many merry days! —
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
Sir John and all.
Ford. Let it be so : — Sir John,
To master Brook you yet shall hold your word;
For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford.

[Exeunt.

m.

IV.

TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

PERSONS BEPBESENTED.

Orsino, Duke of Illyria.

Skbastian, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola.
Antonio, a Sea-captain, Friend to Sebastian.
A Sea-captain, Friend to Viola.

Curio ' i ^^"*^^"*^" attending on the Duke.

Sir Toby ButcH, Uncle of Olivia.
Sir Andrbw Ague-cheek.

Malvolio, Steward to Olivia.

r.t^ ' > Servants to Olivia.
Clown, (

Olivia, a rich Countess.

Viola, in love with the Duke.

Maria, Olivia's Woman.

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and

other Attendants.

ScENB — a City in Ill^'ria; and the Sea-coast near it.

ACT I.

Scene I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Duke, Curio, Lords: Musicians attending.

Duke.

Ik music be the food of love, play on;

Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting.

The appetite may sicken, and so die. —

That strain again; — it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,

That breathes upon a bank of violets.

Stealing, and giving odour. — Enough; no more;

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou !

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there.

Of what validity ^) and pitch soever.

But falls into abatement and low price.

Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,

That it alone is high-fantastical. -)

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ?

Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds.
E'er since pursue me. — How now '{ what news from
her?

Enter Vai,entinb.

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted.
But from her handmaid do return this answer :
The element itself, till seven years heat, *)
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk.
And water once a day her chamber round.
With eye-offending brine: all this, to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh.
And lasting, in her sad remembrance.

Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame.
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft.

Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart.
These sovei'eign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd,
(Her sweet perfections,) *) with one self king! —
Away before ine to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

\Exeunt.

SCENE n. The Sea-coast.
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this ?

Cap. Illyria, lady. ^)

I'io. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance, he is not drown'd: — What think you,
sailors ?

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.

Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may
he be.

Cap. True, madam : and to comfort you with chance.
Assure yourself, after our ship did split.
When you, and that poor number saved with you.
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother.
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves.
So long as I could see.

Vio. For saying so, there's gold:

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto, thy speech serves for authority.
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born.
Not three hours travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature.

As in his name.

Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
He was a bachelor then.

Cap. And so is now.

Or was so very late: for but a month

IV.

Act I.

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

61

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do,
The less will prattle of,) that he did seek
The lore of fair Olivia.

Vio. >Vhat's she?

Cap. A Tirtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother.
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love>
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.

Vio. O, that I served that lady:

And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compass;

Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I Avili believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
F'or such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me ') very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see !

Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on. [Exeunt.

SCENE in. A Room in Olivia's Route.
Enter Sir Tosr Belch and Maria.

iSir To. W'hat a plague means my niece, to take
the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's
an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in
earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great
exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the
modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than
I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in,
and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let them
hang themselves in their own straps.

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you:
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a
foolish knight, that you brought in one night here,
to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Mar. Ay, he.

Sir To. He's as tall a man ") as any's in Illyria.

Mar. What's that to the purpose?

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these
ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o' the
viol-de-gambo, *) and speaks three or four languages
word for word without book, and hath all the good
gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, be-
sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and,
but that he hath the gift" of a coward to allay the
gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the
prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and
substractors, that say so of him. Who are they ?

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly
in your company.

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll
drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my
throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a
coystril, ') that will not drink to my niece, till his
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. ' «) What,
wench? Castiliano vidgo;^') for here comes Sir
Andrew Ague-face,

Enter Sir Andrew Agub-chbbk.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby
Belch?

Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew?

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar. And you too, sir.

Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accosts

iSir And. What's that?

Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better
acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight : accost is, front her,
board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her
in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would
thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might
never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think
you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's
my hand.

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, bring
your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your
metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, sir.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass,
but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends:
marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

[Exit Makia.

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary:
When did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. Never in my life, I think; unless you
see canary put me down: Methinks, sometimes I
have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary
man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and, I
believe, that does harm to my wit.

Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it I'll
ride home to-morrow, sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight?

iSiV And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I
would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that
I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had
I but followed the arts!

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And. W hy, would that have mended my hair ?

jSjV To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not
curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff;
and I hope to see a housewife take thee between
her legs, and spin it off.

IV.

62

TWELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act I.

Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby:
your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four
to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here
hard by, woos her.

Sir To. She'll none of the count; she'll not match
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit;
I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow
o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in
masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight ?

Sir And. As any man in lUyria, whatsoever he be,
under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not
compare with an old man.

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, sim-
ply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where-
fore have these gifts a curtain before them ? are they
like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? ^-)
why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and
come home in a coranto ? My very walk should be
a jig; I would not so mu.ch as make water, but in
a sink-a-pace. ^^) What dost thou mean? is it a
world to hide virtues in ? I did think, by the ex-
cellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under
the star of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent
well in a flame-coloured stock. '*) Shall we set
about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not born
under Taurus ?

Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. *^)

Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me
see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! — excellent!

\Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire.

Val. If the duke continue these favours towards
you, Cesario, you 'are like to be much advanced;
he hath known you but three days, and already
you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence,
that you call in question the continuance of his love :
Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.

Duke. Who saw Ces'ario, ho ?

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.

Duke. Stand you awhile alooff. — Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors.
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow.
Till thou have audience.

Vio. ■ Sure, my noble lord,

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What then ?

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith :
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.

Vio. I think not so, my lord.

Duke. Dear lad, believe it;

For they shall yet belie thy happy years.
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound.
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know, thy constellation is right apt
For this alfair: — Some four,' or five, attend him;
All, if you will, for I myself am best.
When least in company : — Prosper well in this.
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord.
To call his fortunes thine.

Vio. I'll do my best,

To woo your lady: yet [aside] a barful strife! ")
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Maria and Clown.

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been,
or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may
enter, in way of thy excuse: m^ lady will hang
thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me; he, that is well hanged in
this world, needs to fear no colours. '

Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: '') I can tell thee
where that saying was born, of, I fear, no colours.

Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?

Mar. In the Avars; and that may you be bold to
say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it;
and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long
absent: or, be turned away; is not that as good as
a hanging to you?

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar-
riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.

Mar. You are resolute then ?

Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two
points.

Mar. That, if one break, * ^) the other will hold ;
or, if both break, your gaskins fall.

Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt ! Well, go thy
way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert
as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here
comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were
best. [Exit.

Enter Olivia and Malvolio.

Clo. Wit, and 't be thy will, put me into good
fooling ! Those Avits, that think they have thee, do
very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack
thee, may pass for a Avise man : For what says Qui-

napalus V Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.

God bless thee, lady !

Oli. Take the fool aAvay.

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away the lady.

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:
besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good
counsel Avill amend: for give the dry fool drink,
then is the fool not dry ; bid the dishonest man mend
himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if
he cannot, let the botcher mend him: Any thing
that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that trans-
gresses, is but patched Avith sin; and sin, that
amends, is but patched with virtue : If that this
simple syllogism will serve, so ; if it will not, What
remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity.

IV.

Act I.

TWELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WELL.

63

so beaut\'s a flower: — the lady bade take away
the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! — Lady,
Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as
to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good ma-
donna, give me leave to prove you a fooL

Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexterously, good madonna.

Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; Good
mv mouse of virtue, answer me.

OH. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, Til 'bide
your proof.

Clo. Good madonna, why moum'st thou?

Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna.

Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for
your brother's soul being in heaven. — Take away
the fool, gentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio ? doth
he not mend?

Mai. Yes ; and shall do, till the pangs of death
shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth
ever make the better fool.

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be sworn,
that I am no fox ; but he w ill not pass his word
for two-pence that you are no fool.

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ?

Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such
a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other
day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain
than a stone. Look you, now, he's out of his guard
already ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to
him, he is gagged. I pi'otest, I take these >vise
men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no
better than the fools' zanies. *')

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and
taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous,
guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those
things for birdbolts, that you deem cannon-bullets :
There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he
do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known
discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for
thou speakest well of fools ! - °)

Re-enter Maria.

Mar. INIadam, there is at the gate a young gentle-
man, much desires to speak with you.

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it?

Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man,
and well attended.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay?

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Oli. Fetch hun off, I pray you; he speaks nothing
but madman : Fye on him ! [Exit Maria.] Go you,'
Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, I am sick,
or not at home; what you ■will, to dismiss it. [Exit
Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows
old, and people dislike it.

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy
eldest son should be a fool : whose skull Jove cram
with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has
a most weak pia mater. - ' )

Enter Sir Toby Belch.
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. —
at the gate, cousin?
Sir To. A gentleman.
Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman?

What is he

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here — A plague o'these
pickle- herrings ! — How now, sot?

Clo. Good Sir Toby,

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early
by this lethargy ?

■Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's one at
the gate.

Oli. Ay, marry: what is he?

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care
not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's ail one. [Exit.

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman:
one draught above heat^-) makes him a fool; the
second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him
sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink,
he's drown'd: go, look after him.

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool

shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown.

Be-enter Malvolio.

Mai. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will
speak >vith you. I told him you were sick ; he takes
on him to understand so much, and therefore comes
to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he
seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and
therefore comes to speak with yon. What is to be
said to him, lady ? he's fortified against any denial.

Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.

Mai. He has been told so ; and he says, he'll stand
at your door like a sheriff's post, -^) and be the
supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you.

Oli. What kind of man is he?

Mai. Why, of man kind.

Oli. What memner of man?

Mai. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you,
will you, or no.

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he?

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young
enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a
peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: -"*)
'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and
man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very
shrewishly ; one would think, his mother's milk were
scarce out of him.

Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman.

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit.

Re-enter Masia.
Oli. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Enter Viola.

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she ?

Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her : Your will ?

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable
beauty, — I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady
of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath
to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is
excellently well penn'd, 1 have taken great pains to
con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scora;
I am very comptible, -^) even to the least sinister
usage.

Oli. Whence came you, sir?

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied,
and that question's out of my part. Good gentle
one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady
of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

Oli. Are you a comedian?

Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very
fangs of malice, I swear I am not that I play. Are
you the lady of the house ?

OH. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp

IV.

64

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act II.

yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours
to reserve. But this is from my commission : I will
on with my speech in your praise, and then shew
you the heart of my message.

Oli. Come to what is important in't : I forgive you
the praise.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis
poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you,
keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates;
and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at
you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone,
if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of
moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ? here lies your way.

Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here-'') a
little longer. — Some mollification for your giant, ^')
sweet lady.

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deli-
ver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak
your office.

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over-
ture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the
olive in ray hand: my words are as full of peace
as matter.

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you ? what
would you 'i

Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me, have
I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and
what I would, are as secret as maidenhead : to your
ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this
divinity. [Ex/f Maria.] Now, sir, what is your text?

Vio. Most sweet lady,

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be
said of it. Where lies your textV

Vio. In Orsino's bosom.

Oli. In his bosom ? In what chapter of his bosom ?

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his
heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you
no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to-
negociate with my face? you are now out of your
text: but we will draw the curtain, und shew you
the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was
this present: Is't not well done? -^) [Unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and
weather.

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, ^ ') whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will
give out divers schedules of my beauty ; It shall be
inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled
to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item,
two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck,
one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to
'praise me ?

Vio. I see what you are: you are too proud:
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you; O, such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty! ^°)

Oli. How does he love me ?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears.
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

Oli. Your lord does know ray mind, I cannot love him j
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble.
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd, ^') free, learn'd, and valiant.
And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame.
With such a suffering, such a deadly life.
In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.

Oli. Why, what would you?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon ray soul within the house ;
Write loyal cantons ^-) of contemned love.
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate hills.
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth.
But you should pity me.

Oli. You might do much : What is your parentage ?

Vio. Above ray fortunes, yet my state is well:
T am a gentleman.

Oli. Get you to your lord;

I cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell rae how he takes it. Fare you well:
I thank you for your pains: spend this for rae.

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit.

Oli. What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:

I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art;

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon: — Not too fast: —

soft! soft!
Unless the master were the man. — How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections.
With an invisible and subtle stealth.
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. —
What, ho, Malvolio ! —

Re-enter Malvolio.

Mfil. Here, raadara, at your service.

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger.
The county's raan: ^^) he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord.
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-raorrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.

Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit.

Oli. I do I krtow not what: and fear to find
Mine eye ^ *) too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate shew thy force: Ourselves we do not owe; 3*)
What is decreed, must be; and be this so! [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The Sea-coast.
Enter Antonio and Skbastian.

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not,
that I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly
over rae; the raalignancy of my fate might, perhaps,
distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you

IV.

Act II.

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WHJL.

65

your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It
were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any
of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are
bound 'i

Set. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex-
cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort
from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore
it charges me in nmnners the rather to express my-
self. ') You must know of me then, Antonio, my
name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my
father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I
know, you have heard of: he left behind him, my-
self, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the
heavens had beep pleased, 'would we had so ended!
but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before
you took me from the breach of the sea, ^) was
my sister drowned.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re-
sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful:
but, though I could not, with such estimable won-
der, ^) overfar believe that, yet thus far I will
boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could
but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with
salt water, though I seem to drown her remem-
brance again with more.

Ant. Pardon me, sir, yoxir bad entertainment.

Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

Ant. If Aou will not murder me for my love, let
me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done,
that is, kill hun whom you have recovered, desire
it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of
kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of ray
mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine
eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count
Orsino's court: farewell. [Exit.

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go With thee!
I have many enemies in Orsino's court.
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But, come what may, I do adore thee so.
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit.

SCENE II.

A Street.

Enter Viola ; Malvolio foUawing.

Mai. Were not you even now vnth the countess
Olivia V

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have
since arrived but hither.

Mai. She returns this ling to you, sir; you might
have saved me my pains, to have taken it away
yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put
your lord into a desperate assurance she will none
of him: And one thing more; that you be never so
hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to
report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me; *} I'll none of it.

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her;
and her will is, it should be so returned; if it be
worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if
not, be it his that finds it. [Exit.

Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this lady?
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.

IV,

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.

I am the man ; — If it be so, (as 'tis,)

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.

Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness.

Wherein the pregnant enemy *) does much.

How easy is it, for the proper-false

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! ')

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;

For, such as we are made of, such we be.

How will this fadge? ') My master loves her dearly;

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;

And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me:

What will become of this! As I am man.

My state is desperate for my master's love;

As I am woman, now alas the day!

What thriftless sighs shall poor 01i>-ia breathe?

O time, thou must entangle this, not I;

It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit.

scejve m.

A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andhbw Acns-

CH6BK.

Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed
after midnight, is to be up betimes; and dituculo
surgere, * ) thou know'st,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I
know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. A false conclusion ; I hate it as an un-
filled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to
bed then is early : so that, to go to bed after mid-
night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives
consist of the four elements?

Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it ra-
ther consists of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat
and drink. — Marian, I say! a stoop ') of wine.

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the
picture of we three?

Sir To. W'elcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent
breast. ^") I had rather than forty shillings I had
such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the
fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fool-
ing last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus,
of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus ;
'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for
thy leman: '') Hadst it?

Clo. I did iinpeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's
nose is no whipstock: ^^) My lady has a white hand,
and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling,
when all is done. Now a song.

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let^s
have a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me, too: if one knight
give a

Clo. Would you have a love-song or a song of
good life? ^^)

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.

Sir And. Ay, ay; 1 care not for good life.

Song.
Clo. O mistress mine, where are yon roaming?
O, stay and Itear; your true love's comings

That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting.
Journeys end in lovers' meeting.
Every wise man's son doth know.

66

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act II.

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faitb.

Sir To. Gcod, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;

Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come, is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.
Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con-
tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance **)
indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch,
that will draw three souls out of one weaver? '^)
shall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog
at a catch.
Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be. Thou knave.
Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall
be constrain'd in't to call thee kna^e, knight.

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd
one to call me knave. Begin, fool ; it begins. Hold
thy peace.
Clo. 1 shall never begin, if I hold ray peace.
Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.

\Theij sing a catch.

Enter Maria.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If
my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio,
and bid him turn you out of doors, ne^er trust me.

Sir To. My lady's a Catalan, we are politicians;
Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and Three merry men
be we. Am not I consanguineous? am not I of her
blood? Tilly-valley, lady! ^^) There dwelt a man
in Babylon, lady! lady! [Singing.

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Sir And. Aye, he does well enough, if he be dis-
posed, and so do I too; he does it with a better
grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. 0, the twelfth day of December, —

[Singing.

Mar. For the love o'God, peace!

Enter Malvolio.

Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are you?
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to
gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye
make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak
out your coziers' catches *') without any mitigation
or remorse of voice! Is there no respect of place,
persons, nor time, in you?

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches.
Sneck up! *8)

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours
you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your
disorders. If you can separate yourself and your
misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if
not, an it Avould please you to take leave of her,
she is very willing to bid you farewell.

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs
be gone.

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do shew his days are almost done.

Mai. Is't even so?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mai. This is much credit to you.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go? [Singing.

Clo. What an if you do ?

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?

Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

Sir To. Out o'time? sir, ye lie. — Art any more
than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot
i'the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right. — Go, sir, rub your
chain with crums: ") — ^ A stoop of wine, Maria!

Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favom*
at any thing more than contempt, you would not
give means for this uncivil rule ; - °) she shall know
of it, by this band. [Exit.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when
a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field;
and then to break promise with him, and make a
fool of him.

Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge;
or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of
mouth.

Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night;
since the youth of the count's was to-day with my
lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Mal-
volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him
into a nay word, ^') and make him a common re-
creation, do not think I have wit enough to lie
straight in my bed : I know, I can do it.

Sir To. Possess us, --) possess us; tell us some-
thing of him.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like
a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite
reason, dear knight?

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I
have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing
constantly but a tiiue-pleaser; an affection'd ass, -*)
that cons state without book, and utters it by great
swarths: - ') the best persuaded of himself, so
cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is
his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love
him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find
notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles
of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the ex-
pressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he
shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can
write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten
matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.

Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou
wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that
she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir And. And your horse now would make him
an ass.

Mar. Ass, 1 doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my
physic will work with him. I will plant you two,
and let the fool make a third, where he shall find
the letter; observe his construction of it. For this
night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

[Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. -^)

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that
adores me: What O'that?

IV.

Act IL

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL

67

Sir And. I was adored once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need
send for more money.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a
foul way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her
not i'the end, call me Cut. -')

Sir And. U I do not, never trust me, take it how
you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis
too late to go to bed now: come, kiiight; come,
knight. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.

Duke. Give me some music: — Now, good mor-
row, friends : —
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,_
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs and recollected -'') terms.
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: —
Come, but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that
should sing it.

Duke, Who was it?

Cur. Feste, the jester, iny lord, a fool that the
lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is
about the house.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

[Exit Curio. — Music.
Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love.
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
For, such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else.
Save, in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune?

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:

INIy life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour ^*) that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.

Duke. What kind of woman is't?

Vio. Of your complexion.

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years,
i' faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm.
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.

Vio. I think it well, my lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Being once display 'd, doth fall that very hour.

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Re-enter Cusio and Clown.

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night: —
Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain:
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun.
And the free -') maids that weave their thread
with bones.

Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, ^'*)
And dallies with the ^*) innocence of love,
Like the old age. ^*)

Clo. Are you ready, sir?

Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing.

[Music.

Song.
Clo. Come away, come away, death.

And in sad cypress ^ ') let lue be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel rnaid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,

O, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet.
On my black coffin let there be sirown;

Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown :
A thousand thousand sighs to save.

Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there,

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.

Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one
time or another.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and
the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata,
for thy mind is a very opal! ^■*) — I would have
men of such constancy put to sea, that their busi-
ness might be every thing, and their intent every
wheie; for that's it, that always makes a good
voyage of nothing. — Farewell. [Exit Clown.

Duke. Let all the rest give place

[Exeunt Curio and Attendauts.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world.
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her.
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems.
That nature pranks ^^) her in, attracts iny soul.

Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir?

Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.

jTjo. 'Sooth, but you must.

Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is.
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so; Must she not then be answer'd?

Duke. There is no woman's sides,
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite, —
No motion of the liver, but the palate, —
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea.
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me.
And that I owe Olivia.

Yio, Ay, but I know, —

Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe\
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship. , , , . . ^ o

X>„jte, And what's her history? v

IV.

68

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act II.

Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud.
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed.
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. Uut died thy sister of her love, my boy?

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too; — and yet I know not: —
Sir, shall I to this lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay. ^'')

\Exeunt.

SCENE V. Olivia's Garden.

Enter Sir Tobit Bklch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek,
and Fabian.

Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this
sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some nota-
ble shame ?

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought
me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-bait-
ing here.

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again;
and we will fool him black and blue: — Shall we
not, sir Andrew?

Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Filter Maria.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: — How now,
my nettle of India? ^')

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvo-
lio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder
i'the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow,
this half hour : observe him, for the love of mockery ;
for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative
idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting ! [The
men hide themselves.^ Lie thou there; [throws down a
letter;] for here comes the trout that must be caught
with tickling. [Exit Maria.

Enter Malvolio.

Mai. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once
told me, she did affect me: and I have heard her-
self come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should
be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me
with a more exalted respect, than any one else that
follows her. What should I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue!

Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare tur-
key-cock of him; how he jets ^^) under his advanced
plumes !

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: —

Sir To. Peace, I say.

Mai. To be count Malvolio.

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace!

Mai. There is example for't; the lady of the stra-
chy ^') married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

iSir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how
imagination blows him.

Mai. Having been three months married to her,
sitting in my state, — ***)

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye !

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched

velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, "* ') where

I left Olivia sleeping.
Sir To. Rre and brimstone!

Fab. O, peace, peace !

Mai. And then to have the humour of state: and

after a demure travel of regard, — telling them, I

know my place, as I would they should do theirs, —

to ask for my kinsman Toby !

<SjV To. Bolts and shackles!

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now.

Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him: I frown the while; ahd, per-
chance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich
jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me:

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with
cars, *-) yet peace.

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my
familiar smile with an austere regard of control:

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the
lips then?

Mai. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having
cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative
of speech:

Sir To. What, what?

Mai. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of
our plot.

Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time
with a foolish knight;

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.

Mai. One Sir Andrew:

Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

Mai. What employment have we here?

[Taking up the letter.

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humours in-
timate reading aloud to him !

Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these be
her very Cs, her t/'s, and her T's; and thus
makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of ques-
tion, her hand.

Sir And. Her Cs, her U\ and her T's : Why that?

Mai. [Reads.] To the unknown beloved, this, and
my good wishes : her very phrases ! — By your
leave, wax. — Soft! and the impressure her Lu-
crece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis ray lady:
To whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.

Mai. [Reads.] Jove knows, I love:
But who ?
Lips do not move.
No man must know.
No man must know. — What follows? the num-
bers altered! — No man must know: — If this
should be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock! '*^)

Mai. / may command, where I adore:
But silent, like a Lucrece knife.

With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

Fab. A fustian riddle !

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.

Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. — Nay, but
first, let me see, — let me see, — let me see.

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him !

Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel '*'*)
checks at it!

Mai. / may command where I adore. Why, she
may command me; I serve her, she is my lady.

IV.

Act hi.

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

69

Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. **)
There is no obstruction in this; — And the end, —
What should that alphabetical position portend V if
I could make that resemble something in me, —
Softly \ — M, O, A, I. —

Sir To. O, ay! make up that: — he is now at
a cold scent.

Fab. Sowter •*') will cry upon't, for all this, though
it be as rank as a fox.

Mai. M, — Malvolio; — M, — why, that begins
my name.

Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the
cur is excellent at faults.

Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in
the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should
follow, but O does.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, O.

Mai. And then / comes behind.

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind yon, you
might see more detraction at your heels, than for-
tunes before you.

Mai. 3f, O, A, I; — This simulation is not as
the former: — and yet, to crush this a little, it
would bow to me, for every one of these letters are
in my name. Soft; here follows prose. — If thia
fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am
above thee ; but be not afraid of greatness: Some
are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open
their hands ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them.
And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be
opposite *") with a kinsman, surly with servants:
let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thy-
self into the trick of singularity : She thus advi-
ses thee, that sighs for t/tee. Remember who com-
mended thy yellow stockings; and wished to see
thee ever cross-garlered: I say, remember. Go to;
thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not,
let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of ser-
vants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers.
Farewell. She that would alter service^ with thee,
The fortunate-unhappy.

Day-light and champian '**) discovers not more: this
is open. I wU be proud, I »-ill read politic au-
thors, I will baflfie Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, *') the very
man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination
jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my
lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stock-
ings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gar-
tered; and in this she manifests herself to my love,
and with a kind of injunction, drives me to these
habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy.
I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
cross-gartered, even with the svriftness of putting
on. Jove, and my stars be praised ! — Here is yet
a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who
I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear
in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well; there-
fore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,
I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. — I will smile; I
will do every thing that thou Avilt have me. [Exit.

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a
pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. *°)

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device:

iStr And. So could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but
such another jest.

Enter Maria.
Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

Sir And. Or o' mine either?

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip?*')
and become thy bond-slave?

Sir And. I'faith, or I either.

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream,
that, when the image of it leaves him, he most
run mad.

Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him ?

Sir To. Like aqua-vitae *-) with a midwife.

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport,
mark his first approach before my lady: he will
come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour
she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests;
and he will smile upon her, which will now be so
unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him
into a notable contempt : if you will see it, follow me.

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel-
lent de\il of wit!

Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exetaa.

ACT III.

Scene I. Olivia's Garden.

Enter Viola, and Clown with a Tabor.

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost then
live by thy tabor?

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church.

Vio. Art thou a churchman?

Clo. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church :
for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand
by the church.

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beg-
gar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the church
stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.

Clo. You have said, sir. — To see this age ! — A
sentence is but a cheveril glove ') to a good wit;
How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward.

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely
■with words, may quickly make them wanton.

Clo. I would therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

Vio. Why, man?

Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally
with that word, might make my sister wanton : But,
indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds dis-
graced them.

Vio. Thy reason, man?

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words ;
and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
reason with them.

Fio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest
for nothing.

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in
my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that
be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make
you invisible.

Fio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool?

Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly:
she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and
fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to her-
rings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not
her fool, but her corrupter of words.

Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like
the sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry,
sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master,
as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdmn
there.

IV.

70

TWELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act in.

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with
thee. Hold, there's expences for thee.

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair,
send thee a beard !

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee ; I am almost sick
for one; though I would not have it grow on my
chin. Is thy lady within?

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use.

Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Plirygia, sir,
to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.

Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging
but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My lady
is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you
come; who you are, and what you would, are out
of my welkin: I might say, element; but the word
is over-worn. \^Exit.

Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool;
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard, -) check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wise man's art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew
Ague-cheek.

Sir To. Save you, gentleman.

Vio. And you, sir.

Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

Vio. Et vous aussi; voire serviteur.

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.

Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece
is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she
is the list ^) of my voyage.

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than
I understand what you mean by bidding me taste
my legs.

Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter.

Vio. I will answer you Avith gait and entrance :"
But we are prevented.

Enter Olivia and Mahia.
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
odours on you!

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain
odours I well.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. "*)

Sir And. Odours, pregnant and vouchsafed: —
I'll get 'em all three ready. ^)

OH. Let the garden-door be shut, and leave me
to my hearing.

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andkew, and Makia.
Give me your hand, sir.

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service.

Oli. What is your name?

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You are servant to the count Orsino, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours ;
Your ser^'ant's sei-vant is your servant, madam.

Oli. For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts,
'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me !

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf: —

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you.

I bade you never speak again of him:
But, Avould you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that,
Than music from the spheres.

Vio. Dear lady,

Oli. Give me leave, I beseech ') you: I did send
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I sit.
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning.
Which you knew none of yours: What might you

think ?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake.
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your

receiving ')
Enough is shown; a cyprus, ^) not a bosom.
Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak.

Vio. I pity you.

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No, not a grise; ') for 'tis a vulgar proof, *°)
That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again :

0 world, how apt the poor are to be proud !

If one should be a prey, how much the better -^ ^
To fall before the lion, than the wolf? \Clock strikes.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. —
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you :
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.

Vio. Then westward-hoe :

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Oli. Stay:

1 pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.

Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.

Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am.

Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be!

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish it might; for now I am your fool.

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful ,
In the contempt and anger of his lip !
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seent hid : love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring.
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause.
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth.
And that no woman has; *^) nor never none
Shall mib-tress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

Oli. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, may'st move
That heart which now abhors, to like his love.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in Olivia's House. *

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-chbek,
and Fabian.

Sir And. No faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

IV.

Act hi.

TVVELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

71

Fab. Yon must needs \icld your reason, sir Andrew.

Sir jind. Marry, I saw your niece do more fa-
vours to the count's serving man, than ever she
bestowed upon me; I sa>\'t i'the orchard.
Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell
me that.

Sir And. As plain as I see you now.

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her
toward you.

Sir And. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me ?

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths
of judjrment and reason.

Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since
before Noah was a sailor.

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your
sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor-
mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brim-
stone in your liver: You should then have accosted
her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from
the mint, you should have banged the youth into
dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and
tliis was baulked: the double gilt of this opportu-
nity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed
into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will
iiang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless
you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either
of valour, or policy.

Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with va-
lour; for policy I hate; I had as lief be a Brown-
Ist, *-) as a politician.

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the
basis of valour. Challenge me the coimt's youth to
fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my luece
shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is
no lovebroker in the world can more prevail in
man's commendation with woman, than report of
valour.

Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew.

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge
to him?

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst * ')
and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo-
(juent and full of invention : taunt him with the
licence of ink; if thou thou'st him some thrice, it
shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big
enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em
down; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in
thy ink; though thou >vrite with a goosepen, no
matter: About it.

Sir And. Where shall I find you?

Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: Go.

[Exit Sir Akbkeit.

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby.

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two
thousand strong, or so.

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but
you'll not deliver it.

Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means
stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and 1
wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, ;
if he were opened, and you find so much blood in ;
his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the
rest of the anatomy.

Fab. And his opposite, * *) the youth, bears in his
visage no great presage of cruelty.

Enter Makia.

Sir To. Look where the youngest -wren of nine
comes.

Mar. If yon desire the spleen, and will laugh your-
selves into stitches, follow me: yon' gull Malvolio
is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no

Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly,
can ever believe such impossible passages of gross-
ness. He's in yellow stockings.

Sir To. And cross-gartered?

Mar. Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps
a school i' the church. — I have dogged him, like
his murderer: He does obey every point of the let-
ter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile
his face into more lines than are in the new map,
with the augmentation of the Indies : ' *) you have
not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear
hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike
him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great
favour.

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

[jSxttaa.

SCENE m.

A Street.
Enter Aktunio and Sbbastiak.

Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you;
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no fuither chide you.

Ant. I could not stay behind you; my de^e.
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, (though so much.
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,)
But jealousy what might befall your travel.
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided, and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable : My willing love.
The rather by these argtunents of fear.
Set forth in your pursuit.

Seb. My kind Antonio,

I can no other answer make, but, thanks,
And thauiks, and ever thanks: Often good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay:
But, were my worth,"') as is my conscience, firm.
You should find better dealing. What's to do?
Shall we go see the reliques of this town?

Ant. To-morrow, sir ; best, first, go see your lodging.

Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame.
That do renown this city.

Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me;

I do not without danger walk these streets:
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the Count his gallies,
I did some service; of such note, indeed.
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.

Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people.

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature;
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel.
Might well have given us bloody argument.
It might have since been answer'd m repaying
What we took from them; which, for traffick's sake.
Most of our city did: only myself stood out:
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.

Seb. Do not then walk too open.

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse;
In the south subiurbs, at the Elephant,
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet.
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.

Seb. Why I your purse?

Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, sir.

Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave yott for
An hour.

IV.

72

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act hi.

Ant. To the Elephant. —

Seb. I do remember.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Olivia's Garden.

Enter Olivia and Maria.

OU. I have sent after him: He says, he'll come; *')
How shall I feast him? what bestow on him?
For youth is bought moreoft, thanbegg'd, orborrow'd.

I speak too loud.

Where is Malvolio? — he is sad, and civil,

And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; —

Where is Malvolio?

Mar. He's coming, madam;

But in strange manner. He is sure po^sess'd. ^^J

OK. Why, what's the matter ? does he rave ?

Mar. No, madam.

He does nothing but smile: your ladyship
Were best have guard ^^} about you, if he come;
For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits.

OH. Go call him hither. — I'm as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be. — -")

Enter Malvolio.
How now, Malvolio?

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [Smiles fantastically.

on. Smil'st thou?
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

Mai. Sad, lady? I could be sad: This does make
some obstruction in the blood, this cross- gartering;
But what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is
with me as the very true sonnet is: Please one,
and please all.

on. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter
with thee?

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my
legs: It did come to his hands, and commands shall
be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Ro-
man hand.

OH. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

Mai. To bed ? ay, sweet-heart; and I'll come to thee.

OH. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so,
and kiss thy hand so oft?

Mar. How do you, Malvolio?

Mai. At your request? Yes; Nightingales answer
daws.

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness
before my lady?

Mai. Be not afraid of greatness: — 'Twas well
writ.

OH. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?

Mai. Some are born great, —

OH. Ha?

Mai. Some achieve greatness, —

OH. What say'st thou?

Mai. And some have greatness thrust upon them.

OH. Heaven restore thee!

Mai. Remember, who commended thy yellow stock-
ings; —

Oh. Thy yellow stockings?

IVlal. And wished to see thee cross-gartered.

OH. Cross-gartered?

Mai. Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to
be so; —

OH. Am I made?

Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still.

OH. Why, this is very midsummer madness. -')

Enter Servant,
Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count
Orsino's is returned; I could hardly entreat him
back; he attends your ladyship's pleasm-e.

OH. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good Maria,
let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin
Toby ? Let some of my people have a special care
of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half
of my dowry. [Exeunt Olivia and Maria.

Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now ? no worse
man than Sir Toby to look to me? This concurs
directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,
that I may appear stubborn to him: for she incites
me to that in the letter. Cast thy humble slough,
says she; — be opposite with a kinsman, surly
with servants, — let thy tongue tang with argu-
ments of state, — put thyself into the trick of

singularity; and, consequently, sets down the

manner how; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage,
a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and
so forth. I have limed her; -2) but it is Jove's
doing, and Jove make me thankful! And, when she
went away now, Let this fellow be looked to : Ve\-
low!2 3) not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but
fellow. Why, every thing adheres together; that
no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no
obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, —
What can be said? Nothing that can be, can come
between me and the full prospect of my hopes.
Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to
be thanked.

Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch and Fabian.
Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity ?

If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Le-
gion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him.

Fab. Here he is, here he is : — How is't with you,

sir? how is't with you, man?

Mai. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my pri-
vate; go off.

Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him !
did not I tell you? — Sir Toby, my lady prays
you to have a care of him.

Mai. Ah, ah! does she so?

Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must deal
gently with him; let me alone. How do you, Mal-
volio? how is't with you? What, man! defy the
devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

Mai. Do you know what you say?

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how
he takes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not bewitched !

Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman.

Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morn-
ing, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more
than I'll say.

Mai. How now, mistress?

Mar. O lord!

Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; this is not the
way: Do you not see, you move him? let me alone
with him.

Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the
fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used.

Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost
thou, chuck?

Mai. Sir?

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What man!
'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit^'*) with
Satan: Hang him, foul collier! ^*)

Mar. Get him to say his prayers ; good sir Toby,
get him to pray,

Mai. My prayers, minx?

Mar. No, 1 warrant you, he will not hear of
godliness.

Mai. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shal-
low things: I am not of your element; you shall
know more hereafter. [Exit.

Sir To. Is't possible?

rv.

Act in.

TWELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

73

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I
could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection
of the de\'ice, man.

Mar. Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take
air, and taint.

Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed.

Mar. The house will be the quieter.

Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, and
bound. My niece is already in the belief that he
is mad; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure,
and his penance, till our very pastiine, tired out of
breath, prompt us to have mercy on him: at which
time, we will bring the de\ice to the bar, and crown
thee for a finder of madmen. -*') But see, but see.

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-chebk.

Fab. IVIore matter for a May morning.

Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant,
there's vinegar and pepper in't.

Fab. Is't so sawcy V

Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him: do but read.

Sir To. Give me. [Reads.] Youth, wJiatsoever thou
art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.

Fab. Good, and valiant.

Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind,
why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no
reason for't.

Fab. A good note: that keeps you from the blow
of the law.

-Sir To. Thou comesl to the lady Olivia, and in
my sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in
thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge
thee for.

Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less.

Sir To. I will way-lay thee going home; where
if it be thy chance to kill me,

Fab. Good.

Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain.

Fab. Still you keep o'the windy side of the law:
Good.

Sir To. Fare thee well; And God have mercy
upon one of our souls I He may have mercy upon
mine; but my hope is better, and so look to thy-
self. Thy friend, as thou usesthim, and thy sworn
enemy. Andrew Ague-chekk.

Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs can-
not: I'll give't him.

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't; he is
now in some commerce with my lady, and will by
and by depart.

Sir To. Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at the
corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff: so soon
as ever thou seest him, draw; and, as thou drawest,
swear hon-ible; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter-
I'ible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged
off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof
itself would have earned him. Away.

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit.

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter: for the
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out
to be of good capacity and breeding; his employ-
ment between his lord and my niece confirms no
less; therefore this letter, being so excellently igno-
rant, will breed no terror in the youth, he will find
it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver
his challenge by word of mouth; set upon Ague-
cheek a notable report of valour; and drive the
gentleman (as, I know, his youth will aptly receive
it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill,
fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them
both, that they will kill one another by the look,
like cockatiices.

Enter Olivia and Viola.

Fab. Here he comes with your niece: give them
way, till he take leave, and presently after him.

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some hor-
rid message for a challenge.

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, arid Makia.

OIL I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary out:
There's something in me, that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.

Vio. With the same 'ha\-iour that your passion bears,
Go on my master's griefs.

OH. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you:
And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny;
That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give?

Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my master.

OH. How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have g^vea to you?

Vio. I -will acquit yon.

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: Fare thee well;
A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. [Exit.

Re-enter Sir Toby Belch, and Fabun.

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee.

Vio. And you, sir.

Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't:
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him,
I know not; but thy intercepter, full of despight,
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard
end : dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation,
for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.

Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man hath any
quarrel to me; ray remembrance is very firee and
clear from any image of offence done to any man.

Sir To. You'll find it other^vise, I assure you:
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake
you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him
what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish
man withal.

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he?

Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unbacked ra-
pier, and on carpet consideration; -') but he is a
devil in private brawl; souls and bodies hath he
divorced three; and his incensement at this moment
is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but
by pangs of death and sepulchre: hob, nob, -^) is
his word; give't, or take't.

Vio. 1 will return again into the house, and desire
some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have
heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels pur-
posely on others, to taste their valour: belike, this
is a man of that quirk.

Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out
of a very competent injury; therefore, get you on,
and give him his desire. Back you shall not to
the house, unless you undertake that with rae, which
with as much safety you might answer him : there-
fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked; for
meddle you must, that's certain, or forswear to
wear iron about you.

Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech
you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the
knight what my offence to him is; it is something
of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.

Sir To. I will do so. Signer Fabian, stay you
by this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Toby.

Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?

Fab. I know, the knight is incensed against you,
even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the
circumstance more.

IV.

74

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act III

Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he?

Fah. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read
him by iiis form, as you are like to find him in the
proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most
skilful, bloody, and fatal, opposite that you could
possibly have found in any part of Illyria: Will
you walk towards himV 1 will make your peace
with him, if I can.

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I am
one, tiiat would rather go with sir priest, than sir
knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.

[Exeunt.

Re-enter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew.

Sir To. Why man, he's a very devil; I have not
seen such a virago. -') I had a. pass with him,
rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the
stuck-in, ^'') with such a mortal motion, that it is
inevitable; and ou the answer, he pays you ^') as
surely as your feet hit the ground they step on :
They say, he has been fencer to the Sophy.

Sir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fa-
bian can scarce hold him yonder.

Sir And. Plague on't; an I thought he had been
valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him
damned ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let
the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey
Capilet.

Sir To. I'll make the motion: Stand here, make
a good show on't; this shall end without the per-
dition of souls: Marry, I'll ride your horse as well
as I ride you. [Aside.

Re-enter Fabian and Viola.
I have his horse \to Fabian] to take up the quar-
rel; I have persuaded him, the youth's a devil.

Fah. He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants,
and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.

Sir To. There's no rejnedy, sir; he will fight with
you for his oath-sake : marry, he hath better be-
thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now
scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for
the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will
not hurt you.

Vio. Pray God defend me ! A little thing would
make me tell them how much I lack of a man.

[Aside.

Fah. Give ground, if you see him furious.

Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the
gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout
with you: he cannot by the duello'-) avoid it; but
he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a
soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; to't.

Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath. [Vraws.

Enter Antonio.

Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. [Draws.

Ant. Put up your sword; — If this young gentleman
Have done offence, I take the fault on me;
If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing.

Sir To. You, sir? why, what are you?

Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.

Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, ^^) I am
for you. [Draws.

Enter two Officers.
Fah. O good sir Toby, hold ; here come the officers.
Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio.

Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you please.

[To Sir Anprew.
Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; — and, for that I

promised you, I'll be as good as my word : He will
bear you easily, and reins well.

1 Off. This is the man; do thy office.

2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit
Of count Orsino.

Ant. You do mistake me, sir.

1 Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well.
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. —
Take him away; he knows, I know him well.

Ant. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you;
But there's no remedy; I shall answer it.
W hat will you do V Now my necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse: It grieves me
IMuch more, for what I cannot do for you,
Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd;
But be of comfort.

2 Off. Come, sir, away.

Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money.

Vio. What money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have show'd me here.
And, part, being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something: my having is not much;
I'll make division of my present Avith you:
Hold, there is half my coffer.

Ant. Will you deny me now?

Is't possible, that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
Lest that it make me so unsound a man.
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.

Vio. I know of none;

Nor know I you by voice, or any feature:
I hate ingratitude more in a man.
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.

Ant. O heavens themselves!

2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go.

Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that you
see here,
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death ;

Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,

And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.

1 Off. What's that to us? The time goes by; away.

Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god! —
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. —
Jn nature there's no blemish, but the mind;
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind:
Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous-evil
Are empty trunks, o'ertlourish'd by the devil.

1 Off. The man grows mad; away with him.
Come, come, sir.

Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, with Antonio.

Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly,
That he believes himself; so do not I.
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you !

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian ;
we'll whisper o'er a couple or two of most sage saws.

Vio. He nam'd Sebastian; I my brother know
Yet living in my glass; even such, and so,
In favour was my brother; and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
B^or him I imitate; O, if it prove,
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!

[Exit.

Sir To. A very dishonest, paltry boy, and more
a coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears in
leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying
him; -and, for his cowardship, ask Fabian.

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.

IV.

Act IV.

TWELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

75

Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat hiin.

Sir To. Do, cuff him somidly, but never draw thy
sword.

Sir And. 'An 1 do not, — \ExU.

Fab. Come, let's see the event.

Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing
yet. \Exenta.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Street before Olivia's Hou$e.
Enter Sebastian and Clown.

Clo. Will you make me believe, that I am not sent
for you?

Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow;
Let me be clear of thee.

Clo. Well held out, i'faith! No, I do not know
you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid
you come speak with her; nor your name is not
master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. —
Nothing, that is so, is so.

Seb. I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else;
Thou know'st not me.

Clo. \ ent my folly ! he has heard that word of
some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent
my folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world,
will prove a cockney. — 1 pr'vthee now, ungird
thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to
my lady ; shall I vent to her, that thou art coming ?

Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, ^) depart from me;
There's money for thee; if you tarry longer,
I shall give worse payment.

Clo. 13y my troth, thou hast an open hand: —
These wise men, that give fools money, get them-
selves a good report after fourteen years' puixhase.

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.

Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again ? there's
for you. \Striking Sebastian.

Seb. Why, there's for thee, and tliere, and there:
Are all the people mad ? [jBeating Sir Andbew.

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er
the house.

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would
not be in some of your coats for two-pence.

[Exit Clown.

Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. [HbWing: Seba8tia>.

Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way
to work with him; I'll have an action of battery
against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though
I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.

Seb. Let go thy hand.

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come,
my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well
fleshed; come on.

Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou
now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.

[Drawt.

Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

[Draw*.

Enter Olivia.

OH. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.

Sir To. Madam?

OH. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch.
Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves.
Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of my sight !
Be not offended, dear Cesario!

Rudesby, be gone! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend,

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Ahdrbw, and Fabiah.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent -)
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go;
Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me.
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.

Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream: —
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

OH. Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'Would thou'dst be
rul'd by me?

Seb. Aladam, I will.

OH. O, say so, and so be!

[Exetaa.

SCENE n.

A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Mahia and Clown.

Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this
beard; make him believe thou art sir Topas the
curate; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the whilst.

[Exit Maria.

Clo. W>11, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble my-
self in't; and I would I were the first that ever
dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough
to become the function well, nor lean enough to be
thought a good student: but to be said, an honest
man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to
say, a careful man, and a great scholar. The com-
petitors enter. ^)

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria.

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson.

Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit
of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wit-
tily said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that
is, is: so I, being master parson, am master par-
son: For what isthat, but that? and is, but is?

Sir To. To him, sir Topas.

Clo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison!

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.

Mai. [In an inner chamber.] Who calls there?

Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit
Malvolio the lunatic.

Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to
my lady.

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou this
man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

Sir To. W^ell said, master parson.

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged:
good sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have
laid me here in -hideous darkness.

Clo. Fye, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by
the most modest terms : for I am one of those gentle
ones, that will use the de^il himself with courtesy:
Say'st thou, that house is dark? -

Mai. As hell, sir Topas

Clo. W hy, it hath bay-wndows, -») transparent as
barricadoes, and the clear stories *) towards the
so»lh-north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet corn-
plainest thou of obstruction?

Mai. I am not mad, sir Topas; I say to you, this
house is dark.

Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no dark-
j ness, but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled,
than the Egyptians in their fog.

IV.

76

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act V.

Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance,
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say,
there was never man thus abused: I am no more
mad than you are ; make the trial of it in any con-
stant question. ')

Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concern-
ing wild fowl?

Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply
inhabit a bird.

Clo. What think est thou of his opinion?

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way ap-
prove his opinion.

Clo. Fare thee well : Remain thou still in darkness :
thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I
will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a Avood-
cock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam.
B'are thee well.

Mai. Sir Topas, ' sir Topas, —

Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas !

Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. ')

Mar. Thou might'st have done this without thy
beard, and gown; he sees thee not.

Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me
word how thou fiudest him: I would we were well
rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently
delivered, I would he were: for I am now so far
in oftence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with
any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and
by to my chamber. [Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria.

Clo. Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,

Tell me how thy lady does. \Singing.

Mai. Fool, —

Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy.

Mai. Fool, —

Clo. Alas, why is she so?

Mai. Fool, I say ; —

Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha?

Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well
at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink,
and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be
thankful to thee for't.

Clo. Master Malvolio!

Mai. Ay, good fool!

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously
abused : I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

Clo. But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if
you be no better in your wits than a fool.

Mai. They have here propertied me;^) keep me
in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all
they can to face me out of my Avits.

Clo. Advise you what you say; the minister is
here. — Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens
restore! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy
vain bibble babble.

Mai. Sir Topas,

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. —
Who? I, sir? not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir
Topas. — Marry, amen. — 1 will, six-, I will.

Mai. B^ol, fool, fool, I say, —

Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I
am shent ') for speaking to you.

Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some
paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any
man in Illyrla.

Clo. Well-a-day, — that you were, sir!

Mai. By this hand, I am: Good fool, some ink,
paper, and light, and convey what I will set down
to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever
the bearing of letter did.

Clo. I will help you to't. .But tell me true, are
you not mad indeed? or do you but counferfeit?

Mai. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.

Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.

Mai. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree: I
pr'ythee, be gone.

Clo. I am gone, sir.

And anon sir,
I'll be with you again,
hi a trice,

Like to the old vice, '<>)
Your need to sustain;

Who with dagger of lath,
In his rage and his ivrath,

Cries, ah,ha! to the devil:
Like a mad lad,
Pare thy nails, dad.

Adieu, goodman drivel. [Exit

SCENE III.

Olivia's Garden.

Enter Sebastiax.

Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave nie, I do feel't and see't:
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus.
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then?
I could not find him at the Elephant:
Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit, ' ' )
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service:
For though my soul disputes Avell with my sense.
That this may be some error, but no madness.
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse, '-)
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes.
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad,
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so.
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take, and give back, affairs, and their despatch.
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing,
As I perceive, she does: there's something in't.
That is deceivable. ^^) But here comes the lady.

Enter Olivia and a Priest.

OH. Blame not this haste of mine : If you mean well
Now go with me, and with this holy man,
Into the chantry by; there, before him.
And underneath that consecrated roof.
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That ray most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace: He shall conceal it,
Whiles '^) you are willing it shall come to note;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. — What do you say?

Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.

Oli. Then lead the way, good father: — And
heavens so shine.
That they may fairly note this act of mine!

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Street before Olivl&'s House.

Enter Clown and Fabian.

Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.
Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request.
Fab. Any thing.
Clo. Do not desire to see this letter.

IV.

Act V.

TWELFTH-MGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

77

Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense,
desire my dog again.

Enter Dukk, Viola, and Attendants.

Duke. Belong you to the lady Oli^na, friends?

Clo. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.

Duke. 1 know thee well ; How dost thou, my good
fellow ?

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the
worse for my friends.

Duke. Just the contrary : the better for thy friends.

Clo. No, sir, the worse.

Duke. How can that be?

Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass
of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass:
so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge
of myself; and by my friends I am abused: so that,
conclusions to be as kisses, if your foiu: negatives
make your two affinnatives, why, then the worse
for my friends, and the better for my foes.

Duke. Why this is excellent.

Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you
to be one of my friends.

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me ; there's
gold.

C/o. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
you could make it another.

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel.

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it.

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be a
double-dealer; there's another.

Clo. Primo, secundo, terlio, is a good play: and
the old saying is, the third pays for all: the tri-
plex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells
of St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; One,
two, three.

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at
this throw; if you will let your lady know, I am
here to speak with her, and bring her along with
you, it may awake my bounty further.

Clo. Marrj', sii*, lullaby to your bounty, till I come
again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think,
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness :
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap,
I will awake it anon, [Exit Clown.

Enter Antonio and Officers.

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.

Duke. That face of his I do remember well;
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war:
A bawbling vessel was he captain of.
For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable:
With which such scathful *) grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet.
That very envy, and the tongue of loss,
Crj 'd fame and honour on him. — What's the matter ?

1 Off. Orsino, this is th-at Antonio,
That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy ;
And this is he, that did the Tiger board.
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg:
Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state.
In private brabble did we apprehend him.

Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side;
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me,
I know not what 'twas, but distraction.

Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies?

Ant. Orsino, noble sir.

Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me ;

Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate.

Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,

Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:

That most ungrateful boy there, by your side, .

From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth

Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was:

His life I gave him, and did thereto add

My love, without retention or restraint.

All his in dedication : for his sake.

Did I expose myself, pure for his love.

Into the danger of this adverse town;

Drew to defend him, when he was beset;

Where being apprehended, his false cunning,

(Not meaning to partake with me in danger,)

Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance.

And grew a twenty-years removed thing,

While one would wink; denied me mine own purse.

Which I had recommended to his use

Not half an hour before.

Vio. How can this be?

Duke. When came he to this town?

Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months before,
(No interim, not a minute's vacancy,)
Both day and night did we keep company.

Enter Olivia and Attendants.

Duke. Here comes the countess ; now heaven \> alks

on earth.

But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness :
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.

Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not have.
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

Vio. Madam?

Duke. Gracious Olivia,

Oli. What do you say, Cesario? Good my

lord,

Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me.

Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord.
It is as fat and fulsome -) to mine ear.
As howling after music.

Duke. Still so cruel?

Oli. Still so constant, lord.

Duke. What! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady.
To whose ingrate and miauspicious altars
My soul the faithfuU'st offerings hath breath'd out.
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?

Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be-
come him.

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief, 3) at point of death.
Kill what I love; a savage jealousy.
That sometime savours nobly ? — But hear me this :
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favoor.
Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still;
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love.
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
Hiin will I tear out of that cruel eye.
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. —
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mis-
chief:
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love.
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going.

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly.
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

[Following.

Oli. Wliere goes Cesario?

Vio. After hun I love.

More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife:

IV.

78

TWELFTH-NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act V,

If I do feign, you witnesses above,
Punish my life, for tainting of my love!

OH. Ah me, detested! how am I beguil'd!

J^io. \\ ho does beguile you ? who does do you wrong ?

OH. Hast thou forgot thyself V Is it so long? —
Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant.

Duke. Come away. [To Viola.

OH. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.

Duke. Husband?

OH. Ay, husband ; Can he that deny ?

Duke. Her husband, sirrah?

Vio. No, my lord, not I.

OH. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear,
That makes thee strangle thy propriety: *)
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up;
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fear'st. — O, welcome, father !

Re-enter Attendant and Priest.
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
Here to unfold (though lately we intended
To keep in darkness, what occasion now
Reveals before 'tis ripe,) what thou dost know,
Hath newly past between this youth and me.

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands.
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen'd by intei'changement of your rings; ^)
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my

grave,
I have travelled but two hours.

Duke. O, thou dissembling cubJ what wilt thou be.
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case? ')
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow.
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet,
Where thoii and I henceforth may never meet.

Vio. My lord, I do protest, —

OH. O, do not swear;

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.

Enter Sir Andrew Aguk-chekk, with his head
broke.

Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon; send
one presently to sir Toby.

OH. What's the matter?

Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has
given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the love
of God, your help: I had rather than forty pound,
I were at home.

OH. Who has done this, sir Andrew?

Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario : Ave
took him for a coward, but he's the very devil in-
cardinate.

Duke. My gentleman, Cesario?

Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke
my head for nothing; and that that I did, I was
set on to do't by sir Toby.

Vio. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you :
You drew your sword upon me, without cause;
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not.

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you
have hurt me ; I think, you set nothing by a bloody
coxcomb.

Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the
Clown.

Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more:
but if he had not been in di-ink, he would have
tickled you othergates than he did.
Duke. How now, gentleman? how is't with you?

Sir To. That's all one; he has hurt me, and
there's the end on't. — Sot, did'st see Dick sur-
geon, sot?

Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone; his
eyes were set at eight i'the mornhig.

Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy-mea-
sure, or a pavin, '') I hate a drunken rogue.

OH. Away with him: Who hath made this havock
with them?

Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll
be dressed together.

Sir To. Will you help ^) an ass-head, and a cox-
comb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull?

OH. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
[Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew,

Enter Sebastian.

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;
But, had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less, with wit and safety.
You throw a strange regard upon me, and
By that I do perceive it hath offended you;
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
We made each other but so late ago.

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two
persons ;
A natural perspective, ') that is, and is not.

Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio !
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me,
Since I have lost thee.

Ant. Sebastian are you?

Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio?

Ant. How have you made division of yourself? —
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

OH. Most wonderful!

Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother:
Nor can there be that deity in my nature.
Of here and every where. I had a sister,
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd: —
Of charity, '■^) what kin are you to me?

[To Viola.
What countryman? what name? what parentage?

Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father;
Such a Sebastian was my brother too.
So went he suited to his watery tomb :
If spirits can assume both form and suit
You come to fright us.

Seb. A spirit I am, indeed:

But am in that dimension grossly clad,
Which from the womb I did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
And say — Thrice welcome, drowned Viola!

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow.

Seb. And so had mine.

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth
Had number'd thirteen years.

Seb. O, that I'ecord is lively in my soul!
He finished, indeed, his mortal act,
That day that made my sister thirteen years.

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both,
But this my masculine usurp'd attire,
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump.
That I am Viola: which to confirm,
I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count;
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this lady and this lord.

Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook:

[To Olivia.

IV.

Act V.

TWELFTH-XIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

79

But nature to her bias drew iii that.
You would have been contracted to a maid;
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd.
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.

Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood. —
It" this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wreck:
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times,

\To Viola.
Thou never should'st lore woman like to me.

Vio. And all those sayings will I ovej-swear;
And all those swearings keep as true in soul.
As doth that orbed continent the fire
That severs day from night.

Duke. Give me thy hand;

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.

Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore,
Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action.
Is now in durance; at Malvolio's suit.
And gentlemein, and follower of my lady's.

OU. He shall enlarge him: — Fetch Malvolio hi-
ther: —
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.

Re-enter Clown, with a Letter.

A most extracting frenzy * ') of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banished his. —
How does he, sirrah?

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the
stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do : he
has here Avrit a letter to you, I should have given
it you to-day morning; but as a madman's epistles
are no gospels, so it skills not much, Avhen they
are delivered.

Oli. Open it, and read it.

Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool
delivers the madman: — By the Lord, madam, —

OU. How now! art thou mad?

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must
allow vox. ^-)

Oli. Pr'ythee, read i'thy right wits.

Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right wits,
i s to read thus : therefore perpend, my princess,
and give ear.

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabuk.

Fab. [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, you wrong
me, and the world sJiall know it : though you have
put me into darkness, and given your drunken
cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my
senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own
letter that induced me to the semblance I put on ;
with the which I doubt not but to do myself much
right, or you much shame. Think of me as you
please. I leave my duty a little unthought of,
and speak out of my injury.

The madly-uted Malvolio.

Oli. Did he write this?
Clo. Ay, madam.

Duke. This savours not much of distraction.
Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian ; bring him hither.

[Exit Fabian.
My lord, so please you, these things further

thought on.
To think me as well a sister as a >vife,
One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you.
Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your

offer. —
Your master quits you; [to Viola] and, for your
service done him,

So much against the mettle of your sex.
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you call'd me master for so long,
Here is my hand; you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.
Oli. A sister? — you are she.

Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio.
Duke. Is this the madman?

Oli. Ay, my lord, this same :

How now, Malvolio ?

Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong.

Notorious v?rong.

Oli. Have I, INIalvolio? no.

Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter:
You must not now deny it is your hand.
Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase;
Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention:
Y'ou can say none of this: Well, grant it then.
And tell me, in the modesty of honour.
Why you have given me such clear light of favour;
Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you.
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people:
And, acting this in an obedient hope.
Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd.
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest.
And made the most notorious geek, ' ^) and gull.
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why.

Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing.
Though, I confess, much like the character:
But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me, thou wast mad; then cam'st in

smiling.
And in such forms which here were presuppos'd
Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content:
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee :
But, when we know the grounds and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak;

And let no quaurel, nor no brawl to come.
Taint the condition of this present hour.
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby,
Set this device against Rlalvolio here.
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
We had conceiv'd against him: Maria writ
The letter, at sir Toby's great unportance; »*)
In recompense whereof, he hath mamed her.
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd.
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge;
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd.
That have on both sides past.

Oli. Alas, poor fool! how have they baffled thee!

Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve
\ greatness,' and some have greatness thrown upon
them. I was one, sir, in this interlude; one sir
Topas, sir; but that's all one: — By the Lord,
fool, I am not mad; — But do you remember?
Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal?
an you smile not, he's gagg'd: And thus the whirl-
igig of time brings in his revenges.

Mai. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of yon.

[Exit.

OU. He hath been most notoriously abus'd.

Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: —
He hath not told us of the captain yet;
When that is known and golden time convents, )
A solemn combination shall be made
Of our dear souls — Mean time, sweet sister.
We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come;

IV. _^^___

80

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Act V.

For so you shall be, while you are a man;

But, when in other habits you are seen,

Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Ezeunt.

Song.

Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy.
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came to man's estate.
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gale.
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came, alas! to wive.

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

By swaggering could I never thrive.
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came unto my bed.

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

With toss-pots still had drunken head,
For the rain it raineth every day.

A great while ago the world begun.
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain.

But that's all one, our play is done.

And we'll strive to please you every day.

[Exit.

IV.

V.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

PEBSONS aEPBESENTED.

VicENTio, Duke of Vienna.

Angblo, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence.

EscALus, an ancient Lord, joined with Angelo in

the deputation.
Claudio, a young Gentleman.
Lucio, a Fantastic.
Two other like Gentlemen.
Varrius, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke.
Provost.
Thomas, )
Pbtkr, )
A Justice.

two Friar*.

Elbow, a simple Constable.
B^oTH, a foolish Gentleman.
Clown, Servant to Mrs. Over-done.
Abhorson, an Executioner.
Barnardikb, a dissolute Prisoner.
FsABELLA, Sister to Claudio.
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo.
JuLiBT, beloved by Claudio.
Francisca, a Nun.
Mistress Ovkr-dokk, a Bawd.
Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other At-
tendants.

ScKNB — Vienna.

ACT I.

SCENE I. An Apartment in f/te D u k e ' « Palace.

Enter Doke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants.

Duke.

EsCAtDS,

Escal. My lord.

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold.
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse;
Since I am put to know, ') that yoiur own science
Exceeds, in that, the lists -) of all advice
My strength can give you : Then no more remains
But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able.
And let them work. ^) The nature of our people.
Our city's institutions, and the terms
For common justice, you are as pregnant in.
As art and practice hath enriched any
That we remember: There is our commission.
From which we would not have you warp. — Call

hither,
I say, bid come before us Angelo.

\Exit an Attendant.
What figure of us think you he will bear?
For you must know, we have with special soul
Elected him "*) our absence to supply:
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love:
And given his deputation all the organs
Of our own power: What think you of it?

Escal. If any in Viemia be of worth
To undergo such ample grace and honour.
It is lord Angelo.

Enter Angelo.

Duke. Look, where he comes.

Ang. Always obedient to yoiur grace's will,
I come to know your pleasure.

Duke. Angelo,

There is a kind of character in thy life,
That, to the observer, doth thy history
Fully unfold: Thyself and thy belongings *)

Are not thine own so proper, ') as to waste

Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee.

Heaven doth >vith us, as we with torches do :

Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues

Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd.

But to fine issues: ■) nor nature never lends

The smallest scruple of her excellence,

But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines

Herself the glory of a creditor.

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech

To one that can my part in him advertise; <*)

Hold therefore, Angelo;

In our remove, be thou at full ourself:

Mortality and mercy in Vienna

Live in thy tongue and heart: ') Old Escalus,

Though first in question, ^") is thy secondary:

Take thy coimnission.

Ang. Now, good my lord.

Let there be some more test made of my metal.
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stamp'd upon it.

Duke. No more evasion:

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition.
That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you.
As time and our concernings shall unpdrtune.
How it goes with us; and do look to know
What doth befall you here. So, farfr you well:
To the hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions.

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord,

That we may bring you something on the way.

Duke. My haste may not admit it;
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
With any scruple: your scope is as mine own:
So to enforce, or qualify the laws,
As to your soul seems good. Give me your band;
I'll privily away: I love the people,

82

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act I.

But do not like to stage me to their eyes :
Though it do Avell, I do not relish well*
Their loud applause, and aves yehement:
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion,
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes !

Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness.

Duke. I thank you: Fare you well. [Exit.

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
To look into the bottom of my place;
A power I have; but of what strength and nature
I am not yet instructed.

Ang. 'Tis so with me : — Let us w ithdraw together,
And we may soon our satisfaction have
Touching that point.

Eical, I'll wait upon your honour.

\Exeunt.

SCENE IL

A Street.

Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.

Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come
not to composition with the king of Hungary, why,
then all the dukes fall upon the king.

1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the
king of Hungary's!

2 Gent. Amen.

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pi-
rate, that went to sea with the ten conunandments,
but scraped one out of the table.

2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal?

Lucio. Ay, that he razed.

1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to command
the captain and all the rest from their functions;
they put forth to steal : There's not a soldier of us
all, thai, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth re-
lish the petition well that prays for peace.

2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it.
Lucio. I believe thee; for, I think, thou never wast

where grace was said.

2 Gent. No ? a dozen times at least.

1 Gent. What? in metre?

Lucio. In any proportion, or in any language.

1 Gent. I think, or in any religion.

Lucio. Ah! why not? Grace is grace, despite of
all controversy. As for example: Thou thyself art
a wicked villain, despite of all grace.

1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers be-
tween us. ^ *)

Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and
the velvet: Thou art the list.

1 Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art good velvet ;
thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee: I had
as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be pil'd,
as thou art pil'd, for a French velvet. Do I speak
feelingly now?

Lucio. 1 think thou dost; and, indeed, with most
painful feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine
own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst
I live, forget to drink after thee.

1 Gent. Ithink, I have done myself wrong; havelnot?

2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art
tainted, or free.

Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation
comes! 1 have purchased as many diseases under
her roof, as come to —

2 Ge7it. To what, I pray?

1 Gent. Judge.

2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a-year.
1 Gent. Ay, and more.

Lucio. A French crown more.

1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me:
but thou art full of error; I am sound.

Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but
so sound, as things that are hollow: thy bones are
hollow; impiety has made a feast of thee.

Enter Bawd.

1 Gent. How now? Which of your hips has the
most profound sciatica?

Bawd. Well, well; there's one ypnder arrested, and
carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all.

1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee?

Bawd. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, signior Claudio.

1 Gent. Claudio to prison! 'tis not so.

Bawd. Nay, but I know, 'tis so: I saw him ar-
rested ; saw him carried away ; and, which is more,
within these three days his head's to be chopped off.

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have
it so: Art thou sure of this?

Bawd. I am too sure of it: and it is for getting
madam Julietta with child.

Lucio. Believe me, this may be: he promised to
meet me two hours since ; and he was ever precise
in promise-keeping.

2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something
near to the speech we had to such a purpose.

1 Gent. But most of all, agi'eeing with the proclamation.

Lucio. Away; let's go learn the truth of it.

[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen.

Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the
sweat, what with the gallows, and what with po-
verty, I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the
news with you?

Enter Clown.

Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison.

Bawd. Well; what has he done?

Clo. A woman.

Bawd. But Avhat's his offence?

Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.

Bawd. Wiiet, is there a maid with child by him?

Clo. No ; but there's a woman with maid by him :
You have not heard of the proclamation, have you?

Bawd. What proclamation, man?

Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be
pluck'd down.

Bawd. And what shall become of those in the city?

Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had gone down
too, but that a wise burgher put in for them.

Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the
suburbs be puU'd down?

Clo. To the ground, mistress.

Bawd. Why, here's a change, indeed, in the com-
monwealth! What shall become of me?

Clo. Come; fear not you: good counsellors lack
no clients: though you change your place, you need
not change your trade ; I'll be your tapster still.
Courage; there will be pity taken on you : you that
have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you
will be considered.

Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's
withdraw.

Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the pro-
vost to prison: and there's madam Juliet. [Exeunt.

SCENE IIL

The same.

Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers;
Lucio, and two Gentlemen.

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to
the world?
Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Act I.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

83

Prov. I do it not in evil disposition.
But from lord Angelo by special charge.

Claud. Thus can the demi-god. Authority,
IMake us pay down for our offence by weight. —
The words of heaven; — on whom it will, it will;
On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes
this restraint?

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
As surfeit is the father of much fast.
So every scope by the immoderate use.
Turns to restraint; Our natures do pursue,
(Like rats that ravin '-) down their proper bane,)
A thirsty evil : and when we drink, we die.

Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest,
I would send for certain of my creditors : And yet,
to say the truth, I had as lief have tlie foppery of
freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's
thy offence, Claudio?

Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again.

Lucio. What is it? murder?

Claud. No.

Lucio. Lechery? >

Claud. Call it so.

Prov. Away, sir; you must go.

Claud. One word, good friend : — Lucio, a word
with you. [Takes him tutide.

Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. —
Is lechery so look'd after?

Claud. Thus stands it with me: — Upon a true
contract,
I got possession of Julietta's bed ;
You know the lady; she is fast my wife.
Save that we do the denunciation lack
Of outward order: this we came not to.
Only for propagation of a dower
Remaining in the coffer of her friends ; * ^)
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love.
Till time had made them for us. But it chances.
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment.
With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.

Lucio. With child, perhaps?

Claud. Unhappily, even so.
And the new deputy now for the duke, —
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness; '■*)
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur:
Whether the tyranny be in his place.
Or in his eminence that fills it up,
I stagger in: — But this new governor
Awakes me all the enroU'd penalties,
W'hich have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round.
And none of them been worn; and, for a name.
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me: — 'tis surely, for a name.

Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so tickle * *)
on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love,
may sigh ijt off. Send after the duke, and appeal to him.

Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
This day my sister should the cloister enter.
And there receive her approbation; "')
Acquaint her with the danger of my state;
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him;
I have great hope in that: for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialect, ")
Such as moves men; beside, she hath prosperous art
When she will play with reason and discourse.
And well she c£ui persuade.

Lucio. 1 pray, she may: as well for the encou-
ragement of the like, which else would stand under
grievous imposition; as for the enjoying of thy life,
who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost
at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her.

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio.

Lucio. Within two hours,

Claud. Come, officer, away. [Exeunt.

SCENE rv.

A Monastertf.
Enter Dckb and Friar Thomas.

Duke. No, holy father; throw away that thought;
Believe not that the dribbling dart ' «) of love
Can pierce a complete bosom: why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled than the auns and ends
Of burning youth.

Fn. May your grace speak of it?

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you
How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd; ")
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies.
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery -**)

keeps. - *)
I have deliver'd to lord Angelo
(A man of stricture, find firm abstinence,)
My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear.
And so it is receiv'd: Now, pious sir.
You will demand of me, why I do this?

Fri. Gladly, my lord.

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws,
(The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,)
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep;
Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave.
That goes not out to prey: Now, as fond fathers
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch.
Only to stick it in their children's sight.
For terror, not to use; in time the rod
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd : so our decrees.
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.

Fri. It rested in your grace

To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd.
Than in lord Angelo.

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful :

Sith --) 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them
For what I bid them do: For we bid this be done.
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my

father,
I have on Angelo impos'd the office;
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home.
And yet my nature never in the sight.
To do it slander: And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee.
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action.
At our more leisure shall I render you;
Only, this one: — Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard ^^) with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone: Hence shall we see.
If power change purpose, what oar seemers be. [Exeunt,

84

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act II.

SCENE V.

A Nunnery.

Enter Isabeli,a and Francisca.

Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges?

Fran. Are not these large enough?

Isab. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more;
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sister-hood, the votaiists of saint Clare.

Lucio. Ho! Peace be in this place! [JFithin.

Isab. Who's that which calls?

Fran. It is a man's voice: Gentle Isabella,
Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn:
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men,
But in the presence of the prioress:
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face;
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again: I pray you answer him.

[Exit Francisca,
Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls?

Enter Lucio.

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me.
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place, and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?

Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask;
The rather, for I now must make you know
That I am Isabella, and his sister.

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets
you:
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

Isab. Woe to me! For what?

Lucio. For that, which if myself might be his judge.
He should receive his punishment in thanks:
He hath got his friend with child.

Isab. Sir, make me not your story. -^)

Lucio. It is true.

I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing, - '•) and to jest.
Tongue far from heart, — play with all virgins so:
I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted:
By your renouncement, an immortal spirit;
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.

Isab. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me.

Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus :
Your brother and his lover have embrac'd:
As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison;-'') even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth -') and husbandry.

Isab. Some one with child by him? — My cousin
Juliet ?

Lucio. Is she your cousin?

Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names.
By vain though apt affection.

Lucio. She it is.

Isab. O, let him marry her!

Lucio. ^ Thh is the point.

The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one.
In hand, and hope of action: ^s) ^uj ^g j^ 1^^^
By those that know the very nerves of state.
His givings out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Governs lord Angelo : a man, whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense;

But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He (to give fear to use - 9) and liberty.
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act.
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigour of the statute.
To make him an example; all hope is gone.
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo: And that's my pith
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother.
Isab. Doth he seek his life?

Lucio. Has censured him'<»)

Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his execution.

Isab. Alas! what poor ability's in me
To do him good?

Lucio. Assay the power you have.

Isab. My power! Alas! I doubt, —
Lucio. Our doubts are traitors.

And make us lose the good we oft might win.
By fearing to attempt: Go to lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel,
All their petitions are as freely theirs
As they themselves would owe ^^) them.
Isab. I'll see what I can do.
Lucio. But, speedily.

Isab. I will about it straight;
No longer staying but to give the mother
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
Commend me to my brother: soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.
Lucio. I take my leave of you.
Isab. Good sir, adieu.

['Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Hall in Angelo'« House.

Enter ATSiGKi.0, Escaltjs, a Justice, Provost,')
Officers, and other Attendants.

Atig. We must not make a scare-crow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.

Escal. Ay, but yet

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little.
Than fall, and bruise to death: Alas! this gentleman,
Whom 1 would save, had a most noble father.
Let but your honour know,
(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,)
That in the working of your own affections.
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing,
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose,
Whether you had not sometime in your life
Err'd in this point which now you censure him.
And pull'd the law upon you.

Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny.
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life.
May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try : What's open made to justice,
That justice seizes. What know the laws,
Thatthieves do pass on thieves? -) 'Tis vei-y pregnant,^)
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take It,
Because we see it; but what we do not see,
We tread upon, and never think of it.

Act II.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

85

You may not so extenuate his offence.

For I have had such faults; but rather tell me.

When I, that censure him, do so offend.

Let mine own judgment pattern out my death.

And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

Etcal. Be it as your wisdom will.

Aug. Where is the proTost?

ProF. Here, if it like your honour.

Aug. See that Claudio

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning:
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared;
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.

[Exit Provost.

E$eal. Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!
Some rise by sin, und some by virtue fall:
Some mn from brakes of vice, •*) and answer none;
And some condemned for a fault alone.

Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, ^c.

Eib. Come, bring them away: if these be good
people in a common-weal, that do nothing but use
their abuses in common houses, I know no law;
bring them away.

Aug. How now, sir! What's your name? and what's
the matter?

Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's
constable, and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon
justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good
honour two notorious benefactors.

Ang. Benefactors ? Well ; what benefactors are they ?
are they not malefactors?

Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well
what they are : but precise villains they are, that I
am sure of: and void of all profanation in the world,
that good christians ought to have.

Etcal. This comes off well ; here's a wise officer.

Ang. Go to : What quality are they of? Elbow is
your name? Why dost thou not speak. Elbow?

Clo. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.

Ang. What are yon, sir?

Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that
serves a I»ad woman ; whose house, sir, was, as they
say, pluck'd down in the suburbs; and now she pro-
fesses a hot-house, which, I think, is a ver^' ill house too.

Etcal. How know you that?

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest *) before heaven
and jour honour, —

Etcal. How! thy wife?

Elb. Ay, sir ; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest
woman, —

Etcal. Dost thou detest her therefore?

Elb. I say, sir, I will detest m\self also, as well
as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

Etcal. How dost thou know that, constable?

Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been
a woman cardinally given, might have been accused
in fornication, adultery, and all micleanliness there.

Etcal. By the woman's means?

Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone's means: but
as she spit in his face, so she dehed him.

Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou ho-
nourable man, prove it.

Etcal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? [To Akcelo.

Clo. Sir, she came ui great with child ; and long-
ing (saving your honour's reverence,) for stew'd
prunes ; sir, we had but two in the house, which at
that very distemt time stood, as it were, in a fruit-
dish, a (fish of some three-pence ; your honours have
seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but
very good dishes.

Etcal. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir.

Clo. No indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein
in the right: but, to the point: As I say, this mistress
Elbow, being, as I say, with child, aiid being g^eat
belly'd, and longing, as I said, for prunes; and hav-
ing but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth here,
this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and,
as I say, paying for them very honestly ; — for, as
you know, master F'roth, I could not give you three-
pence again.

Froth. No, indeed.

Clo. Very well : you being then, if you be remem-
ber'd, cracking the stones of the aforesaid prunes.

Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed.

Clo. Why, very well: I telling you then, if you
be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one,
were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they
kept very good diet, as I told you.

Froth. All this is true.

Clo. Why, very well then.

Etcal. Come, you are a tedious fool: to the pur-
pose. — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he
hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was
done to her.

Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

Etcal. No, sir, nor I mean it not.

Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's
leave: And, I beseech you, look into master Froth
here, sir: a man of fourscore pound a year; whose
father died at Hallowmas : — Was't not at Hallow-
mas, master Froth?

Froth. All-hollond eve. ')

Clo. Why, very well; I hope here be truths: He,
sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; — 'twas
in the Bunch of Grapet, where, indeed, you have a
delight to sit: Have you not?

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room, and
good for winter.

Clo. Why, very well then; — I hope here be truths.

Ang. This will last out a night in Russia,
When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave.
And leave you to the hearing of the cause;
Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all.

Etcal. I think no less: Good morrow to your lordship.

[Exit A>CBLO.
Now, sir, come on : What was done to Elbow's wife,
once more?

Clo. Once, sir ? there was nothing done to her once.

Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did
to my wife?

Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me.

Etcal. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?

Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's
face: — Good master F'roth, look upon his honour:
'tis for a good purpose: Doth your honour mark
his face?

Etcal. Ay, sir, very well.

Clo. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.

Etcal. Well, I do so.

Clo. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?

Etcal. Why, no.

Clo. I'll be supposed ") upon a book, his face is
the worst thing about him: Good then; if his face
be the worst thing about him, how could master
Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would
know that of your honoui-.

Etcal. He's in the right: Constable, what say you
to it?

Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected
house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his unstress
is a respected woman.

Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected
person than any of us all.

£/6.-Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varl^:

86

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act II.

the time is yet to come, that she was ever respected,
with man, woman, or child.

Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he
married with her.

Escal. Which is the wiser here? Justice, or In-
iquity? ^) — is this true?

Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked
Hannibal! ') I respected with her, before I was mar-
ried to her? If ever I was respected with her, or
she with me, let not your worship think me the poor
duke's officer: — Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal,
or I'll have mine action of battery on thee.

Escal. If he took you a box o'th' ear, you might
have your action of slander too.

Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it:
What is't your worship's pleasure I should do with
this wicked caitiff?

Escal. Truly, officer, because he has some offences
in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst,
let him continue in his courses, till thou know'st what
they are.

Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it: — Thou
seest, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon
thee; thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou
art to continue.

£sca/. .Where were you born, friend? [To F&oth.

Froth. Here in Vienna, sir.

Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

Froth. Yes, and't ' "} please you, sir.

Escal. So. — What trade are you of, sir?

[To the Clown.

Clo. A tapster: a poor widow's tapster.

Escal. Your mistress's name?

Clo. Mistress Ovei-done.

Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband?

Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last.

Escal. Nine! — Come hither to me, master Froth.
Muster Froth, I would not have you acquainted with
tapsters; they will draw you, master Froth, and you
will hang them : Get you gone, and let me hear no
more of you.

Froth. I thank your worship ; For mine own part,
I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am
drawn in.

Escal. Well; no more of it, master Froth: fare-
well. [Exit Froth.] — Come you hither to me, master
tapster; what's your name, master tapster?

Clo. Pompey.

Escal. What else?

Clo. Bum, sir.

Escal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing
about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are
Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd,
Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster.
Are you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the
better for you.

Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would live.

Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a
bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey?
is it a lawful trade?
Clo. If the law would allow it, sir?

Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey ; nor
it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all
the youth in the city?

Escal. No, Pompey.

Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't

then: If your worship will take order '') for the

drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.
Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can

tell you: it is but heading and hanging.
Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that way

but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out

a commission for more heads. If this law hold in
Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it,
after three-pence a bay: '-) If you live to see this
come to pass, say, Pompey told you so.

Escal. Thank you, good Pompey : and, in requital
of your prophecy, hark you, — I advise you, let me
not find you before me again upon any complaint
\Yhatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you do; if
I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and
prove a shrewd Cassar to you; in plain dealing,
Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so for this time,
Pompey, fare you well.

Clo. 1 thank your worship for your good counsel;
but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall
better determine.

Whip me? No, no, let carman whip his jade;
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit.

Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow: come
hither, master Constable. How long have you been
in this place of constable?

Elb. Seven year and a half, sir.

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office,
you had continued in it some time: You say, seven
years together?

Elb. And a half, sir.

Escal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you! They
do you wrong to put you so oft upon't : Are there
not men in your ward sufficient to serve it?

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters:
as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for
them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through
with all.

Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some
six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish.

Elb. To your worship's house, sir?

Escal. To my house : Fare you well. [Exit Elbow.
What's o'clock, think you?

Just. Eleven, sir.

Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me.

Just. I humbly thank you.

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio;
But there's no remedy.

Just. Lord Angelo is severe.

Escal. It is but needful:

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
But yet, — Poor Claudio! — There's no remedy.
Come, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another Room in the same.

Enter Provost and a Servant.

Serv. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight.
I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you do. [Exit Servant.] I'll know
His pleasure: may be, he will relent: Alas,
He hath but as offended in a dream!
All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
To die for it! —

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost?

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ?

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again?

Prov. Lest I might be too rash:

Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ans:. Go to; let that be mine:

Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spar'd.

V.

Act II.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

87

Prov. I crave y<ur honour's pardon. —

What shall be done, sir, >Yith the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang. Dispose of her

To some more fitter place; and that with speed.

Re-enter Servant.

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd.
Desires access to you.

Ang. Hath he a sister?

Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid.
And to be shortly of a sisterhood.
If not already.

Ang. Well, let her be admitted.

[Exit Servant.
See you, the fornicatress be remav'd ;
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There shall be order for it.

Enter Lucio and Isabella.

Prov. Save your honour! [Offering to retire.

Ang. Stay a little while. — [To Isab.] You are
welcome: What's your will?

Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.

Ang. Well, what's your suit?

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor.
And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
B'or which I must not plead, but that I am
At war, 'tvvixt will, and will not.

Ang. Well; the matter?

liub. I have a brother is condemn'd to die :
I do beseech you, let it be his fault.
And not my brother. ' ^)

Prov. Heaven give thee moTing graces!

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it!
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done:
iMine were the very cipher of a function.
To find the faults, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Isab. O just, but severe law !

I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honour !

[Retiring.

Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him again,
intreat him;
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold: if you should need a pin.
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:
To him, I say.

Isab. Must he needs die?

Ang. Maiden, no remedy.

Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him.
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.

Ang. I will not do't.

Isab. But can you, if you would?

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong.
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse '*)
As mme is to him?

Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.

Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella.

Isab. Too late? why, no; I that do speak a word.
May call it back again: Well, believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs.
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword.
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe.
Become them with one half so good a grace,
As mercy does. If he had been as you.
And you as he, you would have slipt like him; •
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.

Ang. Pray you, begone.

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency.

And you were Isabel; shonid it then be thus?
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Atide.

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.

I»ab. Alas! alas!

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
And He that might the vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy: How would you be.
If he, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips.
Like man new made. * *)

Ang. Be you content, fair maid.

It is the law, not I, condemns yo>ir brother:
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son.
It should be thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow.

Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him,
spare him:
He's not prepar'd for death ! Even for our kitchens
We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven
With less respect than we do minister
To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you:
Who is it that hath died for this offence?
There's many have committed it.

Lucio. Ay, well said.

Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept :
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil.
If the first man that did the edict infringe.
Had answ er'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake :
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet.
Looks in a glass, ' ') that shows what future e^ils,
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd.
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,)
Are now to have no successive degrees.
But, where they live, to end. ' ^)

Isab. Yet show some pity.

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice;
For then I pity those I do not know.
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
And do him right, that answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ;
Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this sentence;
And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

Lucio. That's well said.

Isab. Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet.
For every pelting, ' *) petty officer,
Would use his heaven for thunder: nothing but

thunder.

Merciful heaven !

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,

Split'st the unvvedgeable and gnarled o.ik, ")

Than the soft myrtle ; — O, but man, proud man! -<*)

Drest in a little brief authority;

INIost ignorant of what he's most assur'd.

His glassy essence, — like an angry ape.

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven.

As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens.

Would all themselves laugh mortal.-*)

Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent;
He's coming, I perceive't.

Prov. Pray heaven, she win him!

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself:
Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them;
But, in the less, foul profanation.

Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl; more o' that.

Itab. That in the captain's but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

88

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act II.

Lucio. Art advisM o' that? more on't.

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me?

Isab. Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself.
That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ;
Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

Ang. She speaks, and 'tis

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare

you well.

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.

Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to-morrow.

/sai. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Goodmy lord, turnback.

Ang. How! bribe me?

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share
with you.

Lucio. You had niarr'd all else.

Isab. Not w ith fond shekels - -) of the tested gold, - ^)
Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor,
As fancy values them: but with true prayers.
That shall be up at heaven, and enter thei-e.
Ere sun-rise : prayers from preserved souls, - "*)
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang. Well : come to me
To-morrow.

Lucio. Go to; it is well; away. [Aside to Isabel.

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe!

Ang. Amen: for I

Am that way going to temptation, [Jside.

Where prayers cross. - *)

Isab. At what hour to-morrow

Shall I attend your lordship?

Ang. At any time 'fore noon.

Isab. Save yoiu- honour !

[Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost.

Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue! —

What's this? what's this? Is this her fault, or mine?
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? Ha!
Not she; nor doth she tempt: but it is I,
That lying by the violet, in the sun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough.
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our evils there? O, fy, fy, fy!
What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully, for those things
That make her good? O, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her.
That I desire to hear her speak again.
And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
O cunning enemy, that to catch a saint.
With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art, and nature,

Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid

Subdues me quite; — Ever, till now,

When men were fond, I smil'd and wonder'd how.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Room in a Prison.

Enter Dckk, habited like-a Friar, and Provost.

Duke. Hail to you, provost! so, I think, you are.
Prov. I am the provost : What's your will, good friar ?

Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order,
I come to visit the afflicted spirits
Here in the prison: do me the common right
To let me see them; and to make me know
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
To them accordingly.

Prov. I would do more than that, ifmore were needful.

Enter Julirt.

Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
Who falling in the flames of her own youth.
Hath blister'd her report: She is with child;
And he that got it, sentenc'd : a young man
More fit to do another such offence.
Than die for this.

Duke. When must he die?

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. —
I have provided for you; stay a while, [To Juliet.
And you shall be conducted.

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry ?

Juliet. I do; and bear the shame most patiently.

Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your

conscience,
And try your penitence, if it be sound.
Or hollowly put on.

Juliet. I'll gladly learn.

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you?

Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.

Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act
was mutually committed?

Juliet. Mutually.

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter: But lest you do
repent, - ')
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, —
Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven;
Showing, we'd not spare heaven, ^^) as we love it.
But as we stand in fear.

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ;
And take the shame with joy.

Duke. There rest. -")

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him. —
Grace go with you! Benedicite! [Exit.

Juliet. Must die to-inorrow! O, injurious love, ^')
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!

Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Angelo'* House.

Enter Angelo.

Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words;
Whilst my invention, ^°) hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth.
As if I did but only chew his name;
And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception: The state, whereon 1 studied.
Is like a good thing, being often read.
Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity.
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride.
Could I, with boot, ^') change for an idle plume.
Which the air beats for vain. ^-) O place! O form!
How often dost thou with thy case, ^^) thy habit.
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming? Blood, thou still art blood:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,
'Tis not the devil's crest.-''')

V.

Act II.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

89

Enter Servant.

How now, who*s there?

Serv. One Isabel, a sister.

Desires access to you.

Ang. Teach her the w ay. [Exit Serv.

0 heavens!

Why does ray blood thus muster to my heart;

INIaklng both it unable for itself.

And dispossessing all the other parts

Of necessary fitness?

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;

Come all to help him, and so stop the air

By which he should revive: and even so

The general, ^*) subject to a well-wish'd king.

Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness

Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love

Must needs appear offence.

Enter Isjibblla.

How now, fair maid?

hah. I am come to know your pleasure.

Ang. That you might know it, would much better
please me,
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

Isab. Even so? — Heaven keep your honour!

[Retiring.

Ang. Yet may he live a while; and it may be.
As long as you, or I : yet he must die.

Itab. Under your sentence?

Ang. Yea.

Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve.
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted.
That his soul sicken not.

Ang. Ha ! Fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen
A man already made, ^'') as to remit
Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image.
In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
Falsely to take away a life true made,
As to put mettle in restrained means.
To make a false one.

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.

Ang. Say you so? then I shall poze you quickly.
Which had you rather. That the most just law
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness,
As she that he hath stam'd?

Isab. Sir, believe this,

1 had rather give my body than my soul. ^")
Ang. I talk not of your soul; Our compell'd sins

Stand more for number than accompt.

Isab. How say you?

Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
Against the thing I say. Answer to this; —
1, now the voice of the recorded law.
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
IMight there not be a charity in sin.
To save this brother's life?

Isab. Please you to do't,

I'll take it as a peril to my soul.
It is no sin at all, but charity.

Ang, Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul, ^^)
Were equal poize of sin and charity.

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin.
Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit.
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
To have it added to the faults of mine.
And nothing of your answer.

Ang. Nay, but hear me:

Your sense pursues not mine: either you are igno-
rant.
Or seem so, .craftily ; and that's not good.

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,
But graciously to know I am no better.
Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright,
When it doth tax itself: as these black masks
Proclaim an enshield beauty *') ten times louder
Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me;
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
Your brother is to die.

Isab. So.

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears
Accountant to the law upon that pain.*")

Isab. True.

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,
(As I subscribe not that, **') nor any other.
But in the loss of question,) *-) that you, his sister,
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person.
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place.
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of the all-binding law; and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your body
To this supposed, or else let him suffer; *^)
What would you do?

Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself;
That is. Were I under the terms of death.
The unpression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies.
And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.

Ang. Then must your brother die.

Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way:
Better it were, a brother died at once.
Than that a sister, by redeeming him.
Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
That you have slander'd so?

Isab. Ignomy in ransom, **) and free pardon.
Are of two houses: lawful mercy is
Nothing akin to foul redemption.

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;
And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
A merriinent than a vice.

Isab. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out.
To have what we'd have, we speak not what we mean:
I something do excuse the thing I hate.
For his advantage that I dearly love.

Ang. We are all frail.

Isab. Else let my brother die,

If not a feodary, but only he, "**)
Owe, and succeed by weakness.

Ang. Nay, women are frail too.

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves ;
Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
Women! — Help heaven! men their creation mar
In profiting by them. "'•) Nay, call us ten times frail;
For we are soft as our complexions are.
And credulous to false prints. *')

Ang. I think it •well:

And from this testimony of your own sex,
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger
Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold; —
I do arrest your words: Be that you are.
That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
If you be one, (as you are well express'd
By all external warrants,) show it now.
By putting on the destin'd livery.

Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord.
Let me intreat you speak the former language.

Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you.

Isab. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me.
That he shall die for it.

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

Isab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, *')

V.

90

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act III.

Which seems a little fouler than it is,
To pluck on others.

Ang. Believe me on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd.
And most pernicious purpose! — seeming! seem-

ing! - ^')
T will proclaim thee, Angelo: look for't:
Sign me a |)resent pardon for my brother,
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world
Aloud, what man thou art.

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel?

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life.
My vouch against you, and my place i'the state,
Will so your accusation overweigh.
That you shall stifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny. I have begun;
And now I give my sensual race the rein:
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes.
That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother
13y yielding up thy body to my will;
Or else he must not only die the death.
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To lingering sufferance : answer me to-morrow,
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him: as for you.
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. [Exit.

Isab. To whom shall I complain? Did I tell this.
Who would believe meV O perilous mouths.
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof!
Bidding the law make court'sy to their will;
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite.
To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother:
Though he hath fallen by prompture ^") of the blood,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up.
Before his sister should her body stoop
To such abhorr'd pollution.
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die;
More than our brother is our chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request.
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit.

ACT III.

Scene I. A Room in the Prison.
Enter Dukk, Claudio, and Provost.

Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo?

Claud. The miserable have no other medichie.
But only hope;
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life.
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life, —
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep : ') a breath thou art,
(Servile to all the skley influences,)
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st.
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour' st by thy flight to shun.
And yet run'st toward him still: Thou art not noble;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st,
Arenurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep.
And that thou oft provok'«t; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. -) Thou art not thyself;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains

That issue out of dust: Happy thou art not:
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;
And what thou hast, forget'st: Thou art not certain:
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, ^)
After the moon: If thou art rich, thou art poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows.
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee: Friend hast thou none:
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins.
Do curse the gout, serpigo, "*) and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth,

nor age;
But, as it were, an after- dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld; *) and when thou art old, and rich.
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty.
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this.
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To sue to life, I find, I seek to die;
And, seeking death, find life: Let it come on.

Enter Isabblla.

Isab. What, ho! Peace here; grace and good
company !

Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a
welcome.

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

Prov. Most holy sir, I thank you.

Isab. My business Is a woi'd or two with Claudio.

Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's
your sister.

Duke. Provost, a word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

Duke. Bring them to speak, ^) where I may be
conceal'd.
Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort?

Isab. Why, as all comforts are; most good indeed: ')
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven.
Intends you for his swift embassador.
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger:
Therefore your best appointment") make with speed;
To-morrow you set on.

Claud. Is there no remedy ?

Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head,
To cleave a heart In twain.

Claud. But is there any?

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live;
There is a devilish mercy in the judge.
If you'll Implore it, that will free your life.
But fetter you till death.

Claud. Pei'petual durance?

Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint.
Though all the world's vastidlty you had.
To a determin'd scope. ')

Claud. But in what nature?

Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't)
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear.
And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the point.

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake.
Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain.
And six or seven winters more respect
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most In apprehension;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon.
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.

V.

Act jit.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

91

Claud. Why give you me this shame?

Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness? If I must die:
I will encounter darkness as a bride.
And hug it in mine arms.

Jtab. There spake my brother ; there ray father's graTe
Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die :
Thou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, —
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i'the head, and follies doth enmew, *°)
As falcon doth the fowl • ' ) — is yet a de^il ;
His filth within being cast, *-) he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claucf. The princely Angelo?

Jtab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell.
The dainned'st body to invest and cover
In princely guards! *^) Dost thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity.
Thou might'st be freed V

Claud. O, heavens! it cannot be.

Jtab. Yes, he would give it thee, from tliis rank
ofl'ence, •*)
So to oifend him still: This night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name.
Or else thou diest to-morrow.

Claud. Thou shalt not do't.

hab. O, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel.

Jtab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.

Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him.
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose ;
When he would force itV Sure it is no sin;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

Isab. Which is the least?

Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise.
Why, would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? '^) — O Isabel!

Isab. What says my brother?

Claud. Death is a fearful thing.

hab. And shamed life a hateful.

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
I'o lie in cold obstruction, and to ret;
I'his sensible wann motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit **^)
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be iinprison'd in the viewless winds, ' ^)
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling! — 'tis too horrible!
'I'he weariest and most loathed worldly life.
That age, ach, penurj, and unprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

isab. Alas! alas!

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live:

What sin you do to save a brother's life.
Nature dispenses with the deed so far.
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab. O, you beast!

O, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch!
Wilt thou be made a man out of my lice?
Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
From thine own sister's shame? What should I think !
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair!
For such a warped slip of wilderness **)
Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance: *')
Die: perish! might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:

I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death.
No word to save thee.

Claud. Nay, hear me, IsabeL

hab. O, fye, fye, fye!

Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade: -")
Mercy to thee vjould prove itself a bawd:
'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going.

Claud. O bear me, Isabella.

Re-enter Dukb.

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

Jtab. What is your will ?

Duke. IVIight you dispense with your leisure, I would
by and by have some speech with you; the satis-
faction I would require, is likewise your own benefit.

Itab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must
be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you
a while.

Duke. [To Claudio, aside.] Son, I have overheard
what hath past between you and your sister. Angelo
had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath
made an essay of her virtue, to practise his judg-
ment with the disposition of natures; she, having
the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gra-
cious denial which he is most glad to receive : I am
confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true:
therefore prepare yourself to death : Do not satisfy
your resolution w ith hopes that are fallible : - * ) to-
morrow you must die ; go to your knees, and make ready.

Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out
of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.

Duke. Hold you there: Farewell. [Exit Claobio.

Re-enter Provost.
Provost, a word with you.

Prov. What's your will, father?

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone :
Leave me a while with the maid ; my mind promises
with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my company.

Prov. In good tiiue. --) [Exit Provost.

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath
made you good: the goodness, that is cheap in
beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace,
being the soul of your complexion, should keep the
body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath
made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my under-
standing; and, but that frailty hath examples for
his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How would
you do to content thb substitute, and to save your
brother?

hab. I am now going to resolve him: I had rather
my brother die by the law, than my son should be
unlawfully bom. But O, how much is the good duke
deceived in Angelo! If ever he return, and I can
speak to him, 1 will open my lips in vain, or dis-
cover his govenmient.

Duke. That shall not be much amiss : Y'et, as the
matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation;
he made tiial of you only. — Therefore,, fasten your
ear on my advisings; to the love I have in doing
good, a remedy presents itself. I do make myself
believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor
wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your bro-
ther from the angry law; do no stain to your own
gracious person; and much please the absent duke,
if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hear-
ing of this business.

hab. Let me hear you speak further; I have spirit
to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth
of my spirit.

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
Have you not heard speak of Mariana the sister of
Frederick, the great soldier, who miscarried at sea V

92

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act III

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words
went with her name.

Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; was
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed :
between which time of the contract, and limit of the
solemnity, ^^) her brother Frederick was wrecked
at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of
his sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the
poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble and re-
nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most
kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew
of her fortune, her marriage-dowry ; with both, her
combinate husband, -'*) this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of
them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole,
pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour ; in few,
bestowed her on her own lamentation, - *) which she
yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her
tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this

[)0or maid from the world! What corruption in this
ife, that it will let this man live ! — But how out
of this can she avail?

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal;
and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but
keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Jsab, Show me how, good father.

Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the
continuance of her first affection ; his unjust unkind-
ness, that in all reason should have quench'd her
love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made
it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ; an-
swer his requiring with a plausible obedience ; agree
with his demands to the point: only refer yourself
to this advantage, -'') — first, that your stay with
him may not be long; that the time may have all
shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to
convenience: this being granted in course, now fol-
lows all. We shall advise this wronged maid to
stead up your appointment, go in your place ; if the
encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel
him to her recompense ; and here, by this, is your
brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Ma-
riana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. -')
The maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt.
If you think well to carry this as you may, the
doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from re-
proof. What think you of it?

Isab. The image of it gives me content already ; and,
I trust, it will groAV to a most prosperous perfection.

Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste you
speedily to Angelo; if for this night he entreat you
to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will
presently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated grange, - ^ )
resides this dejected Mariana : At that place call upon
me; and despatch with Angelo, that it maybe quickly.

hab. I thank you for this comfort: Fare you well,
good father. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

The Street before the Prison.

Enter Duke, as a Friar; to /«m Elbow, Clown,
a7id Officers.

Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that
you will needs buy and sell men and women like
beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and
white bastard. -')

Duke. O, heavens, what stuff is here?

Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two usu-
ries, the merriest was put down, and the worser al-

low'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm ;
and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that
craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

Elb. Come your way, sir: — Bless you, good fa-
ther friar.

Duke. And you, good brother father: What offence
hath this man made you, sir?

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and,
sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir : for we have
found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we
have sent to the deputy.

Duke. Fye, sirrah; a bawd, a wicked bawd!
The evil that thou causest to be done.
That is thy means to live: Do thou but think
What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back.
From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, —
From their abominable and beastly touches
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend.

Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but
yet, sir, I would prove

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer;
Correction and instruction must both work.
Ere this rude beast will profit.

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given
him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster :
if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he
were as good go a mile on his errand.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be,
Free froni our faults, as faults from seeming free! ^")

Enter Lucio.

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, ^') sir.

Clo. I spy comfort; I cry, bail: Here's a gentle-
man, and a friend of mine.

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey? What, at the heels
ofCajsar? Art thou led in triumph ? What, is there none
of Pygmalion's images, newly made women, to be had
now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting
it clutch'd? What reply? Ha? What say'st thou to
this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i'
the last rain? Ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the
world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad,
and few words? Or how? The trick of it?

Duke. Still thus, and thus! still worse!

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress?
Procures she still? Ha?

Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef,
and she is herself in the tub.

Lucio. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must
be so: Ever your fresh whore, and your powder'd
bawd : An unshunn'd consequence ; it must be so :
Art going to prison, Pompey ?

Clo. Yes, faith, sir.

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey: Farewell: Go;
say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? Or how?

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

Lucio. Well, then imprison him: If imprisonment
be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: Bawd
is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too : bawd-born.
Farewell, good Pompey : Commend me to the prison,
Pompey : You will turn good husband now, Pompey ;
you will keep the house.

Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not
the wear. ^^) I will pray, Pompey, to increase your
bondage: if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle
is the more: Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless you, friar.

Duke. And you.

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey? Ha?

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.

Act III

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

93

Clo. You will not bail me then, sir?

Lucio. Then, Pompey? nor now. — What news
abroad, fnarV What news?

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.

Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go:

[Exeunt Elbow, Clowu, and Officers.
What news, fiiar, of the duke?

Duke. I know none: can you tell me of any?

Lucio. Some say he is with the emperor of Russia ;
other some, he is in Rome : But where is he, think you ?

Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, I wish
him well.

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was
never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his ab-
sence: he puts transgression to't«

Duke. He does well in't.

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no
harm in him : something too crabbed that way, friar.

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must
cnre it.

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great
kindred; it is well ally'd: but it is impossible to
extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put
down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man
and woman, after the downright way of creation:
Is it true, think you?

Duke. How should he be made then?

Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him: —
Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes : —
But it is certain, that when he makes water, his
urine is congeal'd ice ; that I know to be true : and
he is a motion ungenerative, that's infallible.

Duke. You are pleasant, sir; and speak apace.

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him,
for the rebellion of a cod-piece, to take away the life
of a man ? Would the duke, that is absent, have done
this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the get-
ting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the
nursing a thousand: He had some feeling of the sport;
he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detected
for women; ^^) he was not inclined that way.

Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived.

Duke. 'Tis not possible.

Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of
fifty : — and his use w as, to put a ducat in her clack-
dish: ^■*) the duke had crotchets in him: He would
be drunk too; that let me inform you.

Duke. You do him wrong, surely.

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his: ^*) A shy fel-
low was the duke : and, I believe, I know the cause
of his withdrawing.

Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause?

Lucio. No, — pardon; — 'tis a secret, must be
lock'd within the teeth and the lips: but this 1 can
let you understand, — The greater file ^') of the
subject held the duke to be wise.

Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was.

XiMcto. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking;
the very stream of his life, and the business he hath
helmed, ^') must, upon a warranted need, give him
a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied
in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear to
the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier:
Therefore, you speak unskilfully; or, if your know-
ledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice.

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him.

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and know-
ledge with dearer love.

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know.

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know

not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return,
(as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to
make your answer before him: If it be honest you
have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am
bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name?

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known to the duke.

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live
to report you.

Lucio. I fear yon not.

Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more;
or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. ^*)
But, indeed, I can do you little harm: you'll for-
swear this again.

Lucio. I'll be hang'd first: thou art deceiv'd in me,
friar. But no more of this : Canst thou tell, if Clau-
dio die to-morrow, or no?

Duke. Why should he die, sir?

Lucio. Why, for filling a bottle with a tun-dish.
I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again :
this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with
continencj'; sparrows must not build in his house-
eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet
would have dark deeds darkly answer'd; he would
never bring them to light : w ould he were return'd !
IMarry, this Claudio is condemn'd for untrussing. Fare-
well, good fiiar; I pr'ythee, pray for me. The duke,
I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays-
He's now past it; yet, and I say to thee, he would
mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread
and garlick: say, that I said so. Farewell. [Exit.

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality
Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes: What king so strong.
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
But who comes here?

Enter Escalus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers.

Escal. Go, away with her to prison.

Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour
is accounted a merciful man : good my lord.

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still for-
feit in the same kind? This would make mercy swear,
and play the tyrant.

Proc. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may
it please your honour.

Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information
against me : mistress Kate Keep-down was with child
by him in the duke's time, he promised her marriage ;
his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip
and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and see how he
goes about to abuse me.

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much licence: — let
him be called before us. — Away with her to prison:
Go to; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and Officers.]
Provost, mybrotherAngelowillnot bealter'd, Claudio
must die to-morrow: let him be furnished with divines,
and have all charitable preparation: if my brother
wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.

Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him,
and advised him for the entertaimnent of death.

Escal. Good even, good father.

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you!

Escal. Of whence are you? " ^^

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance b now
To use it for my time: I am a brother
Of gracious order, late come from the see.
In special business from his holiness.

Escal. What news abroad i' the world?

Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: no-
velty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to
be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to
be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce

V.

94

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act IV.

truth enough alive, to make societies secure ; but se-
curity enough, to make fellowships accurs'd : ^') much
upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This
news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I
pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke?

Escal. One, that, above all other strifes, contended
especially to know himself.
Duke. What pleasure was he given to?
Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than
merry at any thing which profess'd to make him re-
joice : a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we
him to his events, with a prayer they may prove
prosperous ; and let me desire you to know how you
find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand,
that you have lent him visitation.

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister mea-
sure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself
to the determination of justice : yet had he framed to
himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving
promises of life; which I, by my good leisure, have
discredited to him, and now is he resolved *°) to die.
Escal. You have paid the heavens your function,
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling.
I have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex-
tremest shore of my modesty; but my brother justice
have I found so severe, that he hath forc'd me to
tell him, he is indeed — justice. ^')

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his
proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if he
chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself.
Escal. lam going to visit the prisoner: Fareyouwell.
Duke. Peace be with you!

[^Exeunt Escalus and Provost.
He, who the sword of heaven will bear,
Should be as holy as severe;
Pattern in himself to know, "*-)
Grace to stand, and virtue go;
More nor less to others paying,
Than by self-offences weighing.
Shame to him, whose cruel striking
Kills for faults of his own liking!
Twice treble shame on Angelo,
To weed my vice, and let his grow!
O, what may man within him hide.
Though angel on the outward side!
How may likeness, made in crimes,
Making practice on the times.
Draw with idle spiders' strings
Most pond'rous and substantial things! ^^)
Craft against vice I must apply:
With Angelo to-night shall lie
His old betrothed, but despis'd ;
So disguise shall, by the disguis'd,
Pay with falsehood false exacting,
And perform an old contracting. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room in Mariana'* House.

Mariana discovered sitting; a Boy singing.

Song.

Take, oh take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day.

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,

bring again.
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain,

seaVd in vain.

Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away :
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — [Exit Boy.

Enter Dukk.
I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish
You had not found me here so musical:
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, —
My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.

Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a charm,
To make bad, good, and good provoke to harm.
I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me
here to-day? much upon this time have I promis'd
here to meet.

Mari. You have not been inquired after; I have
sat here all day.

Enter Isabella.

Duke. I do constantly *) believe you: — The time
is come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance
a little ; may be, I will call upon you anon, for some
advantage to yourself.

Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit.

Duke. Very well met, and welcome.
What is the news from this good deputy?

Isab. He hath a garden, circummur'd with brick,
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
And to that vineyard is a planched -) gate.
That makes his opening with this bigger key:
This other doth command a little door,
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads;
There have I made my promise to call on him,
Upon the heavy middle of the night.

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this way ?

Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't;
With whispering and most guilty diligence.
In action all of precept, ^) he did show me
The way twice o'er.

Duke. Are there no other tokens

Between you 'greed, concerning her observance?

Isab. No, none, but only a repair i'the dark;
And that I have possess'd him, '*) my most stay
Can be but brief: for I have made him know,
I have a servant comes with me along.
That stays upon me, whose persuasion is,
I come about my brother.

Duke. 'Tis well borne up.

I have not yet made known to Mariana
A word of this: — What, ho! within! come forth!

Re-enter Mariana.
I pray you be acquainted with this maid;
She comes to do you good.

Isab. I do desire the like.

Duke. Do you persuade yourself, that I respect you?

Mari. Good friar, I know you do; and have found it.

Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand,
Who hath a story ready for your ear:
I shall attend your leisure; but make haste;
The vaporous night approaches.

Mari. Will't please you walk aside?

[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella.

Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes
Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report
Run with these false and most contrarious quests *)
Upon thy doings! thousand 'scapes of wit '')
Make thee the father of their idle dream,
And rack thee in their fancies! — Welcome! How
agreed ?

Re-enter Mariana and Isabella.
Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father.
If you advise it.

Act IV.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

95

Duke. It is not my consent,

liut my entreaty too.

halt. Little have you to say,

When you depart from him, but, soft and low.
Remember now my brother.

Mart. Fear me not.

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all:
He is your husband on a pre-contract:
To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin :
Sith tliat the justice of your title to him
Doth flourish the deceit. ') Come, let us go;
Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Prison.

Enter Provost and Clown.

Prov. Come hither, sirrah ; Can you cut off a man's
head 'i

Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can: but if
he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I
can never cut off a woman's head.

Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield
me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die
Claudio and Barnardine : Here is in our prison a com-
mon executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if
you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem
you from your gyves ; if not, you shall have your full
time of imprisonment, and your deliverance with an
unpitied whipping ; for you have been a notorious bawd.

Clo. Sir, I have been an unlaw ful bawd, time out
of mind; but yet I will be content to be a lawful
hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruc-
tion from my fellow partner.

Prov. WhathOjAbhorson! Where's Abhorson, there ?

Enter Abhorson.

Abhor. Do you call, sir?

Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow
in your execution: If you think it meet, compound with
him by the year, and let him abide here with you ; if not,
use him for the present, and dismiss him : He cannot
plead his estimation wth you ; he hath been a bawd.

Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fye upon him, he will dis-
credit our mystery.

Prov. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather
will turn the scale. [Exit.

Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely,
sir, a good favour ^) you have, but that you have
a hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation
a mystery?

Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery.

Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery;
and your whores, sir, being members of my occu-
pation, using painting, do prove my occupation a
mystery : but w hat mystery there should be in hang-
ing, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery,

Clo. Proof,

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: If
it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks
it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your
thief thinks it little enough : so every true man's ap-
parel fits your thief.

Re-enter Provost.

Prov. Are you agreed?

Clo. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find, your hang-
man is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he
doth oftener ask forgiveness.

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your
axe, to-morrow four-o'clock.

Abhor. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in ray
trade; follow.

Clo. I do desire to learn, sir; and, I hope, if you
have occasion to use me for your own turn, yon
shall find me yare: ') for, truly sir, for your kind-
ness, I owe you a good turn.

Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.

[Exeunt CloMn and Abhohsok.
One has my pity; not a jot the other.
Being a murderer, though he were my brother.

Enter Claudio.
Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death:
'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?
Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour
When it lies starkly "*) in the traveller's bones:
He will not wake.
Prov. Who can do good on him?

Well, go, prepare yourself. But hark, what noise?

[Knocking within.
Heaven give your spirits comfort! [Exit Claudio.

By and by: —
I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve.
For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father.

Enter Duke.

Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the night
Envelop you, good provost! Who called here of late?

Prov. None, since the curfew rung.

Duke. Not Isabel?

Prov. No.

Duke. They will then, ere't be long.

Prov. What comfort is for Claudio?

Duke. There's some in hope.

Prov. It is a bitter deputy.

Duke. Not so, not so: his life is parallel'd
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;
He doth with holy abstinence subdue
That in himself, which he spurs on his power
To qualify *') in others: were he meal'd '-)
With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;
But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come. —
[Knocking within. — Provost goes out.
This is a gentle provost: Seldom when
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. —
How now? What noise? That spirit's possessed with

haste.
That wounds the unsisting postern *^) with these
strokes.

Provost returns speaking to one at the door.

Prov. There he must stay, until the officer
Arise to let him in; he is call'd up.

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,
But he must die to-morrow?

Prov. None, sir, none.

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is,
You shall hear more ere morning.

Prov. Happily,

You something know; yet, I believe, there comes
No countermand; no such example have we:
Besides, upon the very siege of justice, ^'*)
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
Profess'd the contrary.

Enter a Messenger.

Duke. This is his lordship's man.

Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon.

Mess. My lord hath sent yon this note; and by me this
further charge, that you swerve not from the smallest ar-
ticle of it, neither in time, matter, or other circumstance.
Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is ahnost day.

96

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act IV.

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger.

Duke. This is his pardon : purchas'd by such sin, [Aside.
For which the pardoner himself is in:
Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
When it is borne in high authority:
When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended,
That for the fault's love, is the offender friended, —
Now, sir, what news?

Prov. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike, thinking
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un-
wonted putting on: ^*) methinks, strangely; for he
hath not used it before.

Duke. Pray you, let's hear.

Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to the
contrary, let Claudia be executed by four of the
clock; and, in the afternoon, Barnardine: for my
better satisfaction, let me have Claudia's head
sent me by five. Let this be duly perform'd; with
a thought, that more depends on it than we must
yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your officcy as
you will answer it at your peril.
What say you to this, sir?

Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be exe-
cuted in the afternoon?

Prov. A Bohemian born; but here nursed up and
bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. * ')

Duke. HoAv came it, that the absent duke had not
either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed him?
I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so.

Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him:
And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of
lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.

Duke. Is it now apparent?

Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.

Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison ?
How seems he to be touch'd?

Prov. A man that apprehends death no more dread-
fully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and
fearless of what's past, present, or to come; insen-
sible of mortality, and desperately mortal.

Duke. He wants advice.

Prov. He will hear none: he hath evermore had
the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape
hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if
not many days entirely drunk. We have very often
awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and
show'd him a seeming warrant for it: it hath not
moved him at all.

Duke. More of him anon. There is written in your
brow, provost, honesty and constancy: If I read it
not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but in the
boldness of my cunning, ") I will lay myself in ha-
zard. Claudio, whom here you have a warrant to
execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than An-
gelo, who hath sentenced him: To make you under-
stand this in a manifest effect, I crave but four days
respite ; for the which you are to do me both a pre-
sent and a dangerous courtesy.

Prov. Pray, sir, in what?

Duke. In the delaying death.

Prov. Alack! how may I do it? having the hour
limited ; and an express command, under penalty, to
deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I may make
ray cjise as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest.

Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you,
if my instructions may be your guide. Let this Bar-
nardine be this morning executed, and his head borne
to Angelo.

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis-
cover the favour. '^)

Duke. O, death's a great disguiser: and you may
add to it. Shave the head, and tie the 4)eard ; and
say, it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared

before his death : You know, the course is common.
If any thing fall to you upon tlus, more than thauiks
and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I
will plead against it with my life.

Prov. Pardon me, good fatlier : it is against my oath.

Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy?

Prov. To him, and to his substitutes.

Duke. You will think you have made no offence,
if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing?

Prov. But what likelihood is in that?

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet
since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, inte-
grity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you,
I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears
out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal
of the duke. You know the character, I doubt not ;
and the signet is not strange to you.

Prov. I know them both.

Duke. The contents of this is the return of the
duke ; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure :
where you shall find, within these two days, he will
be here. This is a thing, that Angelo knows not :
for he this very day receives letters of strange te-
nor: perchance, of the duke's death; perchance, en-
tering into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing
of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up
the shepherd : Put not yourself into amazement, how
these things should be : all difficulties are but easy
when they are known. Call your executioner, and
off with Barnardine's head : I will give him a pre-
sent shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet
you are amazed : but this shall absolutely resolve
you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another Room in the same.

Enter Clown.

Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our
house of profession : one would think, it were mistress
Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old
customers. First, here's young master Rash ; he's in
for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,
nine score and seventeen pounds ; of which he made
five marks, ready money; marry, then, ginger was
not much in request, for the old women were all
dead. Then is there here one master Caper, at the
suit of master Three-pile the mercer, for some four
suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches
him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and
young master Deep-vow, and master Copper-spur,
and master Starve-lackey, the rapier and dagger
man and young Drop-heir that killed Lusty-pudding,
and master Forthright the tilter, and brave master
Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can that
stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great
doers in our trade, and are now for the Lord's sake. * 5)

Enter Abhorson.

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be
hang'd, master Barnardine !

Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine!

Barnar. [JFithin.] A pox o'your throats! Who makes
that noise there? What are you?

Clo. Your friend, sir; the hangman; You must be
so good, sir, to rise and be put to death.

Barnar. [JFithin.] Away, you rogue, away; I am
sleepy.

Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly too.

Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are
executed, and sleep afterwards.

Act IV.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

97

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch hiin out.
Clo. He is couiing, sir, he is coming; I hea^ his
straw rustle.

Enter Barnardine.

Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?

Clo, Very ready, sir.

Barnar. How now, Abhorson? what's the news
with you?

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into
your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's conje.

Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night,
I am not fitted for't.

Clo. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night,
and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the
sounder all the next day.

Enter Dukb.

Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly fa-
ther; Do we jest now, think you?

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how
hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you,
comfort you, and pray with you.

Barnar. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard
all night, and I will have more time to prepare me,
or tliey shall beat out my brains with billets: 1 will
not consent to die this day, that's certain.

Duke. O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech you,
Look forward on the journey you shall go.

Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any
man's persuasion.

Duke. But hear you,

Barnar. Not a word; if you have any thing to
say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not 1
to-day. [Exit.

Enter Provost.

Duke. Unfit to live, or die: O, gravel heart! —
After him, fellows; bring him to the block.

[Exeunt Abhohson and Clown.

Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?

Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death;
And, to transport him in the mind he is.
Were damnable.

Prov. Here in the prison, father.

There died this morning of a cruel fever
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,
A man of Claudio's years; his beard, and head.
Just of his colour: What if we do omit
This reprobate, till he were well inclined;
And satisfy the deputy with the visage
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!
Despatch it presently; the hour draws on
Prefixed by Angelo: See, this be done.
And sent according to command ; whiles I
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.

Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently.
But Barnardine must die this afternoon:
And how shall we continue Claudio,
To save me from the danger that might come,
If he were known alive?

Duke. Let this be done; — Put them in secret holds.
Both Barnardine and Claudio: Ere twice
The sun hath made his journal -'') greeting to
The under generation, -') you shall find
Your safety manifested.

Prov. I am your free dependant.

Duke. Quick, despatch.

And send the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost

Now will I write letters to Angelo, —

The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents

Shall witness to him, I am near at home;

And that, by great injunctions, I am bound

To enter publicly; him I'll desire

To meet me at tlie consecrated fount,

A league below the city; and from thence.

By cold gradation and weal-balanced form *-)

We shall proceed with Angelo.

Re-enter Provost.

Prov. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.

Duke. Convenient is it: Make a swift return;
For I would commune with you of such things.
That want no ear but yotns.

Prov. I'll make all speed. [Exit.

Isab. [Within.'] Peace, ho, be here!

Duke. The tongue of Isabel: — She's come to know.
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither:
But I will keep her ignorant of her good.
To make her heavenly comforts of despair.
When it is least expected.

Enter Isabella.

Isab. Ho, by your leave.

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious
daughter.

Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man.
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?

Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from the world ;
His head is off, and sent to Angelo.

Isab. Nay, but it is not so.

Duke. It is no other;

Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience.

Isab. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes.

Duke. Yon shall not be admitted to his sight.

Isab. Unliappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!
Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!

Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot :
Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven.
Mark what I say: which you shall find.
By every syllable, a faithful verity :
The duke comes home to-morrow; — nay, dry

your eyes ;
One of our convent, and his confessor.
Gives me this instance: Already he hath carried
Notice to Escalus and Angelo;
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates.
There to give up their power. If you can, pace

yoiur wisdom
In that good path that I would wish it go;
And you shall have your bosom - ^) on this wretch,
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart.
And general honour.

Isab. I am directed by you.

Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give:
'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return:
Say, by this token, I desire his company
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours,
I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bruig you
Before the duke; and to the head of Angelo
Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self,
I am combined -"*) by a sacred vow.
And shall be absent. Wend you -'^) with this letter:
Command these fretting waters from your eyes
With a light heart; trust not my holy order.
If I pervert your course. — Who's here?

Enter Lucio.

Good even!

Lucio.
Friar, where is the provost?

Duke. Not within, sir.

Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart,
to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient : I am
fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare
not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal

7

98

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

Act V.

-would set me to't: But they say the duke will be
here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy bro-
ther: if the old fantastical duke of dark corners -'■)
had been at home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella.

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden
to your reports; but the best is, he lives not in
them.-')

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well
as I do : he's a better woodman ^ ^) than thou takest
him for.

Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare
ye well.

Lucio. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can
tell thee pretty tales of the duke.

Duke. You have told me too many of him already,
sir, if they be true: if not true, none were enough.

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench
with child.

Duke. Did you such a thing?

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I: but was fain to for-
swear it; they would else have married me to the
rotten medlar.

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest:
Rest you well.

Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's
end : If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little
of it; Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, I shall stick.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Roo7n in Angelo'* House.

Enter Angelo and Escai,us.

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd
other.

Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His
actions show much like to madness: pray heaven,
his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at
the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there?

Escal. I guess not.

Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour
before his entering, that, if any crave redress of
injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the
streets ?

Escal. He shows his reason for that: to have a
despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from de-
vices hereafter, which shall then have no power to
stand against us.

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd:
Betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house:
Give notice to such men of sort and suit, -')
As are to meet him.

Escal. I shall, sir: fare you well. [Exit.

Ang. Good night. —
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant,
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid!
And by an eminent body, that enforc'd
The law- against it! — But that her tender shame
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss.
How miglit she tongue me? Yet reason dares her?

— ho: ^0)
For my authority bears a credent bulk.
That no particular scandal once can touch.
But it confounds the breather. ^M He should have

liv'd,
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,
Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge,
By so receiving a dishonour'd life.
With ransome of such shame. 'Would yet he had
liv'd !

Alack, when once our grace we have forgot.
Nothing goes right; Ave would, and we would not.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Fields without the Town.
Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Pbtkr.

Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me.

[Giving letters.
The provost knows our purpose, and our plot.
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,
A.nd hold you ever to our special drift;
Though sometimes you do blench^-) from this to that.
As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house.
And tell him where I stay: give the like notice
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;
But send me Flavius first.

F. Peter. It shall be speeded well.

[Exit Friar.

Enter Varrius.

Duke. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good

haste:

Come, we will walk: There's other of our friends

Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Street near the City-gate.

Enter Isabella and Mariana.

Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath;
I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,
That is your part: yet I'm advis'd to do it;
He says, to veil full purpose.

Mari. Be rul'd by him,

Isab. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventure
He speak against me on the adverse side,
I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic,
That's bitter to sweet end.

Mari. I would, friar Peter —

Isab. O, peace; the friar is come.

Enter Friar Peter.
jP. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand
most fit.
Where you may have such vantage on the duke,
He shall not pass you; Twice have the trumpets

sounded :
The generous ^^) and gravest citizens
Have hent the gates, ^-*) and very near upon
The duke is ent'ring ; therefore hence, away. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A public Place near the City-gate.

Mariana (veil'd), Isabella, and Peter, at a dis-
tance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Varrics,
Lords; Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost,
Officers, and Citizens.

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met: —
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.

A7ig. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal
grace !

Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both.
We have made inquiry of you; and we hear
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
Forerunning more requital.

Aug. You make my bonds still greater.

Duke. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should
wrong it,

V.

Act V.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

99

To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
When it deserves with characters of brass
A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time,
And razure of oblivion; Give me your hand,
And let the subject see, to make them know
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
Favours that keep within, — Come, Escalus;
You must walk by us on our other hand ;
And good supporters are you.

Peter and Isabella come forward.

F. Peter. Now is your time ; speak loud, and kneel
before him.

Isab. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your regard ' )
Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid!
O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye
By throwing it on any other object.
Till you have heard me in my true complaint.
And given me, justice, justice, justice, justice!

Duke. Relate your wrongs: la what? By whom?
Be brief:
Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice!
Reveal yourself to him.

Isab. O, worthy duke,

You bid me seek redemption of the devil:
Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak
Must either punish me, not being believ'd.
Or wi'ing redress from you : hear me, O, hear
me, here.

Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother.
Cut off by course of justice!

Isab. By course of justice!

Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and strange.

Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak :
That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange?
That Angelo's a murderer; is't not strange?
That Angelo is an adulterous thief,
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator;
Is it not strange, and strange?

Duke. Nay, ten times strange.

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo,
Than this is all as true as it is strange:
Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
To the end of reckoning.

Duke. Away with her; — Poor soul,

She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st
There is another comfort than this world.
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
That I am touch'd with madness; make not impossible
That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible.
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, -)
As Angelo; even so may Angelo,
In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms.
Be an arch -villain; believe it, royal prince,
If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more.
Had I more name for badness.

Duke. By mine honesty.

If she be mad, (as I believe no other,)
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense.
Such a dependency of thing on thing.
As e'er I heard in madness.

Isab. O, gracious duke,

Harp not on that: nor do not banish reason
For inequality; 3) but let your reason serve
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid;
And hide the false, seems true. *)

Duke. Many that are not mad.

Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would
you say?

Isab. I am sister of one Claudio,

V.

Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
I, in probation of a sisterhood.
Was sent to by my brother: One Lucio,
As then the messenger; —

Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace:

I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her
To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo,
For her poor brother's pardon.

Isab. That's he, indeed.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.

Lucio. No, my good lord;

Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

Duke. I wish you now then;

Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then
Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your honour.

Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to it.

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.

Lucio. Right.

Duke, It may be right; but you are in the wrong
To speak before your time. — Proceed.

Isab. I went

To this pernicious caitiff deputy.

Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.

Isab. Pardon it;

The phrase is to the matter.

Duke. Mended again: the matter; — Proceed.

Isab. In brief, — to set the needless process by.
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd.
How he refell'd me, *) and how I reply'd;
(For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion
I now begin with grief and shame to utter:
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
To his concupiscible intemperate lust.
Release my brother; and, after much debatement,
My sisterly remorse ') confutes mine honour.
And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes,
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
For my poor brother's head.

Duke. This is most likely!

Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true!

Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, ^) thou know'st not
what thou speak'st;
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour,
In hateful practice: ^) First, his integrity
Stands without blemish : — next, it imports no reason,
That with such vehemency he should pursue
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended.
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself.
And not have cut him off : Some one hath set you on ;
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
Thou cam'st here to complain.

Isab. And is this all?

Then, oh, you blessed ministers above.
Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time.
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
In countenance! ') — Heaven shield your grace

from woe.
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

Duke. 1 know, you'd fain be gone: — An officer!
To prison with her: — Shall we thus permit
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
On him so near us ? This needs must be a practice.
— Who knew of your intent, and coming hither?
Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick.
Duke. A ghostly father, belike: Who knows that
Lodowick?

Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a raedling friar;
I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord,
For certain words he spake against your grace
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly.

100

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act V.

Duke. Words against me ? This a good friar belike !
And to set on this wretched woman here
Against our substitute! — Let this friar be found!

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar
I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,
A very scurvy fellow.

J^. Peter, Blessed be your royal grace!

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath this woman
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute;
Who is as free from touch or soil with her,
As she from one ungot.

Duke. We did believe no less.

Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of?

F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy;
Not scurvy, nor a temporary medler.
As he's reported by this gentleman;
And, on my trust, a man that never yet
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

Lucio. My lord, most villainously ! believe it.

JP. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear himself;
But at this instant he is sick, my lord.
Of a strange fever: Upon his mere I'equest, *")
(Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither.
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
Is true, and false; and what he with his oath,
And all probation, will make up full clear,
Whensoeverhe'sconvented. ' *) First, for this woman ;
(To justify this worthy nobleman.
So vulgarly ' -) and personally aecus'd,)
Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
Till she herself confess it.

Duke. Good friar, let's hear it.

[Isabella is carried off, guarded; and Mabiana
comes forward.
Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo? —

0 heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools !
Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo,
In this I'll be impartial; ^^) be you judge

Of your own cause. — Is this the Avitness, friar?
First, let her show her face; and, after, speak.

Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face,
Until my husband bid me.

Duke. What, are you married?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. Are you a maid?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. A widow then?

Mari. Neither, my lord.

Duke. Why, you

Are nothing then: — Neither maid, widow, nor wife?

Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of
them are neither maid, widow, nor wife.

Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had some cause
To prattle for himself.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ;
And, I confess, besides, I am no maid:

1 have known my husband ; yet my husband knows not.
That ever he knew me.

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no
better.

Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou wert
80 too.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo.

Mari. Now I come to't, my lord:
She, that accuses him of fornication,
In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;
And charges him, my lord, with such a time.
When I'll depose I had him in mine arms,
With all the effect of love.

Ang. Charges she more than me?

Mari. Not that I know.

Duke. No? you say, your husband.

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,
Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body,
But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's.

Ang. This is a strange abuse: — Let's see thy face.

Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask.

[^Unveiling.
This 18 that face, thou cruel Angelo,
Which, once thou swor'st, was worth the looking on:
This is the hand, which with a vow'd contract,
Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body
That took away the match from Isabel,
And did supply thee at thy garden-house,
In her imagin'd person.

Duke. Know you this woman?

Lucio. Carnally, she says.

Duke. Sirrah, no more.

Lucio. Enough, my lord.

Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ;
And, five years since, there was some speech of

marriage
Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,
Partly, for that her promised proportions
Came short of composition; ^'*) but, in chief,
For that her reputation was disvalued
In levity: since which time, of five years,
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her.
Upon my faith and honour.

Mari. Noble prince.

As there comes light from heaven, and words from

breath.
As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue,
I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly
As words could make up vows : and, my good lord.
But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house,
He knew me as a wife: As this is true
Let me in safety raise me from iny knees;
Or else for ever be confixed here,
A marble monument!

Ang. I did but smile till now;

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ;
My patience here is touch'd : I do perceive.
These poor informal women ' *) are no more
But instruments of some more mightier member.
That sets then^ on : Let me have way, my lord,
To find this practice out.

Duke. Ay, with all my heart;

And punish them unto your height of pleasure. —
Thou foolish friar; and thou pernicious woman.
Compact with her that's gone! think'st thou, thy

oaths,
Though they would swear down each particular saint,
Were testimonies against his worth and credit,
That's seal'd in approbation? — You, lord Escalus,
Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd. —
There is another friar that set them on;
Let him be sent for.

F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he,
indeed.
Hath set the women on to this complaint:
Your provost knows the place where he abides,
And he may fetch him.

Duke. Go, do it instantly. — [Exit Provost.

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth.
Do with your injuries as seems yon best,
In any chastisement: I for a while
Will leave you; but stir not you, till you have well
Dptermined upon these slanderers.

Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. — [Exit Duke.

Act V.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

101

Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew that friar
Loilowick to be a dishonest person V

Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum : honest in
nothing, but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke
most villainous speeches of the duke.

Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he
come, and enforce them against him: we shall find
this friar a notable fellow.

Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word.

Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again; \to
an Attendant] I would speak with her: Pray you,
my lord, give me leave to question; you shall see
how I'll handle her.

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report.

Escal. Say you?

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her pri-
vately, she would sooner confess; perchance, publicly
she'll be ashamed.

Re-enter Officers, witJi Isabblt^a; the Dukb, in
the Friar's habit , and Provost.

Escal. I will go darkly to work with her.

Lucio. That's the way ; for women are light at
mid-night.

Escal. Come on, mistress: \to Isabella] here's a
gentlewoman denies all that you have said.

Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of;
here with the provost.

Escal. In very good time: — speak not you to
him, till we call upon you.

Lucio. Mum.

Escal. Come, sir : Did you set these women on to
slander lord Angelo? they have confess'd you did.

Duke. 'Tis false.

Escal. How! know you where you are?

Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the devil
Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne: —
Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak.

Escal. The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak:
Look, you speak justly.

Duke. Boldly, at least: — But, O, poor souls.
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox?
Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone?
Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust,
Thus to retort your manifest appeal, "")
And put your trial in the villain's mouth,
Which here you come to accuse.

Lucio. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.

Escal. Why, thou unrevereud and unhallow'd friar!
Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women
To accuse this worthy man; but, in foul mouth.
And in the witness of his proper ear,
To call him villain?

And then to glance from him to the duke himself;
To tax him with injustice? — Take him hence;
To the rack with him : — We'll touze you joint by joint.
But we will know this purpose. — What! unjust?

Duke. Be not so hot; the duke
Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he
Dare rack his own; his subject am I not,
Nor here provincial: ") My business in this state
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,
Where I have seen corruption boil And bubble,
Till it o'er-run the stew: laws for all faults;
But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, *^)
As much in mock as mark.

Escal. Slandertothe state! Away with him to prison.

Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior
Lucio?
Is this the man that you did tell us of?

Lucio. 'Tis he, ray lord. Come hither, good-man
bald-pate: Do you know me?

Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your
voice: I met you at the prison, in the absence of
the duke.

Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember what
you said of the duke?

Duke. Most notedly, sir.

Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a flesh-
monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported
him to be?

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere
you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke uo of
him; and much more, much worse.

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck
thee by the nose, for thy speeches?

Duke. I protest, I love the duke, as I love myself.

Ang. Hark ! how the villain would close now, after
his treasonable abuses.

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal;
Away with him to prison: — Where is the provost? —
Away with him to prison; lay bolts enough upon him:
let him speak no more : — Away with those giglots
too, *') and with the other confederate companion.
[The Provost lays handa on the DOKB.

Duke. Stay, sir; stay a while!

Ang. What! resists he! Help him, Lucio.

Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir:
Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal! you must be
hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage, with
a pox to you ! show your sheep-biting face, and be
hang'd an hour! Will't not off?

[Pulls off the Friar'a hood, and discovers the DuKK.

Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a

duke.

First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three:
Sneak not away, sir : [to Lucio] for the friar and you
Must have a word anon : — lay hold on him.

Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging.

Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon; sit you

down. [To EscALUs.

We'll borrow place of him r — Sir, by your leave :

[To Ancblo.
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence.
That yet can do thee office? ^°) If thou hast.
Rely upon it till my tale be heard.
And hold no longer out.

Ang. O my dread lord^

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
To think I can be undiscernible,
When I perceive, your grace, like power divine.
Hath look'd upon nvy passes; - ') Then, good prince,
No longer session hold upon my shame.
But let my trial be mine own confession;
Immediate sentence then, and sequent death.
Is all the grace I beg.

Duke. Come hither, Mariana : —

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?

Ang. I was, my lord.

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly. —
Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
Return him here again: — Go with him, provost.
[Exeunt A>gblo, Mariana, Pktbr, and Provost.

Escal. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour,
Than at the strangeness of it.

Duke. Come hither, Isabel;

Your friar is now your prince: As I was then
Advertising, and holy ^-) to your business.
Not changing heart with habit, I am still
Attorney'd at your service.

Isab. O, give me pardoii,

That I, your vassal, have employ'd aiul pain'd
Your unknown sovereignty.

Duke. You are pardon d, Isabel :

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. ' *)

V.

im

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Act V.

Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;
And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself.
Labouring to save his lifej and would not rather
Make rash remonstrance -'*) of my hidden power,
Than let him so be lost: O, most kind maid,
It was the swift celerity of his death,
Which I did think with slower foot came on,
That brain'd my purpose: But, peace be with him!
That life is better life, past fearing death.
Than that which lives to fear : make it your comfort.
So happy is your brother.

Re-enter Akgelo, Mariana, Peter, a/irf Provost.

Isab. I do, my lord.

Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here,
Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
Your well defended honoux', you must pardon
For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudg'd your brother,
(Being criminal, in double violation
Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach.
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,)
The very mercy of the law cries out
Most audible, even from his proper tongue.
An Angela for Claudio, death for death.
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;
Like doth quit like, and Measure still /or Measure.
Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested;
Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee

vantage: -*)
We do condemn thee to the very block
Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste : —
Away with him.

Mari. O, my most gracious lord,

I hope you will not mock me with a husband!

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband:
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
I thought your marriage fit; else imputation.
For that he knew you, might reproach your life.
And choke your good to come : for his possessions.
Although by confiscation they are ours,
We do instate and widow you withal.
To buy you a better husband.

Mari. O, my dear lord,

I crave no other, nor no better man.

Duke. Never crave him; we are definitive.

Mari. Gentle, my liege, — [Kneeling.

Duke. You do but lose your labour;

Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [to Lucio]
to you.

Mari. O, my good lord! — Sweet Isabel, take
my part;
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
I'll lend you, all my life to do you service.

Duke. Against all sense you do importune her:
Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact,
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break.
And take her hence in horror.

Marri. Isabel,

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;
Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all.
They say, best men are moulded out of faults ;
And, for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad; so may my husband.
O, Isabel! will you not lend a knee?

Duke. He dies for Claudio's death.

Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling.

Look, if it please you, on this man condeaui'd.
As if my brother liv'd: I partly think,
A due sincerity govern'd his deeds.
Till he did look on me; since it is so.
Let him not die : My brother had but justice.
In that he did the thing for which he died:
For Angelo,

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent;

And must be buried but as an intent;

That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects;

Intents but merely thoughts.

Mari. Merely, my lord.

Duke. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, I say. —
I have bethought me of another fault: —
Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded
At an unusual hour?

Prov. It was commanded so.

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed?

Pfov. No, my good lord ; it was by private message.

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office :
Give up your keys.

Prov. Pardon me, noble lord:

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
Yet did repent me, after more advice: *')
For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserv'd alive.

Duke. What's he?

Prov. His name is Barnardine.

Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Claudio. —
Go, fetch him hither; let me look upon him.

[Exit Provost.

Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so Avise
As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd.
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood,
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

Aug. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure,
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart.
That I crave death more willingly than mercy;
'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.

Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio,
and Juliet.

Duke. Which is that Barnardine?

Prov. This, my lord.

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man : —
Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul.
That apprehends no further tl.an this world.
And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd;
But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all;
And pray thee, take this mercy to provide

For better times to come: Friar, advise him;

I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow's that ?

Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd.
That should have died when Claudio lost his head;
As like almost to Claudio, as himself.

[Unmuffles Claudio.

Duke. If he be like your brother, [to Isabella]
for his sake
Is he pardon'd; And, for your lovely sake,
Give lue your hand, and say you will be mine.
He is my brother too: But fitter time for that.
By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe;
Metliinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye : —
Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well:
Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth

yours. —
I find an apt remission in myself:
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon : —
You, sirrah, [to Lucio] that knew me for a fool,

a coward.
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman;
Wherein have I so deserved of you,
That you extol me thus?

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to
the trick :-'') If you will hang me for it, you may, but I
had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd.

Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. —
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ;
If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow,

Act V.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE,

103

(As I have heard him swear himself, there's one
Whom he begot with child,) let her appear.
And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd,
Let him be whipp'd and hang'd.

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me
to a whore! Your highness said even now, I made
you a duke; good my lord, do not recompense me,
in making me a cuckold.

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry het. >
Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal
Remit thy other forfeits: — Take him to prison:
And see our pleasure herein executed.

Lacio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to
death, whipping, and hanging.

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. —
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. —

Joy to you, Mariana! — love her, Angelo;
I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. —
Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good-
ness :
There's more behind, that is more gratulate. ^^)
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy;
We shall employ thee in a worthier place: —
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's;
The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good;
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline.
What's mine is your's, and what is your's is mine : —
So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
What's yet beliind, that's meet you all should know.

^Exeunt.

V.

VI.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

PERSONS BEPRESIiNTED.

Don PiiDno, Prince of Artagon,

Don John, his bastard Brother.

Claudio, a young Lord of Florence, Favourite to
Don Pedro.

Benedick, a young Lord of Padua, Favourite like-
wise of Don Pedro.

Leonato, Governor of Messina.

Antonio, his Brother.

Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro.

BORACHIO, I p^ll^y,gj.^ „f Djjjj j^,1j„
CONRADE, ) •'

ScENK — '

A Sexton.
A Friar.
A Boy.

Hero, Daughter to Leonato.
Beatrice, Niece to Leonato.
Margaret, | Gentlewomen attending on Hero.

Messengers, Watch, and Attendants.
Messina.

ACT I.

Scene I. Before Leonato'* House.

Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, ajid others,
with a Messenger.

Leonato.
I LEiRN in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon
comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three
leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this
actionV

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever
brings home full numbers. I find here,- that Don
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Flo-
rentine, called Claudio.

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally re-
membered by Don Pedro: He hath borne himself
beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure
of a lamb, the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed,
better bettered expectation, than you must expect
of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be
very much glad of it.

Mess. 1 have already delivered him letters, and
there appears much joy in him : even so much, that
joy could not show itself modest enough, without
a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Mess. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: There are no
faces truer than those that aie so washed. How
much better ia it to weep at joy, than to joy at
weeping V

Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned
from the wars, or no? ')

Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there was
none such in the army of any sort.

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of
Padua.

Mess. O, he Ls returned, and as pleasant as ever
he was.

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, -) and
challenged Cupid at the flight: ^) and my uncle's
fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid,
and challenged him at the bird-bolt. '*) — I pray you,
how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars?
But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I pro-
mised to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too
much; but he'll be meet with you, ^) I doubt it not.

Mess. He hath done good senace, lady, in these
wars.

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp
to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man, he
hath an excellent stomach.

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — But what
is he to a lord?

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed
with all honourable virtues.

Beat. It is so, indeed: he is no less than a stuffed
man: but for the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal.

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there
is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick
and her: they never meet, but there is a skirmish
of wit between them.

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last
conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and
now is the whole man governed with one: so that
if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let
him bear it for a difference between himself and
his horse ; for it is all the wealth that he hath left,
to be known a reasonable creature. — ■ Who is his
companion now ? He hath every month a new-sworn
brother.

Mess. Is it possible? '

Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but
as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the
next block.

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

Beat. No, an he were, I would burn my study.
But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there

VI.

Act I.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

105

no young squarer '■) now, that will make a voyage
Nvith hiin to the devil?

Mes». He is most in the company of the right
noble Claudio.

Beat. O Lord! he will hang upon him like a dis-
ease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and
the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble
Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will
cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured.

Men. I will hold friends with you, lady.

heat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You will never run mad, niece.

Beat. No, not till a hot January.

Mess. Don Pedro is approached.

Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar and
others, Don Joun, Claudio, and Bbnedick.

D.Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you gtre come to
meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to
avoid cost, and you encounter it.

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the like-
ness of yoiur grace; for trouble being gone, com-
fort should remain ; but, when you depart from me,
sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.

D.Pedro. You embrace your charge too willing-
ly. — I think, this is your daughter.

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?

Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a
child.

D.Pedro. You have it full. Benedick: we may
guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly,
the lady fathers herself: — ') Be happy, lady! for
you are like an honoturable father.

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would
not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messina,
as like him as she is.^

Beat. I wonder, that you will still be talking,

i^rnior Benedick; no body marks you.

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet
living ?

Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she
hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick?
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
in her presence.

Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat: — But it is
certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you except-
ed: and I would I could find in my heart that I
had not a hard heart: for, truly, I love none.

Beat. A dear happiness to women; they would
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I
thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your hu-
mour for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at
a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind!
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti-
nate scratched face.

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an
'twere such a face as yours were.

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast
of yours.

Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your
tongue; and so good a continuer: But keep your
way o' God's name! I have done.

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know
you of old.

p. Pedro. This is the sum of all: Leonato, —
signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, we
shall stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily
prays, some occasion may detain us longer: I dare
swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from liis heart.

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be
forsworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord:
being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe
you all duty.

D.John. I thank you: I am not of many words,
but I thank you.

Leon. Please it your grace lead on?

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go together.
[Exeunt a]] but Benedick and Claubio.

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of
signior Leonato?

Bene. I noted her not; But I looked on her.

Claud. ]s she not a modest young lady?

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should
do, for my simple true judgment; or would you
have me speak after my custom, as being a pro-
fessed tyrant to their sex?

Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment.

Bene. Why, i'faith methinks she is too low for a
high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too
little for a great praise: only this commendation I
can afford her; that were she other than she is,
she were unhandsome; and beuig no other but as
she is, I do not like her.

Claud. Thou thinkest, I am in sport ; I pray thee,
tell me truly how thou likest her.

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after
her ?

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak
you this with a sad brow? or do you play the
flouting Jack; ^) to tell us Cupid is a good hare-
finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what
key shall a man take you, to go in the song?

Claud. In mine eye, she b the sweetest lady that
ever I looked on.

Bene. 1 can see yet without spectacles, and I see
no such matter: there's her cousin, an she were not
possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in
beauty, as the first of May doth the last of De-
cember. But I hope you have no intent to turn
husband; have you?

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I bad
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

Bene. Is it come to this, i'faith? Hath not the
world one man, but he will wear his cap with
suspicion? ') Shall I never see a bachelor of three-
score again? Go to, i'faith; and thou wilt needs
thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it,
and sigh away Sundays. Look, Don Pedro is re-
turned to seek you.

Be -enter Don Pedro.

D.Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that
you followed not to Leonato's?

Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to tell.

D.Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.

Bene. You hear. Count Claudio: I can be secret
as a dumb man, I would have you think so; but
on my allegiance, — mark you this, on my alle-
giance:— He is in love. With who? — now that is
your grace's part. — • Mark, how short his answer
is: — With Hero, Leonato's short datighter.

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. ' °)

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: "it is not so,
nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, God forbid it should
be so." » ')

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God
forbid it should be otherwise.

D.Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is
very well worthy.

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

D.Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought

VI.

106

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act I.

Claud. And, in faith, iny lord, I spoke mine.

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord,

I spoke mine.
Claud. That I love her, I feel.

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved,

nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion
that fire cannot melt out of me ; I will die in it at
the stake.

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in
the despite of beauty.

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in
the force of his will.

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her;
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most
humble thanks : but that I will have a recheat
winded in my forehead, ^-) or hang my bugle in
an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me:
Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust
any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and
the fine ^^) is, (for the which I may go the finer,)
I will live a bachelor.

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale
with love.

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hungei-,
my lord; not with love: prove, that ever I lose
more blood with love, than I will get again with
drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's
pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-
house, for the sign of blind Cupid.

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this
faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, * ^)
and shoot at me; and he that hits me, let him be
clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. '■ ^)

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try:
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. ^')

Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sen-
sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns,
and set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely
painted; and in such great letters as they write.
Here is a good horse to hire, let them signify under
my sign, — Here you may see Benedick the mar-
ried man.

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st
be horn-mad.

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his
quiver in Venlcg, thou wilt quake for this shortly.

Bene. I look for an earthquake too then.

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours.
In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to
Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell him, I will
not fall him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made
great preparation.

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for su;:h
an embassage; and so I commit you. —

Claud. To the tuition of God: From my house,
(if I had it) —

D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend,
Benedick.

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: The body of
your discourse Is sometime guarded with fragments, ' ^)
and the guards are but slightly basted on neither:
ere you flout old ends any further, "*) examine your
conscience; and so I leave you. \_Exit.

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good.

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; teach it
but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it Is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir:
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

Claud. O my lord.

When you went onward on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye.
That llk'd, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love:
But now I am return'd, and that war thoughts
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires.
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying, 1 llk'd her ere I went to wars.

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words :
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it;
And I will break with her, and Avith her father.
And thou shalt have her: Was't not to this end.
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love,
That know love's grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.

D.Pedro. What need the biidge much broader
than the flood?
The fairest grant is the necessity :
Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once, thou lov'st ; *')
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know, we shall have revelling to-night;
I will assume thy part in some disguise.
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale:
Then, after, to her father will I break;
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine:
In practice let us put it presently. \Exeunt.

SCENE II.
' A Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato and Antonio.

Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin,
your son? Hath he provided this music?

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can
tell you strange news that you yet dreamed not of.

Leon. Are they good?

Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a
good cover, they show well outward. The prince
and count Claudio, walking in a thick -pleached
alley - ") in my orchard, were thus much overheard
by a man of mine: The prince discovered to Clau-
dio, that he lov'd my niece your daughter, and
meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and,
if he found her accordant, he meant to take the
present time by the top, and instantly break with
you of it.

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this?

Ant. A good sharp fellow; I will send for him,
and (]uestion him yourself.

Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till it
appear Itself: — but I will acquaint my daughter
withal, that she may be the better prepared for an
answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and
tell her of it. [Several persons cross the stage.^ Cou-
sins, you know, what you have to do. — O, I cry
you mercy, friend : you go with me, and I will use
your skill: — Good cousins, -') have a care this
busy time- [Exeunt.

SCENE IH.

Another Room in Leonato'* House

Enter Don John and Conradb.

Con. What the goujere, --) my lord! why are you

thus out of measure sad?

VI.

Act II.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

107

D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that
breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit.

Con. You should hear reason.

Z>. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing
bringeth it?

Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suffer-
ance.

D. John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou say'st
thou art} bom under Saturn, goest about to apply
a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot
hide what I am : I must be sad when I have cause,
and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have sto-
mach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I
am drowsy, and tend to no man's business; laugh
w hen I am merry, and claw no man in his humour. - ■*)

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show
of this, till you may do it without controlment.
You have of late stood out against your brother,
and he hath ta'en you new ly into his grace ; where
it is impossible you should take true root, but by
the fair weather that you make yourself: it is
needful that you frame the season for your own
harvest.

D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge,
than a rose in his grace: and it better fits my
blood to be disdain'd of all, than to fasiiion a car-
riage to rob love from any : in this, though I can-
not be said to be a flattering honest man, it must
not be denied that I am a plain-dealing villain. I
am trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with
a clog: therefore I have decreed not to sing in my
cage: If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had
my liberty, I would do my liking; in the mean time,
let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me.

Con. Can you make no use of your discontent?

D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only.
>Vho comes here? What news, Borachio?

Enter Borachio.

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper; the
prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo-
nato; and I can give you intelligence of an intend-
ed marriage.

D. John. Will it serve for any model to build
mischief on? What is he for a fool, that betroths
himself to unquietuess?

Bora. Many, it is your brother's right hand.

D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio?

Bora. Even he.

D. John. A proper squire! And who, and who?
which way looks he?

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of
Leonato.

D. John. A very forward March-chick! How came
you to this?

Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was
smoking a musty room, -^) comes me the prince and
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference:^*) I
whipt me behind the arras; and there heard it
agreed upon, that the prince should woo Hero for
himself, and having obtained her, give her to count
Claudio.

D. John. Come, come, let us thither; this may
prove food to my displeasure: that young start-up
hath all the glory of my overthrow; if I can cross
him any way, I bless myself every way: Y'ou are
both sure, and will assist me?

Con. To the death, my lord.

Z). John. Let us to the great supper : their cheer is
the greater, that I am subdued : Would the cook were
of my mind! — Shall we go prove what's to be done?

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene I. a Hall in Leonato'* Houte.

Enter Leonato, Aktonio, Hero, Beatrice, and

others.

Leon. Was not count John here at sapper?

Aut. I saw him not.

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never
can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after.

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.

Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made
just in the mid-way between him and Benedick;
the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and
the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore
tattling.

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count
John's mouth, and half comit John's melancholy in
signior Benedick's face, —

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle,
and money enough in his purse, such a man would
win any woman in the world, — if he could get
her good will.

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee
a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

Ant. h\ faith, she is too curst.

Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall lessen
God's sending that way : for it is said, God sends
a curst cow short horns; but to a cow too curst
he sends none.

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you
nu horns.

Beat. Just, if he send jne no husband; for the
which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every
morning and evening: Lord! 1 could not endure a
husband with a beiird on his face : I had rather lie
in the woollen. ')

Leon. You may light upon a husband, that hath
no beard

Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in
my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewo-
man? He that hath a beard, is more than a youth;
and he that hath no beard, is less than a man : and
he that is more than a youth, is not for me; and
he that is less than a man, I am not for him : There-
fore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the
bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell.

Leon. Well then, go you into hell?

Beat. No; but to the gate; and there >vill the
devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on
his head, and say, Get ycu to heaven, Beatrice,
get you to heaven; here's no place for you maids:
so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter
for the heavens; he shows me where the bache-
lors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.

Ant. Weil, niece, \to Uero] I trust, you will be
ruled by your father.

Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make
courtesy, and say. Father, as it please you: —
but yet for all that, cousui, let him be a handsome
fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say. Fa-
ther, as it please me.

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day
fitted with a husband.

Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be
overmastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make
an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl?
No, uncle, I'll none : Adam's sons are my brethren :
and truly, I hold it^p sin to match in my kindred.

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know
your answer.

VI.

108

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act II.

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if
you be not woo'd in good time: if the prince be
too important, -) tell him, there is measure in every
thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me.
Hero; Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a
Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace : the first
suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full
as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a
measure full of state and ancientry ; and then comes
repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the
cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his
grave.

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a church
by day-light.

Leon. The revellers are entering; brother, make
good room.

Enter Don Pedro, Cl audio, Benedick, Balthazar;

Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and

others, masked.

D.Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your
friend? ^)

Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and
say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and, espe-
cially, when I walk away.

D.Pedro. With me in your company?

Hero. I may say so, when I please.

D.Pedro. And when please you to say so?

Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend,
the lute should be like the case!

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within
the house is Jove.

Hero. Why then your visor should be thatch'd.

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love.

[Takes her aside.

Bene. Well, I would you did like me.

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake, for I
have many ill qualities.

Bene. Which is one?

Marg. I say my prayers aloud.

Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry.
Amen.

Marg. God match me with a good dancer!

Balth. Amen.

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when
the dance is done! — Answer, clerk.

Balth. No more words; the clerk is answered.

Vrs. I know you well enough ; you are signior
Antonio.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

IJrs. I know you by the waggling of your head.

Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

Vrs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless
you were the very man : Here's his dry hand *) up
and down; you are he, you are he.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

lJr». Come, come; do you think I do not know
you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself?
Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and
there's an end.

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?

Bene. No, you shall pardon me.

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?

Bene. Not now.

Beat. That I was disdainful, — and that I had
my good wit out ot the Hundred merry Tales; — ^)
Well, this Avas signior Benedick that said so.

Bene. W^hat's he?

Beat. I am sure, you know feim well enough.

Bene. Not I, believe me.

Beat. Did he never make you laugh?

Bene. I pray you, what is he?

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull
fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders :
none but libertines delight in him; and the com-
mendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy;
for he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and
then they laugh at him, and beat him: I am sure
he is in the fleet; I would he had boarded me.

Bene. When 1 know the gentleman, I'll tell him
what you say.

Beat. Do, do ; he'll but break a comparison or two
on me; which, peradventure, not marked, or not
laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then
there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will
eat no supper that night. [Music within.] We must
follow the leaders.

Bene. In every good thing.

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave
them at the next turning.

[Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John,
Borachio, aitd Claodio.

D.John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero,
and hath withdrawn her father to break Avith him
about it: The ladies follow her, and but one visor
remains.

Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his
bearing. ^)

D.John. Are not you signior Benedick?

Claud. You know me well; I am he.

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother
in his love : he is enamoured on Hero : I pray you,
dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth :
you may do the part of an honest man in it.

Claud. How know you he loves her?

D. John. I heard him swear his affection.

Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry
her to-night.

D. John. Come, let us to the banquet.

[Exeunt Don John and Borachio.

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. —
'Tis certain so ; — the prince wooes for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things.
Save in the office and affairs of love :
Therefore, all heaits in love use their own tongues ;
Let every eye negotiate for itself.
And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch.
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof.
Which I mistrusted not: Farewell therefore. Hero!

Re-enter Benedick.

Bene. Count Claudio?

Claud. Yea, the same.

Bene. Come, will you go with me?

Claud. Whither?

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own
business, count. What fashion will you wear the
garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's
chain? '') or under your arm, like a lieutenant's
scarf? You must wear it one Avay, for the prince
hath got your Hero.

Claud. 1 wish him joy of her.

Be7ie. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover;
so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince
would have served you thus ?

Claud. I pray you, leave me.

Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man;
'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat
the post.

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit.

Bene. Alas! poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep

into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should

know me, and not know me! The prince's fool! —

VI.

Act II.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

109

Ha! it may be, I go under that title, because I
am meny. — Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself
wrong: I am not so reputed: it is the base, the
bitter disposition of Beatrice, that puts the world
into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be
reveng'd as I may.

Re-enter Don Pbdro, Hero, and Lkonato.

D.Pedro. Now, signior,"w here's the count? Did
you see him?

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of
lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a
lodge in a warren; I told him, and, I think, I told
him true, that your grace had got the good will of
this young lady ; and I offered him my company
to a willow tree, either to make hini a garland,
as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as
being worthy to be whipped.

D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault ?

Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy ; who,
being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it
his companion, and he steals it.

D.Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression?
The transgression is in the stealer.

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been
made, and the garland too ; for the garland he might
have worn himself; and the rod he might have be-
stow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n his
bird's nest.

D. Pedro. I w ill but teach them to sing, and restore
them to the owner.

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my
faith, you say honestly.

D.Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to
you; the gentleman, that danced with her, told her,
she is much wrong'd by you.

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a
Mock; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would
iKive answer'd her; my very visor began to assume
lite, and scold with her: She told me, not thinking
I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester;
at I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest

:|ion jest, with such impossible conveyance, *) upon
jue, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a
whole army shooting at me: She speaks poniards,
and every word stabs: if her breath were as ter-
rible as her terminations, there were no living near
her; she would infect to the north star. I would
not marry her, though she were endowed with all
that Adam had left him before he transgressed : she
would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea,
and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come,
talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal
Ate ') in good apparel. I would to God, some
scholar would conjure her ; for, certainly, while she
is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a
sanctuaiy; and people sin upon purpose, because
they w ould go thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, hor-
ror, and perturbation follow her.

Re-enter Claudio and Beatrice, Hero and

Leonato.

D.Pedro. Look, here she comes.

Bene. Will your grace command me any service
to the world's end ? I w ill go on the slightest errand
now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send
me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from
the farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of
Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great
Cham's beard ; do you any embassage to the Pigmies,
rather than hold three words' conference Avith this
harpy: You have no employment for me?

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not; 1 can-
not endure my lady Tongue. [Exit.

D.Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the
heart of signior Benedick.

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while ; and
I gave him use for it, ^") a double heart for Ids
single one: marry, once before, he won it of me
with false dice, therefore your grace may well say,
I have lost it.

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have
put him down.

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord,
lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have
brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ? wherefore are
you sad?

Claud. Not sad, my lord.

D.Pedro. How then? Sick?

Claud. Neither, my lord.

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry,
nor well: but civil, count; civil as an orange, and
something of that jealous complexion.

D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be
true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit
is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name,
and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father,
and his good will obtained : name the day of mar-
riage, and God give thee joy!

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with
her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match,
and all grace say Amen to it!

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue.

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I
were but little happy, if I could say how much. —
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away
myself for you, and dote upon the exchange.

Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his
mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither.

D.Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

Beat. Yea, my lord ; 1 thank it, poor fool, it keeps
on the windy side of care : — My cousin tells him
in his ear, that he is in her heart.

Claud. And so she doth, cousin.

Beat, Good lord, for alliance! — Thus goes every
one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned; I
may sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho ! for a husband.

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's
getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ?
Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could
come by them.

D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ?

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another
for working-days ; your grace is too costly to wear
every day : — But, I beseech your grace, pardon
me; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter.

D.Pedro. Your silence most oli'ends me, and to
be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question,
you were born in a merry hour.

Beat. No, sure, my lord, jny mother cry'd; but
then there was a star danced, and imder that was
I born. — Cousins, God give you joyi-

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of?

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's
pardon. [^«« BEAxmiOfc

D.Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in
her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps:
and not ever sad then ; for I have heard my daughter
say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and
waked herself with laughing.

VI.

110

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Act II.

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a
husband.

Leon. O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers
out of suit.

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

Leon. O lord, my lord, if .they were but a week
married, they would talk themselves mad.

D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go
to church?

Claud. To-morrow, my lord : Time goes on crut-
ches, till love have all his rites.

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is
hence a just seven night ; and a time too brief too,
to have all things answer my mind.

D.Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a
breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time
shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim,
undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to
bring , signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into
a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I
would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but
to fashion it, if you three will but minister such
assistance as I shall give you direction.

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me
ten nights' watchings.

Claud. And I, my lord.

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to
help my cousin to a good husband.

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest
husband that I know : thus far can I praise him ;
he is of a noble strain, ' ') of approved valour, and
confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour
your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Bene-
dick : — and I, with your two helps, will so practise
on Benedick, that in despite of his quick wit and
his queasy stomach, *-) he shall fall in love with
Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an
archer: his glory shall be our's, for we are the
only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you
my drift. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another Room in Leonato'« House.

Enter Don John and Borachio.

D. John. It is so; the count Claudio shall marry
the daughter of Leonato.

Bora. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it.

D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will
be medicinable to me : I- am sick in displeasure to
him; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection
ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this
marriage ?

Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly that
no dishonesty shall appear in me.

D. John. Show me briefly how.

Bora. 1 think, I told your lordship, a year since,
how much I ain in the favour of Margaret, the
waiting-gentlewoman to Hero.

D. John. I remember.

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the
night, appoint her to look out at her lady's cham-
ber-window.

D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of
this marriage?

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper.
Go you to the prince your brother; spare not to
tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in mar-
rying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do
you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such
a one aa Hero.

D. John. What proof shall I make of that?

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look you
for any other issue?

D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour
any thing.

Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don
Pedro and the count Claudio, alone : tell them, that
you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of
zeal ' ^) both to the prince and Claudio, as — in
love of your brother's honour who hath made this
match ; and his friend's reputation, who is thus like
to be cozened with the semblance of a maid, —
that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely
believe this without trial: offer them instances;
which shall bear no less likelihood, than to see me at
her chamber-window ; hear me call Margaret, Hero ;
hear Margaret term me Borachio, '■*} and bring
them to see this, the very night before the intended
wedding: for, in the mean time, I will so fashion
the matter, that Hero shall be absent ; and there
shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty,
that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the
preparation overthrown.

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can,
I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the working
this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my
cunning shall not shame me.

D. John. I will presently go learn their day of
marriage. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Lconato's Garden.
Enter Benedick and a Boy.

Bene. Boy, —

Boy. Signior.

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring
it hither to me in the orchard.

Boy. I am here already, sir.

Bene. I know that; — but I would have thee
hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much
wonder, that one man, seeing how much another
man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to
love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow
follies in others, become the argument of his own
scorn, by falling in love: And such a man is Clau-
dio. I have known, when there was no nnisic with
him but the drum and fife ; and now had he rather
hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known, when
he would have walked ten mile a foot, to see a
good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,
carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont
to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest
man, and a soldier; and now he is turned ortho-
grapher; his words are a very fantastical banquet,
just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted,
and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think
not: I will not be sworn, but love may transform
me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it, till
he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make
me such a fool. One woman is fair; yet I am well:
another is wise; yet I am well: another virtuous;
yet I am well : but till all graces be in one woman,
one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich, she
shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous,
or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look
on her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not
I for an angel; of good discourse, an excellent mu-
sician, and her hair shall be of what colour It please
God. Ha! the prince and monsieur Love! I will
hide me in the arbour. [Withdraws.

VI.

Act II.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Ill

Enter Don Pkdro, Lkonato, and Claudio.
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ?
Claiid. Yea, my good lord; — How still the even-
ing is.
As hiish'd on purpose to grace harmony!
D.Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. *^)

Enter Balthazar, with Music.

D.Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song
again.

Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander music any more than once.

D.Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency.
To put a strange face on his own perfection : —
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing:
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes;
Yet will he swear, he loves.

D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come :

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument.
Do it in notes.

Balth. Note this before my notes.

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

D.Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he
speaks ;
Note, notes, forsooth, and noting! [Music.

Bene. Now, Divine air ! now is his soul ra\ashed ! —
Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls
out of men's bodies ? — Well, a horn for my money,
when all's done.

Balthazar slnss.

Balth. SigJi no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore;
To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so.
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into, Hey nonny, nonny.

II.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy ;

The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so, &c.

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.

Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.

Claud. Ha? no; no, faith; thou singest well enough
for a shift.

Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that should
have howled thus, they would have hanged him:
and, I pray God, his bad voice bode no miscliief!
I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what
plague could have come after it.

D. Pedro. Yea, marry ; [to Claudio.] — Dost thou
hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excellent
music; for to-morrow night we would have it at
the lady Hero's chamber-window.

Balth. The best I can, my lord.

D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and
Music] Come hither, Leonato: What was it you told
me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in love
with signior Benedick?

Claud. O, ay: — Stalk on, stalk on: the fowl

sits. *«) [Aside to Pedho.] I did never think that
lady would have loved any man.

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that
she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she
hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to
abhor.

Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that comer?

[Aside.

Leon. By my troth, ray lord, I cannot tell what
to think of it; but that she loves him with an en-
raged affection, — it is past the infinite of thought. ' ')

D.Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit.

Claud. 'Faith, like enough.

Leon. O God! counterfeit! There never was coun-
terfeit of passion came so near the life of passion,
as she discovers it.

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?

Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.

[Aside.

Leon. What effects, my lords! She will sit you, —
You heard my daughter tell you how.

Claud. She did, indeed.

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You amaze me :
I Avould have thought her spirit had been invincible
against all assaults of aifection.

Leon. I would have sworn it had, ray lord ; espe-
cially against Benedick.

Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that
the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot,
sure, hide itself in such reverence.

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up.

[Aside.

D.Pedro. Hath she made her aifection known to
Benedick ?

Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her
torment.

Claud. 'TIs true, indeed; so your daughter says:
Shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered
him with scorn, write to him that I love him?

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to
write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a night :
and there will she sit in her smock, till she have
writ a sheet of paper : — my daughter tells us all.

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I re-
member a pretty jest your daughter told us of.

Leon. O! — When she had writ it, and was read-
ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice be-
tween the sheet? —

Claud. That.

Leon. O! she tore the letter into a thousand half-
pence; railed at herself, that she should be so im-
modest to write to one that she knew would flout
her: / measure him, says she, by my own spirit;
for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea,
though I love him, I should,

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps,
sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses : —
O sweet Benedick ! God give me patience !

Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and
the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my
daughter is sometime afraid she will do a desperate
outrage to herself; It is very true.
D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it
by some other, if she will not discover it.

Claud. To what end? He would but make a sport
of it, and torment the poor lady worse.

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang

him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all

suspicion, she is virtuous.

Claud. And she is exceeding wise.

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick.

Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in

so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that

VI.

112

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Act III.

blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have
just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

D. Pedro. I would, she had bestowed this dotage
on me; I would have daff'd "*) all other respects,
and made her half myself: I pray you, tell Bene-
dick of it, and hear what he will say.

Leon. Were it good, think you?

Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die: for she
says, she will die if he love her not; and she will
die ere she makes her love known: and she will
die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one
breath of her accustomed crossness.

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender
of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the
man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. ^')

Claud. He is a very proper man. -")

D.Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward hap-
piness.

Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that
are like wit.

Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for
either he avoids them with great discretion, or un-
dertakes them with a most christian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep
peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter
into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

D.Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth
fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some
large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for
your niece : Shall we go see Benedick, and tell him
of her love ?

Claud. Never tell him, my lerd ; let her wear it
out with good counsel.

Leon. Nay, that's unpossible; she may wear her
heart out first.

D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your
daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick
well : and I could wish he would modestly examine
himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good
a lady, ^i)

Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will
never trust my expectation. [Aside.

D.Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for
her; and that must your daughter and her gentle-
woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold
one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such
matter; that's the scene that I would see, which
will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to
call him into dinner. [Aside.

[Exeunt Dou Pedro, Claudio, and Leokato.

Benedick advances from the Arbour.
Bene. This can be no trick: The conference was
sadly borne. ^-) — They have the truth of this from
Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems, her
affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it
must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they
say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the
love come from her; they say too, that she will
rather die than give any sign of affection. — I did
never think to marry — I must not seem proud : —
Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can
put them to mending. They say, the lady is fair;
'tis a truth, I can bear them witness : and virtuous ;
— 'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for
loving me : — By my troth, it is no addition to her
wit; — nor no great argument of her folly, for I
will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance
have some odd quii'ks and remnants of wit broken

on me, because I have railed so long against mar-
riage : But doth not the appetite alter ? A man loves
the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his
age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper
bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career
of his humour? No: The world must be peopled.
When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not
think I should live till I were married. — Here
comes Beatrice: By this day, she's a fair lady: I
do spy some marks of love in her.

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner.

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than
you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful,
I would not have come.

Bene. You take pleasure in the message? -^J

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a
knife's point, and choke a daw withal: — You have
no stomach, signior; fare you well. [Exit.

Bene. Ha! Against my will I am sent to bid you
come to dinner ■ — there's a double meaning in that.
/ took no more pains for those thanks, than you
took pains to thank me — that's as much as to
say. Any pains that I take for you is as easy as
thanks : — If I do not take pity of her, I am a
villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew: I will
go get her picture. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Leonato'* Garden.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour;
There shalt thou hnd my cousin Beatrice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio : ')
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her; say, that thou overheard 'st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower.
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Foibtd the sun to enter; — like favourites.
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it: — there will she

hide her.
To listen our propose: This is thy office,
Bear thee well ui it, and leave us alone.

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

[Exit.

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down.
Our talk must only be of Benedick:
When I do name him, let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit:
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice: Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made.
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin;

Enter Beatrice, behind.

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture:
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

VI.

Act hi.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

113

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait tliat we lay for it. —

[They advance to the bower.
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful:
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.

Vrs. But are you sure.

That Benedick lores Beatrice so entirely?

Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam V

Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it:
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To wish him wrestle with affection.
And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs. Why did you so 'i Doth not the gentleman
Desei-ve as full, as fortunate a bed.
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

Hero. O God of love! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice:
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising -) what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of atlection, ,
Slie is so self-endeared.

Urs. Sure, I think so;

And therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd.
But she would spell him backw ard : if fair-faced.
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic.
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ili-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut :
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds:
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out ;
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions.
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak.
She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire.
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks;
Which is as bad as die with tickling.

Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say.

Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion :
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with: One doth not know.
How much an ill word may empoison liking.

Urs. O, do not do jour cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit, ^)
As she is priz'd to have.) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.

Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam.
Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument, "*) and valour.
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. —
When are you married, madam?

Hero. Why, every day; — to-morrow: Come, go in;

I'll show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel.
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.
Urs. She's lim'd *) I warrant jou; we have caught

her, madam.
Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:
Some Cupid kills with. arrows, some with traps.

[Exeunt IlEao and L'at*ULA.

Bratrick adcaneet.

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!

No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee;

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand; <')
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee

To bind our loves up in a holy band:
For others say, thou dost deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportlngly.

[Exit.

SCE^VE II.

A Room in Leonato'« House.

Enter Don Pkdro, Claudio, Benkdick,
Lkonato.

and

be

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage
consummate, and then I go toward Arragon.

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.

D. Pedro. Nay, that Avould be as great a soil in
the new gloss oij your marriage, as to show a child
his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will
only be bold with Benedick for his company; for,
from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot,
he is all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's
bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot
at him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and
his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks,
his tongue speaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.

Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder.

Claud. I hope, he be in love.

D.Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true drop
of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love: if
he be sad, he wants money.

Bene. I have the tooth-ach.

D.Pedro. Draw it!

Bene. Hang it!

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after-
wards.

D.Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ach?

Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm?

Bene. Well, every one can master grief, but he
that has it.

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love.

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him,
unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disgui-
ses ; as, to be a Dutch-man to-day ; a French-man
to-morrow ; or in the shape of two countries at once,
as, a German from the waist downward, all slops; ")
and a Spaniard from the hip upward,^ no doublet:
Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it ap-
pears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would
have it appear he is,

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman,
there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat
o' mornings; What should that bode!

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's?

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen
with him; and the old ornament of liis cheek hatii
already stuffed tennis-bails.

n.

8

114

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act hi.

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by
the loss of a beard.

D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: Can
you sinell him out by that?

Claud. That's as inucii as to say, The sweet youth's
in love.

Z). Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which,
I hear what they say of hun.

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit; Avhich is now
crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops.

D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him :
Conclude, conclude, he is in love.

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.

D. Pedro. That would I know too; I warrant, one
that knows him not.

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in despite
of all, dies for him.

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up-
wards.

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. —
Old signior, walk aside with me; I have studied
eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which
these hobby-horses must not hear.

[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.

D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about
Beatrice.

Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have by
this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then the
two bears will not bite one another, when they meet.

Enter Don John.

D. John. My lord and brother, God save you.

D. Pedro. Good den, brother.

D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak
with you.

D. Pedro. In private?

D. John. If it please you ; — yet count Claudio
may hear; for what I would speak of, concerns him.

D. Pedro. What's the matter?

D. John. Means your lordship to be married to-
morrow? [To Claudio.

D. Pedro. You know, he does.

D. John. I know not that, when he knows what
I know.

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you,
discover it.

D. John. You may think, I love you not; let that
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I
now will manifest : For my brother, I think, he holds
you well; and in dearness of heart hath holp to
effect your ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill spent,
and labour ill bestowed!

D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter?

D. John. I came hither to tell you; and circum-
stances shortened, (for she hath been too long a
talking of,) the lady is disloyal.

Claud. Who? Hero?

D. John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero,
every man's Hero.

Claud. Disloyal?

D. John. Tlie word is too good to paint out her
wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think you
of a worse title; and I will fit her to it. Wonder
not till further warrant; go but with me to-night,
you shall see her chamber-window entered; even
the night before her wedding-day: if you love her
then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit
your honour to change your mind.
Claud. May this be so?
D. Pedro. I will not think it.
D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con-

fess not that you know : if you will follow me, I
will show you enough; and when you have seen
more, and heard more, proceed accordingly.

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should
not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation where
I should wed, there will I shame her.

D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her,
I will join with thee to disgrace her.

D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you
are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight,
and let the issue show itself.

D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned!

Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!

D. John. O plague right well prevented !
So will you say, when you have seen the sequel.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Street.

Enter Dogberrt and Vbrgbs, ^) with the Watch.

Dogb. Are you good men and true?

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should
suffer salvation, body and soul.

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for
them, if they should have any allegiance in them,
being chosen for the prince's watch.

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour
Dogberry.

Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless
man to be constable?

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal;
for they can write and read.

Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal: God hath
blessed you with a good name : to be a well-favoured
man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and read
comes by nature.

2 Watch. Both which, master constable,

Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your answer.

Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks,
and make no boast of it; and for your writing and
reading, let that appear when there is no need of
such vanity. You are thought here to be the most
senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch ;
therefore bear you the lantern : This is your charge ;
You shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you are to
bid any man stand, in the prince's name.

2 Watch. Hov/ if he will not stand?

Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him
go ; and presently call the rest of the watch toge-
ther, and thank God you are rid of a knave.

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he
is none of the prince's subjects.

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but
the prince's subjects : — You shall also make no noise
in the streets ; for, for the watch to babble and talk,
is most tolerable and not to be endured.

2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we know
what belongs to a Avatch.

Dogb. Why you speak like an ancient and most
quiet watchman ; for 1 cannot see how sleeping should
offend : only, have a care that your bills be not
stolen: ') — Well, you are to call at all the alehouses,
and bid those that are drunk get them to bed.

2 Watch. How if they will not?

Dogb. Why, then, let them alone till they are so-
ber; if they make you not then the better answer,
you may say, they are not the men you took them for.

2 Watch. Well, sir.

Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him,
by virtue of your office, to be no true man: and,
for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make
with them, why, the more is for your honesty.

VI.

Act III.

xMUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

115

2 Watch. If we know hiin to be a thief, shall we
not lay hands on him?

Dogb. Truly by your office, yon may ; but, I think,
they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable
way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show
himself what he is, and steal out of your company.

Verg. You have been always called a merciful
man, partner.

Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ;
much more a man who hath any honesty in him.

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you
must call to the nurse, and bid her still it.

2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will
not hear us?

Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the
child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will
not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer
a calf when he bleats. '")

Verg. 'Tis very true.

Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con-
stable, are to present the prince's own person; if
you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him.

Verg. Nay by'r lady, that, I think, he cannot.

Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man
that knows the statues, he may stay him: marry
not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the
watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence
to stay a man against his will.

Verg. By'r lady, I think, it be so.

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an
there be any matter of weight chances, call up me:
keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good
night. — Come, neighbour.

2 Watch, Well, masters, we hear our charge: let
us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and
then all to-bed.

Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours: I pray
you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for the
wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great
coil to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you.

[Exeunt Dogbe&by and Verges.

Enter Bor.vchio and Conbvde.

Bora. What! Conrade, —

Watch. Peace, stir not. [Ande.

Bora. Conrade, I say!

Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow.

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched: I thought, there
would a scab follow.

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and
now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house,
for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true drunkard,
utter all to thee.

Watch. \J»ide.'] Some treason, masters; yet stand
close.

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John
a thousand ducats.

Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?

Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were pos-
sible any villauiy should be so rich; for when rich
villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make
what price they will.

Con. I wonder at it.

Bora. That shows, thoaart unconfirmed: * *) Thou
knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat,
or a cloak, is nothing to a man.

Con. Yes, it is apparel.

Bora. I mean, the fcishion.

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

Bora. Tush! I may as well say, the fool's the
fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed thief this
fashion is?

VI

Watch. I know that Deformed ; he has been a vile
thief this seven year: he goes up and down like a
gentleman: I remember his name.

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ?

Con. No; 'twas the vane on. the house.

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief
this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the
hot bloods, between fourteen and live-and-thirty?
sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in
the reechy painting; '=) sometime, like god Bel'a
priests in the old church-window; sometime, like the
shaven Hercules in the smirched '^) worm-eaten ta-
pestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy as his club ?

Con. All this I see ; and see, that the fashion wears
out more apparel than the man : But art not thou thy-
self giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted
out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

Bora. Not so neither: but know, that I have to-
night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle-
woman, by the name of Hero : she leans me out at
her mistress' chamber-window; bids me a thousand
times good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — I should
first tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my mas-
ter, planted, and placed, and possessed by my mas-
ter Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this
amiable enbounter.

Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero?

Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio;
but the devil my master knew she was Margaret:
and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them,
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,
but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any
slander that Don John had made, away went Clau-
dio enraged; swore he would meet her as he was
appointed, next morning at the temple, and there,
before the whole congregation, shame her with what
he saw over-night, and send her home again with-
out a husband.

1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand.

2 Watch. Call up the right master constable: We
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of
lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I
know him, he wears a lock.

Con. Masters, masters!

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth,
I warrant you.

Con. Masters, —

1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let as
obey you to go with us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity,
being taken up of these men's bills.

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you.
Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Leonato'* House.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursdla.

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and
desire her to rise.

Vrt. I will, lady. ^

Hero. And bid her come hither.

Vrt. Well. [«"■« Um""-

Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato **) were
better.

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and I war-
rant, your cousin will say so.

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another:
I'll wear none but this.

Mar^, I like the new tire within excellently, if

8'

116

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act hi.

the hair were a thought browner : and your gown's
a most rare fasliion, i'faith. I saw the duchess of
Milan's gown, tliat they praise so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

Marg. By my troth it's but a night-gown in re-
spect of your's; Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced
with silver; set with pearls, down-sleeves, side-
sleeves, ' '^) and skirts round, underborne with a
blueish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and
excellent fashion, your's is worth ten on't.

Hero. Give me joy to wear it, for my heart is ex-
ceeduig heavy!

Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of
a man.

Hero. Fye upon thee ! art not ashamed ?

Marg. Of what, lady V of speaking honourably ? Is
not marriage honourable in a beggar V Is not your
lord honourable without marriage? I think, you
would have me say, saving your reverence, — a
husband: an bad thinking do not wrest true speak-
ing, I'll offend nobody : Is thei-e any harm in — the
heavier for a husband? None, I think, an it be the
right husband, and the right wife; otherwise 'tis
light, and not heavy : Ask my lady Beatrice else,
here she comes.

Enter Beatrick.

Hero. Good morrow, coz.

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the sick tune ?

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. Clap us into — Light o' love; "') that goes
without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels! — then
if your husband have stables enough, you'll see he
shall lack no barns. ' ')

Marg. O illegitimate construction !J I scorn that
with my heels.

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time
you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill :
— hey ho !

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, ' ^ ) there's
no more sailing by the star.

Beat. What means the fool, trow?

Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their
heart's desire!

Hero. These gloves the count sent me, th^y are
an excellent perfume.

Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! there's goodly catching
of cold.

Beat. O, God help me! God help me! how long
have you profess'd apprehension?

Marg. Ever since you left it: doth not my wit
become me rarely?

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it
in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick.

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Be-
nedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only
thing for a (jualm.

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedictus! Why Benedictus? you have some
moral *'^) in this Benedictus.

Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral
meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think,
perchance, that I think you are in love : nay, by'r
lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list;
nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, indeed, I
cannot think, if I would think my heart out of
thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be
in love, or that you can be in love: yet Benedick

was such another, and now is he become a man:
he swore he would never marry ; and yet now, in
despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudg-
ing : and how you may be converted, I know not ;
but methinks, you look with your eyes as other
women do.

Beat. What pace is this thy tongue keeps?

Marg. Not a false gallop.

Re-enter Ursula.

Vrs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, sig-
nior Benedick, Bon John, and all the gallants of
the town, are come to fetch you to church.

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg,
good Ursula. [Exeuttt.

SCENE V.

Another Room in Leonato'* House.

Enter Lkonato, with Dogberry a7id Verges.

Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour?

Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence
with you, that decerns you nearly.

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy
time with me.

Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir.

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.

Leon. What is it, my good friends?

Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the
matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so
blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were : but,
in faith, honest, as the skin between his brows.

Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any
man living, that is an old man, and no honester
than I.

Dog-ft. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, -")
neighbour Verges.

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we
are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine
own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could
find in jny heart to bestow it all of your worship.

Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ha!

Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than
'tis ; for I hear as good exclamation on your worship,
as of any man in the city ; and though 1 be but a
poor man, I am glad to hear it.

Verg. And so am I.

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say.

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting
your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as
arrant knaves as any in Messina.

Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking;
as they say. When the age is in, the wit is out;
God help us! it is a world to see! — -') Well said,
i'faith, neighbour Verges : — well, God's a good
man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride
behind : — An honest soul, i'faith, sir : by my troth
he is, as ever broke bread : but, God is to be wor-
shipped: All men are not alike; alas, good neigh-
bour!

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.

Dogb. Gifts, that God gives.

Leon. I must leave you.

Dogb. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have, indeed,
comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would
have them this morning examined before your worship.

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring
it me; I am now in great liaste, as it may appear
unto you.

Dogb. It shall be suffigance.

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare you well.

in.

r

Act IV.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

117

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your
daughter to her husband.

Leon, I will wait upon them ; I ain ready.

[Exeunt Leonato and Messenger.

Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to BVancis
Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the
gaol: we are now to examination these men.

Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you;
here's that [touching his forehead] shall drive some
of them to a non com: --) only get the learned
writer to set down our excommunication, and meet
me at the gaol. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The inside of a Church.

Enter Don Pbdro, Don John, Lkonato, Friar,
Claudio, Bknkdick, Hero, and Bkatrick, ^-c.

Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their
particular duties afterwards.

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady ?

Claud. No.

Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come to
marry her.

Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to
this count?

Hero. I do.

Friar. If either of you know any inward impedi-
ment why you should not be conjoined, 1 charge
you, on your souls, to utter it.

Claud. Know you any. Hero?

Hero. None, my lord.

Friar. Know you any, count?

Leon. I dare make his answer, none.

Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do!
' wliat men daily do! not knowing what they do!

Bene. How now ! Interjections ? Why, then some
be of laughing, ^) as, ha! ha! he!

Claud. Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by your
leave ;
Will you with free and unconstrained soul
C;ive me this maid, your daughter?
j Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me.

Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose
worth
]May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.

Claud. Sweet piince, you learn me noble thank-
fulness. —
There, Leonato, take her back again;
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour: —
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here:
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence.
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear.
All you that see her, that she were a maid.
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed :
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

Leon. What do you mean, my lord?

Claud. Not to be married.

Not knit ^) my soul to an approved wanton.

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof.
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity, —

Claud. I know what you would say; If I have
known her,
You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband.
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin:
No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large; ^)
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
Bashful sincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?

Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write against it :
You seem to me as Dian in her orb ;
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speakso wide? *)

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you?

D.Pedro. What should I speak?

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear iriend to a common stale.

Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but
dream ?

D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things
are true.

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.

Hero. True, O God!

Claud. Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?

Leon. All this is so; But what of this, my lord?

Claud. Let me but move one question to your
daughter ;
And, by that fatherly and kindly power ^)
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.

Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset ! —
What kind of catechising call you this?

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.

Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?

Claud. Marry, that can Hero;

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.

D. Pedro. Why, then you are no maiden. — Leo-
nato,
I am sorry you must hear; Upon mine honour.
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count.
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night.
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, ')
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

D. John. Fye, fye ! they are

Not to be nam'd, ray lord, not to be spoke of:
There is not chastity enough in language.
Without offence, to utter them : Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

Claud. 6 Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been placed
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart!
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love.
And on my eye-lids shall conjecture ') hang.
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm.
And never shall it more be gracious. »)

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?

[IIkro stroon*.

Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you
down ?

VI.

118

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Act IV.

D. John. Come, let us go : these things, come thus
to light.

Smother her spirits up.

\Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and CIiAVDIO.
Bene. How doth the lady?
Beat. Dead, I think; — help, uncle; —

Hero ! why Hero — Uncle ! — Signior Benedick ! —
friar!
Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand!

Death is the fairest cover for her shame,

That may be wish'd for.

Beat. How now, cousin Hero?

Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon. Dost thou look up?

Friar. Yea; Wherefore should she not?

Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly
thing
Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood? ')
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think thou would'st not quickly die.
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames.
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches.
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one ?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame? *")
O, one too jnuch by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ;
Who smirched ^ ') thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said. No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That J myself was to myself not mine.
Valuing of her; why, she — O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!

Bene. Sir, sir, be patient:

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Leon. Confirm'd ! confirm'd ! O, that is stronger
made.
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie?
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her; let her die.

Friar. Hear me a little;
For I have only been silent so long.
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady; I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire.
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool :
Trust not my reading, nor my observations.
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; ^-) trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity.
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be:

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A siu of perjury : she not denies it :

Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?

Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know none :
If I know more of any man alive.
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father,
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes.

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour ; * ^)
And if their wisdoms be misled in this.
The practice of it lives in John the bastard.
Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.

Leon. I know not ; if they speak but truth of her.
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention.
Nor fortune made such havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends.
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind.
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind.
Ability in means, and choice of friends.
To quit me of them throughly.

Friar. Pause a while,

And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ;
Let her a while be secretly kept in,
And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this? W^hatwill this do?

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that, dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd.
Upon the instant that she was accus'd.
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd,
Of every hearer: Vor it so falls out.
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost.
Why, then we rack the value; "*) then we find
The virtue, that possession would not show us
Whiles it was our's: So will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination ;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul.
Than when she liv'd indeed : — then shall he mourn,
(If ever love had interest in his liver,)
And wish he had not so accused her;
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The supposition of the lady's death
Will (juench the wonder of her infamy :
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her
(As best befits her wounded reputation,)
In some reclusive and religious life.
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though, you know, my inwardness * *) and love

VI.

Act IV.

xMUCn ADO ABOUT NOTHING

119

Is very much unto the prince and Claudlo,
Yet, by mine honour, 1 will deal in this
As secretly, and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon. Being that I flow in grief.

The smallest twine may lead me.

Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ;
For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. —
Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day.

Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; hare patience, and endure.
^Exeunt Friar, Heko, and Leomto.

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

Bene. I wU not desire that.

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely.

Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd.

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me,
that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship?

Beat. A Tery even way, but no such friend.

Bene. May a man do it?

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as
you; Is not that strange?

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were
as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well
as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I
confess nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sorry
for my cousin.

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I
will make him eat it, that says, I love not you.

Beat. Will you not eat your word?

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it: I
protest, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, God forgive me!

Bene. W^hat offence, sweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was
about to protest, I loved you.

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

Beat. 1 love you with so much of my heart, that
none is left to protest.

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

Beat. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.

Beat. You kill me to deny it: FarewelL

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

Beat. I am gone, though I am here; — There is
no love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let me go.

Bene. Beatrice, —

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends first.

Beat. Yon dare easier be friends with me, than
fight with mine enemy?

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain,
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins-
woman? — O, that I were a man! — What! bear
her in hand '*) until they come to take hands; and
then >vith public accusation, uncovered slander, un-
mitigated rancour, — O God, that I were a man! I
would eat his heart in the market-place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice; —

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window? — a
proper saying!

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; —

Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is >vronged, she is slan-
dered, she is undone.

Bene. Beat —

Beat. Princes, and counties! •') Surely, a princely
testimony, a goodly count-confect ; ^*) a sweet gal-
lant, sorely! O that I were a man for his sake! or

that I had any friend would be a man for ray sake!
But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into
compliments, and men are only turned into tongue,
and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercu-
les, that only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot
be a man -with wishing, therefore I will die a woman
with grieving.

Bene. Tau-ry, good Beatrice: By this hand, I love
thee.

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than
swearing by it.

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio
hath >vronged Hero?

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul.

Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him ;
I will kiss your hand, and so leave you: By this
hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account: As
you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your
cousin: I must say, she is dead; and so, farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE n.

A Priton.

Enter Dogbbrbt, Vbrgks, and Sexton, in gowni;
and the Watch, with Co^RADB and Borachio.

Dogb, Is our whole dissembly appeared?

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton!

Sexton. Which be the malefactors?

Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner.

Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibition
to examine.

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be
examined? let them come before master constable.

Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. —
What is your name, firiend?

Bora. Borachio.

Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours,

sirrah ?

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. —
Masters, do you serve God?

Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope.

Dogb. Write dovra — that they hope they serve
God: — and write God first; for God defend but
God should go before such villains ! — Masters, it
is proved already that you are little better than
false knaves; and it will go near to be thought so
shortly. How answer you for yourselves ?

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.

Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you;
but I wUl go about \vith him. — Come you hither,
sirrah; a word in yovir ear, sir; I say to you, it is
thought you are false knaves.

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none.

Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore Gktd, they are
both in a tale : Have you writ down — that they
are none?

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to
examine; you must call forth the watch that are
their accusers.

Dogb. Yea, marry that's the eftest way : — • ') Let
the watch come forth : — Masters, I charge you, in
the prince's name, accuse these men.

1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the
prince's brother, was a villain.

Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain: —
Why this is flat perjurj-, to call a prince's brother
— villain.

Bora. Master constable, —

DoH. Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy
look, I promise thee.

VI.

120

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act V.

Sexton. What heard you him say else?

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero
wrongfully.

Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed.

Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is.

Sexton. What else, fellow?

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole as-
sembly, and not marry her.

Dogb. O villain! thou wilt be condemned into
everlasting redemption for this.
Sexton. What else?

2 Watch. This is all.

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen
away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this
very manner refused, and upon the grief of this,
suddenly died. — Master constable, let these men be
bound, and brought to Leonato's; I will go before,
and show him tlieir examination. [Exit.

Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned.

Verg. Let them be in band. -")

Con. Off, coxcomb !

Dogb. God's my life! where's the sexton? let him
write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come,
bind them: Thou naughty varlet!

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass.

Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou
not suspect my years? — O that he were here to
write me down — an ass ! but, masters, remember,
that I am an ass; though it be not written down,
yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou villain,
thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee
by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which
is more, an officer; and, which is more, a house-
holder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of
flesh as any is in Messina ; and one that knows the
law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and
a fellow that hath had losses ; and one that hath
two gowns, and every thing handsome about him :

— Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down

— an ass! [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCEXE I. Before Leonato's House.
Enter Lkonato and Antonio.

Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;
And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief
Against yourself.

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel,

Which falls into mine ears as profitless.
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child.
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
And let it answer every strain for strain;
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such.
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Cry — sorrow, wag ! and hem when he should groan ;
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; ') bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tastuig it,

Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage.
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread.
Charm ach with air, and agony with words:
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs, cry louder than advertisement. -)

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon. I pray thee, peace ; I will be flesh and blood ;
For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently;
However they have writ the style of gods,
And make a pish at chance and sufferance.

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.

Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will do so :
My soul doth tell me. Hero is belied ;
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

Enter Don Pkdro and Claudio.

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily

D. Pedro. Good den, good den.

Claud. Good day to both of you.

Leon. Hear you, my lords, —

D.Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.

Leon. Some haste, my lord! — well, fare you well,
my lord: —
Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one.

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling.
Some of us would lie low.

Claud. Who wrongs him?

Leon. Marry,

Thou, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou: —
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear thee not.

Claud. Max'ry, beshrew my hand.

If it should give your age such cause of fear:
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me :
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do.
Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to l^y my reverence by;
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a nmn.
I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart.
And she lyes buried with her ancestors:
O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept.
Save this of her's fram'd by thy villainy.

Claud. My villainy!

Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine I say.

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.

Leon. My lord, my lord,

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare;
Despite his nice fence, ^) and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.

Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you.

Leon. Canst thou so daff me? ") Thou hast kill'd
my child ;
If thou klU'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed;
But that's no matter; let him kill one first; —
Win me and wear me, — let him answer me, —
Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow me:

VI.

Act V.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

121

Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence; *)
Nay, as I ain a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother, —

Ant. Content yoiu-self: God knows, I lov'd my niece;
And she is dead, slander'd to death by ^-illains;
That dare as well answer a man, indeed.
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue:
Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops! —

Leon. Brother Antony, —

Ant. Hold you content: What, man! I know them,
yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple :
Scambling, ') out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander.
Go anticly, and show outward hideousness.
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words.
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.

Leon. But, brother Anthony, —

Ant. Come, 'tis no matter;

Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your
patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.

Leon. iMy lord, my lord, —

D. Pedro. I will not hear you.

Leon. No?

Brother, away: — ') I will be heard; —

Ant. And shall.

Or some of us will smart for it.

\Exeunt Lbomato and Ahtosio.

Enter Bbnbdick.
D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we went

to seek.

Claud. Now, signior! what news?

Bene. Good day, my lord.

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost come
to part almost a fray.

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses
snapped off with two old men without teeth.

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st
thou 'i Had we fought, 1 doubt, we should have been
too young for them.

Bene. In a -false quarrel there is no true valour. I
came to seek you both.

Claud. We have been up and do^vn to seek thee;
for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain
have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit?

Bene. It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it?

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

Claud. Never any did so, though very many have
b^en beside their wit. — I will bid thee draw, as
we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale : —
Art thou sick, or angry?

Claud. W^hat! courage, man! What though care
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an
you charge it against me: — I pray you, choose
another subject.

Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; thb last
was broke cross. *)

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more;
I think, he be angry indeed.

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. ')

Bene. Shsdl I speak a woi'd in your ear?

Claud. God bless me from a challenge!

Bene. You are a villain; — I jest not: — I will
make it good how you dare, with what you dare,
an 1 when you dare : — Do me light, or I will protest

your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and
her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear
from you.

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good
cheer.

D.Pedro. What, a feast? a feast?

Claud. I'faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a
calfs head and a capon; the which if I do not
carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught. —
Shall I not find a woodcock too ? ' ")

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

D.Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy
wit the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit;
True, says she, a fine little one: No, said I, a
great wit; Right, says she, a great groit one:
Say, said I, a good wit; Just, said she, it hurt$
nobody: A'oy, said I, the gentleman is wise; Cer-
tain, said she, a wise gentleman: Nay, said 1, he
hath the tongues; That I believe, said she, /or
he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which
lie forswore on Tuesday morning ; therms a double
tongue; there's two tongues. Thus did she, an
hour together, transshape thy particular virtues;
yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast
the properest man in Italy.

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said,
she cared not.

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all that,
an if she did not hate hijn deadly, she would love
him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all.

Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him when
lie was hid in the garden.

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's
horns on the sensible Benedick's head?

Claud. Yea, and text underneath. Here dwells Be-
nedick the married man ?

Bene. Fare you well, boy; yon know my mind; I
will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you
break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God
be thanked, hurt not. — My lord, for your many
courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your com-
pany : your brother, the bastard, is fled from Mes-
sina: you have, among you, killed a sweet and in-
nocent lady : For my lord Lack-beard, there, he
and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him.

[Exit Bekedick.

D. Pedro. He is in earnest.

Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant
you, for the love of Beatrice.

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee ?

Claud. Most sincerely.

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he
goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his
wit! ")

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with
Co^RAJ)B and Borachio.

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but then is
an ape a doctor to such a man.

D.Pedro. But, soft you, let be; '-) pluck up, my
heart, and be sad! '^) Did he not say, my brother
was fled? '•»)

Dogb. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame yon,
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance:
nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must
be looked to.

D. Pedro. How now , two of my brother's men
bound ! Borachio, one !

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord.

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?

Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false report;
morejver, they have spoken untruths; secondarily,
they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied

VI.

122

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Act V.

a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust things :
and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

D.Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done;
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence: sixth and
lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude,
what you lay to their charge?

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division;
and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that
you are thus bound to your answer? this learned
constable is too cunnuig to be understood: What's
your offence?

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine
answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me.
I have deceived even your very eyes : what your
wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have
brought to light; who, in the night, overheard me
confessing to this man, how Don John your brother
incensed me to slander '^) the lady Hero; how you
were brought into the orchard, and saw me court
Margaret in Hero's garments ; how you disgrac'd her,
when you should marry her: my villainy they have
upon record; which I had rather seal with my death,
than repeat over to my shame: the lady is dead
upon mine and my master's false accusation; and,
briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through
your blood?

Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he uttered it.

D.Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery : —
And fled he is upon this villainy.

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy im^ge doth appear
In the rare semblance that I loved it first.

Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this
time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of
the matter: And, masters, do not forget to specify,
when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato,
and the sexton too.

Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the
Sexton.

Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes;
That when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him: Which of these is he?

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me.

Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath

hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?

Bora. Yea, even I alone.

Leon. No, not so, villain; thou bely'st thyself;
Here stand a pair of honourable men,
A third is fled, that had a hand in it: —
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death;
Record it with your high and worthy deeds;
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

Claud. I know not how to pray yoiu* patience.
Yet I must speak: Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not,
But in mistaking.

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ;

And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live,
That were impossible; but, I pray you both.
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died: and, if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,

Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,

And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-night : —

To-morrow morning come you to my house;

And since you could not be my son-in-law.

Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter,

Almost the copy of my child that's dead.

And she alone is heir to both of us;

Give her the right you should have given her cousin.

And so dies my revenge.

Claud. O, noble sir.

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!
I do embrace your offer; and dispose
B'or henceforth of poor Claudio.

Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave. — This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd ") in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ;

Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me;
But always hath been just and virtuous,
In any thing that I do know by her.

Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under
white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender,
did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remem-
bered in his punishment : And also, the watch heard
them talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a
key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and bor-
rows money in God's name; the which he hath used
so long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-
hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake:
Pray you, examine him upon that point.

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.

Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful
and reverend youth ; and I praise God for you.

Leon. There's for thy pains.

Dogb. God save the foundation!

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and
I thank thee.

Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ;
which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself,
for the example of others. God keep your worship;
I wish your worship well; God restore you to
health: I humbly give you leave to depart; and if
a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.
— Come, neighbour.

[Exeunt Dogberry, Vkrce*, and Watch,

Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-
morrow.

D.Pedro. We will not fail.

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio.

Leon. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk with
Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd •')
fellow. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Leonato's Garden.

Enter Bbnudick and Margaret, meeting.

Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve
well at my hadds, by helping me to the speech of
Beatrice.

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise
of my beauty?

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man
living shall come over it : for, in most comely truth,
thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me ? why, shall
I always keep below stairs?

VI.

Act V.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

123

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's
mouth, it catches.

Marg. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils,
which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not
hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice:
I give thee the Bucklers. '*)

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of
our own.

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put
in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous
weapons for maids.

Marg. Well, 1 will call Beatrice to you, who, I
think, hath legs. [Exit Masgaket.

Bene. And therefore will come.

The God of love,
That sits above.
And knows me, and knoicg mcy
How pitiful I deserve, —

[Singing.

I mean, in singing; but in loving — Leander, the
good swimmer, Troilus, the first employer of panders,
and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-
mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even
road of a blank verse, why, they were never so
truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love ;
Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; J have tried;
I can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an in-
nocent rhyme; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme; for
school, fool, a babbling rhyme; very ominous end-
ings : Pso, I was not bom under a rhyming planet,
nor I cannot woo in festival terms. ' ')

Enter Bbatrice.

Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called thee?

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.

Bene. O. stay but till then!

Beat. Then, is spoken; fare you well now: —
and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for,
which is, with knowing what hath passed between
you and Claudio.

Bene. Only foul words: and thereupon I will kiss
thee.

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind
is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome;
therefore I will depart unkissed.

Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right
sense, so forcible is thy wit: But, I must tell thee
plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; ^") and
either I must shortly hear from him, or I will sub-
scribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell
me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall
in love with me?

Beat. For them all together; which maintained so
politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any
good part to intermingle with them. But for which
of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?

Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet ! I do suffer love,
indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor
heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it
for yours; for I will never love that which my
friend hates.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to aVoo peaceably.

Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's
not one wise man among twenty, that will praise
himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived
in the time of good neighbours: if a man do not
erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall
live no longer in monument, thjui the bell rings, and
the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you?

Bene. Question? — Why, an hour in clamour, and
a quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most expedient
for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no
unpediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of
his own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for
praising myself, (who, I myself will bear witness,
is praise-worthy,) and now tell me. How doth your
cousin?

Beat. Very ill.

Bene. And how do you?

Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Ser^e God, love me, and mend: there will
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Enter Ursula.

XJrs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yon-
der's old coil-') at home; it is proved, my lady
Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and
Claudio mightily abus'd; and Don John is the author
of all, who is fled and gone; will you come pre-
sently ?

Beat. Will yon go hear this news, signior?

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and
be buried in thy eyes ; and, moreover, I will go
with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The inside of a Church.

Enter Don Pedro, Claddio, and Attendants,
with Music and Tapers.

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Atten. It is, my lord.
Claud. [Readi from a tcroll.^

Done to death by slanderous tongues

Was the Hero that here lies:
Death, in guerdon -'-) of her wrongs.

Gives her fame which never dies:
So the life, that died with shame.
Lives in death with glorious fame.

Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Aflixing it.
Praising her when I am dumb. —

Now, music, sound, and ring your solemn hymn.

Song.

Pardon, Goddess of the night.
Those that slew thy virgin knight; ")
For the which, with songs of woe.
Round about her tomb they go.

Midnight, assist our moan:

Help us to sigh and groan.
Heavily, heavily;
Graves, yawn, and yield your dead.
Till death be uttered.

Heavily, heavily.

Claud. Now unto thy bones good night!

Yearly will I do this rite.
D.Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put your torches
out:
The wolves have prey'd : and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about

Dapples the drowsy east with spoU of gray:
Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well.
Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several
way.

VI.

124

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Act V.

D.Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other
weeds ;
And then to Leonato's we will go.
Claud. .And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds,
Than this, for whom we rendered up this woe!

^Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Leonato'« House.

Enter Lbonato, Antonio, Bknkutck, Beatrice,
Ursula, Friar, and Hero.

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent?

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accused
her.
Upon the terror that you heard debated:
But Margaret was in some fault for this;
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves;
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd:
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me : — You know your office, brother ;
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies.

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.

Bene. BViar, I must entreat your pains, I think.

Friar. To do what, signior?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. —
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis most
true.

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.

Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me,
From Claudio, and the prince; But what's your
will?

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical :
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
IMay stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In the estate of honourable marriage; —
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.

Leon. My heart is with your liking.

Friar. And my help.

Here comes the prince, and Claudio.

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Clau-
dio;
We here attend you; Are you yet determined
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.

Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready.

[Exit Antonio.

D.Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick: Why, what's
the matter.
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : —
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,
And all Kuropa shall rejoice at thee;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's
cow,

And got a calf in that same noble feat.
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked.

Claud. For this I owe you: here come other
reckonings.
Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see

your face.
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her
hand
Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ;
I am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife:

[Unmasking.
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.
Claud. Another Hero?

Hero. Nothing certainer:

One Hero died defil'd; but I do live.
And, surely, as I live, I am a maid.
D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead !
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander

lived.
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;
When, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar.
And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ?
Beat. I answer to that name; [unmasking] What

is your will?
Bene. Do not you love me ?

Beat. -*Ji No, no more than reason.

Betie. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and
Claudio,
Have been deceived ; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene. No, no more than reason. -'')

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ur-
sula,
Are much deceived ; for they did swear, you did.
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick

for me.
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead

for me.
Bene. 'Tis no such matter: — Then, you do not

love me?
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gen-
tleman.
Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves
her;
For here's a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.
Hero. And here's another.

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket.
Containing her affection unto Benedick.
Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against
our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by this
light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. 1 would not deny you : — but, by this good
day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to
save your life, for 1 was told you were in a con-
sumption.
Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.

[Kissing her.
D.Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married

man?
Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of

VI.

Act V.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

125

wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour:
Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epi-
gram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains,
he shall wear nothing handsome about him: In
brief, since I do propose to marrj-, I will think
nothing to any purpose that the world can say
against it; and therefore never flout at me for
what I have said against it; for man is a giddy
thing, and this is my conclusion. — For thy part,
Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in
that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbniised,
and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldest have
denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee
out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer :
which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin
do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends: — let's have
a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten
our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore play, music. —
Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a
wife: there is no staff more reverend than one
tipped with horn.

Me*s.

Enter a Messenger.

your brother John is ta'en in

My lord,
flight.
And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll de-
vise thee brave puoishmeats for him. — Strike up,
pipers. [Vance. Exeunt.

VI.

VII.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

PERSONS BEPBESENTED.

Theseus, Duke of Athens.
EcEvs, Father to Hermia.

LysANDER, > . , '^i TT •

Demetrius, i *» '«''* «'»'* hermia.

Philostratb, Master of the revels to Theseus.

Quince, the Carpenter.

Snug, the Joiner.

Bottom, the Weaver.

Flute, the Bellows-mender.

Snout, the Tinker.

Starveling, the Tailor.

HiPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to

Theseus.
Hermia, Daughter to Egeus, in love with

Lysander.

Helena, in love with Demetrius.
Oberon, King of the Fairies.
TiTANiA, Queen of the Fairies,
Puck, or Robiii-goodteliow, a Fairy.
Peas-blossom, ]
Cobweb, I r< . .

Moth, ^«»"*«-

Mustard-seed, )
Pyramus,

Characters in the Interiude, per-
formed by the Clowns.

Thisbe,

Wall,

Moonshine,

Lion,

Other Fairies attending their King and Queen.

Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.

Scene — Athens, and a Wood not far from it.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens. A Room in the Palace of

Theseus.

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostratb, and

Attendants.

Theseus.
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires.
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue.

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights ;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

The. Go, Philostrate,

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals.
The pale companion is not for our pomp. —

[Exit Philostkate.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key.
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius.

Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with thee?

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. —
Stand forth, Demetrius; — My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her: —
Stand forth, Lysander; — and, my gracious duke,
This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child:

Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes.

And interchang'd love-tokens with my child:

Thou hast by inoon-light at her window sung.

With feigning voice, verses of feigning love;

And stol'n the impression of her fantasy

With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, *) conceits.

Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats ; messengers

Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth :

With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart;

Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me.

To stubborn harshness: — And, my gracious duke.

Be it so she will not here before your grace

Consent to marry with Demetrius,

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens:

As she is mine, I may dispose of her:

W^hich shall be either to this gentleman.

Or to her death; according to our law,

Immediately provided in that case.

The. What say you, Herinia ? be advis'd, fair maid :
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax.
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it, -)
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Her. So is Lysander.

The. In himself he is:

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice.
The other must be held the worthier.

Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes.

The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold;
Nor how it may concern my modesty.
In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts;
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befal me in this case.
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. '

VII.

Act I.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

127

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, ^) examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice.
You can endure the livery of a nun;
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood.
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:
But earthlier happy *) is the rose distill'd.
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new inoon
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship,)
Upon that day either prepare to die,
For disobedience to your father's will;
Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would:
Or on Diana's altar to protest.
For aye, austerity and single life.

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ; — And, Lysander, yield
Thy crazed title to ray certain right.

Lyg. You have her father's love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,
And what is mine, my love shall render him;
And she is mine; and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.

Lyg. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he.
As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd.
If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
And, Avhich is more than all these boasts can be,
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia:
Why should not I then prosecute my right?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry.
Upon this spotted *) and inconstant man.

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs.
My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for you both. —
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To lit your fancies to your father's will;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up
(Which by no means we may extenuate,)
To death, or to a vow of single life. —
Come, my Hippolyta; What cheer, my love?
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along:
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial; and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

Ege. W'ith duty, and desire, we follow you.

[Exeunt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and Train.

Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek so pale ?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

Her. Belike, for want of rain : which I could well
Beteem ') them from the tempest of mine eyes.

Liys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read.
Could ever hear by tale or history.
The course of true love never did run smooth:
But, either it was different in blood;

Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low!

Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years:

Her. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young!

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends:

Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye!

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice.
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it;
Making it momentany as a sound, '')
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,. 8)
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth.
And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up :
So quick bright things come to confusion.

Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross;
As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs.
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. ')

Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child;
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us: If thou lov'st me then.
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
And In the wood, a league without the town.
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

Her. My good Lysander!

I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow;
By his best arrow with the golden head;
By the simplicity of Venus' doves;
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves;
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, ' ")
When the false Trojan under sail was seen;
By all the vows that ever men have broke.
In number more than ever women spoke; —
In that same place thou hjist appointed me.
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena.

Enter Helena.

Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away?

Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves your fair: ■ ') O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars ; ' - ) and your tongue's sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear.
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching; O, were favour so! '^)
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated.
The rest I'll give to be to you translated. ' ■*)
O, teach me how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles
such skill!

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move!

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me.

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

Hel. None, but your beauty; 'Would that fault
were mine!

Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place. —
Before the time I did Lysander see, *5)

vn.

128

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

Act I.

Seein'd Athens as a ^^} paradise to me:
O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell !

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold :
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass.
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,)
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie.
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet;
There my Lysander and myself shall meet:
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us.
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius !
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. ' " )

[Exit Hebm.

Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! [ExitL\s,

Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity.
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind :
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste;
And therefore is Love said to be a child.
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
As waggish boys in game ' ^) themselves forswear,
So the boy Love is perjur'd every where :
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, *')
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt.
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night,
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expence: -^)
But herein mean I to enrich my pain.
To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit.

SCENE n.

The same. A Room in a Cottage.

Enter Snug, Bottom, Fi.utk, Snout, Quinck,
and Starveling.-')

Quin. Is all our company here?

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man
by man, according to the scrip. --)

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which
is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our in-
terlude before the duke and duchess, on his wed-
ding-day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play
treats on; then read the names of the actors; and
so grow to a point.

Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable
comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you,
and a merry. — Now, gt)od Peter Quince, call forth
your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yoxir-
selves. ^^)

Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the
weaver.

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

Qui7i. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true perform-
ing of it: If 1 do it, let the audience look to their
eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some
measure. To the rest: — Yet my chief humour is
for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part
to tear a cat in, to make all split.
"The raging rocks,
"With shivering shocks, -^"Jj
"Shall break the locks

"Of prison gates:
"And Phibbus' car
"Shall shine from far,
"And make and mar
"The foolish fates."
This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. —
This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more
condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

Flu. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You must take Thisby on you.

Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman ; I have
a beard coming.

Qui7i. Thai's all one ; you shall play it in a mask,
and you may speak as small as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my lace, let me play Thisby
too: I'll speak in a monstrous little voice; — Thisne,
Thisne, — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby
dear I and lady dear.

Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus, and. Flute,
you Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's
mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker.

Snout. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's fa-
ther; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part: —
and, I hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you,
if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. -*)

Quill. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing
but roaring.

Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that I
will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will
roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar
again. Let him roar again.

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would
fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek ;
and that were enough to hang us all.

All. That would hang us every mother's son.

Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright
the ladles out of their wits, they would have no more
discretion but to hang us : but I will aggravate my
voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any
sucking dove; I will roai" you an 'twere -'') any
nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus : for Py-
ramus is a sweet-iaced man; a proper iuan, as one
shall see in a smnmer's day ; a most lovely, gentle-
man-like man; therefore you must needs play Py-
ramus.

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were
I best to play it in?

Quin. Why, what you will.

Bot. I will discharge it in either jour straw-co-
loured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-

VII.

Act II.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

129

in-grain beard, or your French-crowii-colour beard,
your perfect yellow.

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair
at all, and then you will play bare-faced. — But,
masters ; here are your parts : and I am to entreat
you, request you, and desire you, to con them by
to-morrow night ; and meet me in the palace wood,
a mile without the town, by moon-light; there will
we rehearse : for if we meet in the city, we shall
be dog'd with company, and our devices known. In
the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, -')
such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not.

Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse
more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains; be
perfect; adieu.

Quin. At the duke's oak we meet.

Bot. Enough ; Hold, or cut bow-string;s. * ®) [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Wood near Athens.

Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another.

Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you?
Fai. Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough briar.
Over park, over pale.

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where.
Swifter than the moones sphere.
And I serve the fairy queen.
To dew her orbs upon the green: ')
The cowslips tall her pensioners be ^)
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours.
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits, ^) I'll be gone:
Our queen and all our elves come here anon.
Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night;
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight.
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath.
Because that she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king;
She never had so sweet a changeling:
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forest wild:
But she, perforce, Avithholds the loved boy.
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy:
And now they never meet in grove, or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen, *)
But they do square; ^) that all their elves, for fear,
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.
Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite,
Call'd Robin Good-fellow: are you not he.
That fright the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern, *)
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm? ')
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, ^)
You do their works, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?

Puck. Thou speak'st aright;

I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile.
Neighing in likeness of a tilly foal:
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,

In very likeness of a roasted crab; ')
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she.
And tailor cries, ■ ") and {alls into a cough;
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe; ' ')
And waxen ' ^) in their mirth, and neeze and swear
A merrier hour was never wasted there. —
B»it room, Faery, here comes Oberon.
Fai. And here my mistress: — 'Would that he
were gone!

SCENE II.

Enter Oberon, at one door, with hi» Train, and
TiTANiA, at another, with hers.

Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania.

Tita. What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence;
I have forsworn his bed and company.

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton; Am not I thy lord?

Tita. Then I must be thy lady: But I know
When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land.
And in the shape of Corin sat all day.
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here.
Come from the farthest steep of India?
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded; and you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity.

Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
Didstthounot leadhim through the glimmering night * ')
From Perlgenia, whom he ravished?
And make him with fair ^gl«i break his faith.
With Ariadne, and Antiopa?

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy :
And never, since the middle summer's spring, '^)
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
Or on the beached margent of the sea.
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind.
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain.
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land.
Have every pelting **) river made so proud.
That they have overborne their continents: ^<')
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain.
The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard:
The fold stands empty in the drowned field.
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock; ")
The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud; ' ^)
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, *')
For lack of tread, are undlstlnguishable :
The human mortals -") want their Avinter here;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest: —
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washtes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound: ^*)
And thorough this distemperature ^-) we see
The season alter: hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;
And on old Hyem's chin, and icy crown.
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set: The spring, the summer.
The childing autumn, -^) angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries; and the 'mazed world.
By their increase, **) now knows not which is which:

vn. ^

130

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

Act II.

And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissention;
We are their parents and original.

Obe. Do you amend it then: it lies in you:
Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
I do but beg a little changeling boy,
To be my henclunan. ^5)

Tita. Set your heart at rest,

The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a vot'ress of my order:
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side;
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands.
Marking the embarked traders on the flood:
When we have laughed to see the sails conceive.
And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait.
Following, (her womb then rich with my young squire,)
Would imitate; and sail upon the land,
To fetch me trifles, and return again.
As from a voyage, rich with merchandize.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy:
And, for her sake, I will not part with him.

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay?

Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day.
If you will patiently dance in our round.
And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

Tita. Not for thy kingdo^n. -') — Fairies, away:
We shall chide down-right, if I longer stay.

[Exeunt Titama, and her Train.

Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this grove,
Till I torment thee for this injui-y, —
My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breathy
That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.

Puck. I remember.

Obe. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st not,)
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west:^')
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon;
And the imperial votress passed on.
In maiden meditation, fancy-free: ^^)
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower, —
Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound, —
And maidens call it, love-in-idleness.
Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once:
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid.
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again,
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth
In forty minutes. [Exit Puck.

Obe. Having once this juiccj

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes;
The next thing then she waking looks upon,
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull.
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,)
She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
And ere I take this charm off from her sight,

(As I can take it, with another herb,)
I'll make her render up her page to m©»
But who comes here? I am invisible;
And I will over-hear their confeience.

Enter Demetrius, Helena following him.

Dcm. 1 love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia?
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.
Thou told'st me, they were stol'n into this wood,
And here am I, and wood within this wood, -'>)
Because I cannot meet with Hermia.
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.

Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel; Leave you your power to draw.
And I shall have no power to follow you.

Dem. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you?

Hel. And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave^
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,
(And yet a place of high respect with me,)
Than to be used as you use ^'').your dog?

Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit ;
For I am sick, when I do look on thee,

Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you.

Dem. You do impeach your modesty ' ' ) too much.
To leave the city, and commit yourself
Into the hands of one that loves you not;
To trust the opportunity of night.
And the ill counsel of a desert place.
With the rich worth of your virginity.

Hel. Yoiu- virtue is my privilege for that. *-)
It is not night, when I do see your face.
Therefore 1 think I am not in the night:
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company;
For you, in my respect, are all the world:
Then how can it be said, I am alone.
When all the world is here to look on me?

Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakss,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd;
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chace;
'I'he dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger: Bootless speed;
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies.

Dem. I will not stay thy questions; let me go:
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, '*)
You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius!
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex :
We cannot fight for love, as men may do;
We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.
I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,
To die upon the hand ^'*) I love so well.

[Exeunt Dem. and HkU

Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove,
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. —

Re-enter Puck.
Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

Puck. Ay, there it is.

Obe. I pray thee, give it me.

I know a bank whereon ^ *) the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips ^') and the nodding violet grows;

VII.

Act JI.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

131

Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, ^')
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night,
LulI'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove :
A sweet Athenian lady is in love
With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;
But do it, when the next thing he espies
May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.
Effect it with some care; that he may prove
More fond on her, than she upon her love:
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

\_Exeunt.

SCENE m.

Another part of the Wood.

Enter Titania, with her Train.

Tita. Come, now a roundel,^*) and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;
Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
Some, war with rear- mice ^') for their leathern

wings,
To make my small elvos coats ; and some, keep back
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and Avonders
At our quaint spirits: Sing me now asleep;
Then to your offices, and let me rest.

Song.

1 Fai. Yon spotted snakes, with double tongue,'^^)

Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen;
Newts, '* ') and blind worms, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen :

Chorus.

Philomel, with melody.
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby;
Never harm, nor spell nor charm.
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.

n.

2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here:

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence:
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

Choraf.
Philomel, with melody, &c.

2 Fai. Hence, away; now all is well:
One, aloof, stand sentinel.

[Exeunt Fairiea. Titania sleeps.

Enter Obekon.

Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake,

[Squeezes the flower on Titania's eye-lids.
Do it for thy true-love take;
Love, and languish for his sake:
Be it ounce, ^^) or cat, or bear,
Pard, or boar with bristled hair.
In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear;
Wake, when some vile thing is near. ] [Exit.

Enter LrsANOBR and Hermia.

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wanderingin the wood;
And to speaic troth, I have forgot our way;
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.

Her. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed.
For I upon this bank will rest my head.

Lys. One turf shall ser\e as pillow for us both;
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.

Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear.
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

Lyt. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; ^^)
Love takes the meaning, in love's conference,
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit;
So that but one heart we can make of it:
Two bosoms interchained with an oath:
So then, two bosoms, and a single troth.
Then, by your side no bed-room me deny;
For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.

Her, Lysander riddles veiy prettily: —
Now much beshrew ■*"*) my manners and my pride.
If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lie further off; in human modesty
Such separation, as, may well be said,
Becomes a Airtuous bachelor and a maid :
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend:
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end !

Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
And then end life, when I end loyalty!
Here is my bed: Sleep give thee all his rest!

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be
press'd ! [They sleep.

Enter Puck.

Puck. Through the forest have I gone.
But Athenian found I none.
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower's force in stirring love.
Night and silence! who is here?
Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
This is he, my master said,
Despised the Athenian maid;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound.
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul! she durst not lie
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. **)
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe: ^<')
When thou wak'st, let love forbid
Sleep his seat on thy eye- lid.
So awake, when I am gone;
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit.

Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.

Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.

Dem. I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus.

Hel. O, wilt thou darkling *') leave me? do not so.

Dem. Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go.

[Exit Demetsius.

Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase !
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. ■**)
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies;
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;
For beasts that meet me, run away for fear:
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. ^
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hennia's sphery eyne? —

vn.

9

132

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM

Act in.

But who is here? — Lysander! on the ground!
Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound: —
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.

Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake.

^f flaking.
Transparent Helena I Nature here shows art, *')
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius V O, how fit a word
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword?

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so;
What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what

though ?
Yet Hermia still loves you ; then be content.

Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia, but Helena I love,*")
Who will not change a i-aven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reason sway'd:
And reason says you are the wo.rthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season:
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;**)
And touching now the point of human skill, *-)
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, *^)
And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook
Love's stories, written in love's richest book.

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can.
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye.
But you must flout my insufficiency ?
Good troth,, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do.
In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well: perforce I must confess,
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd,
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd! [Exit.

Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou there ;
And never may'st thou come Lysander near!
For, as a surfeit of the swe-etest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings;
Or, as the heresies, that men do leave.
Are hated most of those they did deceive;
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy.
Of all be hated; but the most of me!
And all my powers, address your love and might,
To honour Helen, and to be her knight! [Exit.

Her. [Starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me! do
thy best.
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!
Ah me, for pity! — what a dream was here?
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear!
Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey: —
Lysander! what, remov'd? Lysander! lord!
What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word?
Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear;
Speak, of all loves; **) I swoon almost with fear.
No? — then I well perceive you are not nigh:
Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit.

ACT III,

SCEjVE I. ') The game. The Queen of Fairies
lying asleep.

Enter Qumcu, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout,
and Starveling.

Bot. Are we all met?

Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient
place for our rehearsal; This green plot shall be our

stage, this hawthorn-brake our tyring-house ; and
we will do it in action, as we will do it before
the duke.

Bot. Peter Quince, —

Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom?

Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus
and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus
must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies
cannot abide. How answer you that?

Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. -)

Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, when
all is done.

Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well.
Write me a prologue: and let the prologue seem to
say, we will do no harm with our swords : and that
Pyramus is not killed indeed: and, for the more
better assurance, tell them, that 1 Pyramus am not
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This will put
them out of fear.

Quin. Well, Ave will have such a prologue; and it
shall be written in eight and six. ^)

Bot. No, make it two more; let it be written in
eight and eight.

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?

Star. I fear it, I promise you.

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your-
selves: to bring in, God shield us! a lion among
ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a
more fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living; and
we ought to look to it.

Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he
is not a lion.

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his
face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he
himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the
same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish
you, or I would request you, or, I would entreat
you, not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours.
if you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity
of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man
as other men are : and there, indeed, let hun name
his name; and tell them plainly, he is Snug, the
joiner. *)

Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard
things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a cham-
ber: for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by
moon-light.

Snug. Doth the moon shine, that night we play
our play?

Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanack;
find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine.

Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night.

Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the
great chamber-window, where we play, open; and
the moon may shine in at the casement.

Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush
of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to dis-
figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine.
Then, there is another thing: we must have a wall
in the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says
the story, did talk through the chink of a wall.

Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — What
say you. Bottom?

Bot. Some man or other must present wall: and
let him have some plaster, or some lome, or some
rough-cast about him, to signify wall; or let him
hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall
Pyramus and Thisby whisper.

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit
down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your
speech, enter into that brake; *) and so every one
according to his cue.

VII.

Act III.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM

133

Enter Puck behind.

Puck. What hempen hoine-spuns have we swag-
gering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy queen?
What, a play toward? I'll be an auditor;
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.
Quia. Speak, Pyramus: — Thisby, stand forth,
Pyr. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet, —
Quia. Odours odours.

Pyr. odours savours street:

So doth '] thif breath, my dearest Thisby dear. —
But, hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile.
And by and by I will to thee appear. [Exit.
Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here!

\_Ande. — Exit.
TJiis. Must I speak now?

Quin. Ay, marrj-, must you: for you must under-
stand, he goes but to see a noise th-at he heard,
and is to come again.
This. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue.
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier.
Most brisky Juvenal, ') and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse, tl^at yet would never tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man: Why you must not speak
that yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak
all your part at once, cues and all. *) — Pyramus
enter; your cue is past; it is, never tire.

Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's head.

This. O, — As true at truest horse, that yet would

never tire.
Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine: —
Quin. O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted.
Pray, masters! fly, masters! help! [Exeunt Clowna.
Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through
brier;
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometijne a hound,

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and bum.
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.

[Exit.
Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery
of them, to make me afeard.

Re-enter Snout.

Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I
see on thee?

Bot. What do you see? you see an ass's head of
your own; Do you?

Re-enter Quince.

Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art
translated. [Exit.

Bot. I see their knavery: this is to make an ass
of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not
stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk
up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall
hear I am not afraid. [Sing».

The ousel-cock, ') so black of hue.

With orange-tawney bill.
The throstle with his note so true.

The wren with little quill.

Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

[JFaking.

Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark.
The plain-song cuckoo '") gray.
Whose note full many a man doth mark.
And dares not answer, nay ;

for indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a
bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry,
cuckoo, never so?

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note.
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move ine.
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little
reason for that: And yet, to say the truth, reason
and love keep little company together now-a-days:
The more the pity, that some honest neighbours
will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek ")
upon occasion.

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

Bot. Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get
out of this wood, I have enough to sene mine own turn.

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go;
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit, of no common fate:
The summer still doth tend upon my state.
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep.
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep:
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so.
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. —
Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed!

Enter four Fairies.

1 Fai. Ready.

2Fa». And I.

SFai. And I.

^Fai. Where shall we go?

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks, aud dewberries.
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey bags steal from the humble-bees.
And, for night tapers, crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes.
To have my love to bed, and to arise;
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

1 Fai. Hail, mortal !

2 Fai. Hail!

SFai. Hail!

4 Fa*. Hail!

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — 1 be-
seech you, your worship's name.

Cob. Cobweb.

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good
master Cobweb: If I cut my finger, I shall make
bold with you. — Your name, honest gentleman?

Peas. Peas-blossom.

Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, ' - )
your mother, and to master Peascod, your father.
Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more
acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir?

Mus. Mustard-seed.

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your jw-
tience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beet
hath devoured many a gentleman of your house:
I promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes
water ere ' now. I desire you more acquaintance,
good master Mustard-seed.

Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye;
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower.
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongue, •^} bring him silently.

[Eseaal.

vn.

134

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

Act III,

SCENE II.

Another part of the Wood.

Enter Oberon.

Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd;
Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
Whidi she must dote on in extremity.

Enter Puck.
Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit?
What night-rule ^'*) now about this haunted grove?

Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower.
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, * *) rude mechanicals.
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls.
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
The shallowest thick,-skin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented in their sport
Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake:
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass's nowl ^^) I fixed on his head;
Anon, his Thisbe must be answered.
And forth my mimic comes: When they him spy.
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye.
Or russet-pated choughs, *') many in sort, ^^)
Rising and cawing at the gun's report
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky;
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly :
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong:
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch:
Some, sleeves; some, hats: from yielders all tilings

catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear.
And left sweet Pyramus translated there:
When in that moment (so it came to pass,)
Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass,

Obe. This falls out better than I could devise.
But hast thou yet latch'd ^'') the Athenian's eyes
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ?

Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, —
And the Athenian woman by his side;
That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd.

Enter Demetrius and Hermia.

Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian.

Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man.

Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse;
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep.
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep.
And kill me too.

The sun was not so true unto the day.
As he to me: Would he have stol'n away
From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon.
This whole earth may be bor'd; and that the moon
May through the centre creep, and so displease
Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes.
It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him;
So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim.

Detn. So should the murder'd look ; and so should I,
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty:
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear.
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give hun me?

Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds.
Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the
bounds
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then?
Henceforth be never number'd among men !
Oh! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake;
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake.
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? 2") O brave

touch! ^^)
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood : ' *)
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.
Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore?
Her. A privilege, never to see me more. —
And from thy hated presence part I so:
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit.
Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein:
Here, therefore, for a while I will remain.
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
Which now, in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down.
Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite,
And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight:
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules; that, one man holding
troth,
A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind.
And Helena of Athens look thou find :
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer ^^)
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear:
By some illusion see thou bring her here;
I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear.

Puck. I go, I go; look, how I go;
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit.
Obe. Flower of this purple die,
Hit with Cupid's archery,
Sink in apple of his eye!
When his love he doth espy,
Let her shine as gloriously
As the Venus of the sky, —
When thou wak'st, if she be by
Beg of her for remedy.

Re-enter Puck.

Puck. Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand.
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee;
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Obe. Stand aside: the noise they make.
Will cause Demetrius to awake.

Puck. Then will two at once, woo onej
That must needs be sport alone;
And those things do best please me,
That befal preposterously.

Enter Ltsandbr and Helena.
Lys.Why should you think, that I should woo in scora?
Scorn and derision never come in tears :
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so boro.

In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you.
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?=''')
Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more.
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!

VII.

Act III

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

135

These rows areHermia's; Will yon give her o'er?
Weigh oath with oath, and j ou will nothing weigh :
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh; and both as lij^ht as tales.

Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore.

Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er.

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

Dem. [Jwaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect,
divine !
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, ^ *)
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow,
When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!

Hel. O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
To set against me, for your merriment.
If you were civil, and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
But you must join, in souls, ^'') to mock me too?
If you were men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so;
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts.
When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ;
And now both rivals, to mock Helena:
A trim exploit, a manly enterprize.
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes,
With your derision! none, of noble sort.
Would so offend a virgin ; and extort
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
For you love Hermia; this, you know, I know:
And here, with all good will, with all my heart.
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part, ,

And yours of Helena to me bequeath.
Whom I do love, and will do to my death.

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none :
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone.
My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojoum'd;
And now to Helen is it home return'd.
There to remain.

Lys. Helen, it is not so.

Dem. Dispai'age not the faith thou dost not know,
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. —
Look, where thy love comes: yonder is thy dear.

Enter Hbrmia.

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes.
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense.
It pays the hearing double recompense: —
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

Lys. Why should he stay, w horn love doth press to go ?

Her. What love could press Lysander from my side?

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let hiia bide,
P'air Helena ; w ho more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes -'') and eyes of light.
Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know,
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?

Her. You speak not as you think; it cannot be.

Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three.
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd
To bait nie with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd.

The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent.

When we have chid the hasty-footed time

For parting us, — O, and is all forgot? ^^}

All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence?

We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, ^'>)

Have with our neelds ^°) created both one flower.

Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion.

Both warbling of one song, both in one key;

As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds.

Had been incorporate. So we grew together,

Like to a double cherry, seeming parted;

But yet a union in partition.

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem:

So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;

Two of the first, like coats in heraldry.

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. ^■)

And will you rent our ancient love asunder.

To join with men in scorning your poor friend?

It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly:

Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it;

Though I alone do feel the injury.

Her. 1 am amazed at your passionate words:
I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.

Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn.
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,)
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare.
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection;
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What though I be not so in grace as you.
So hung upon with love, so fortunate;
But miserable most, to love unlov'd?
This you should pity, rather than despise.

Her. I understand not what you mean by this.

Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mows upon me when I turn my back;
Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up:
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument.^')
But, fare ye well: 'tis partly mine own fault;
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!

Hel. O excellent!

Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so.

Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat;
Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak

prayers. —
Helen, I love thee; by my life I do;
I swear by that which I will lose for thee.
To prove him false, that says I love thee not.

Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do.

Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.

Dem. Quick, come, —

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this?

Lys. Away, you Ethiop!

Dem. No, no, sir: — he wilP')

Seem to break loose; take on, as you would follow;
But yet come not: You are a tame man, go!

Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr : vile thing, let loose ;
Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent.

Her. Why are you grown so rude? what change Lb this.
Sweet love?

Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, outt

Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence!

Her. Do you not jest?

Hel

Yes, 'sooth; and so do you.

▼n.

136

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM,

Act III

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
Dem. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive,

A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word.
Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead ?

Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.
Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate?

Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love?

Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?

I am as fair now, as I was erewhile.

Since night, you lov'd me ; yet, since night you left me :

Why, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid! —

In earnest, shall I say?
Lys. Ay, by my life;

And never did desire to see thee more.

Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt,

Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest.

That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

Her. O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!
You thief of love! what, have you come by night.
And stol'n my love's heart from him?

Hel. Fine, i'faith!

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
Fy, f y ! you counterfeit, you puppet you!

Her. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height;
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. —
And are you grown so high in his esteem,
Because I am so dwarfish, and so low?
How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak;
How low am I? 1 am not yet so low.
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me: 1 was never curst; ^'*)
I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
I am a right maid for my cowardice;
Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think,
Because she's something lower than myself,
That I can match her.

Her. Lower! hark, again.

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
I told him of your stealth into this wood:
He follow'd you; for love, I foUow'd him.
But he hath chid me hence; and threaten'd me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
And now, so you will let me quiet go.
To Athens will I bear my folly back.
And follow you no further: Let me go:
You see how simple and how fond I am. ^*)

Her. Why, get you gone: Who is't that hinders you?

Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind.

Her. What, with Lysander?

Hel. With Demetrius.

Ly». Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, Helena.

Devi. No, sir; she shall not, though you take her part.

Hel, O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd :
She was a vixen, ^<') when she went to school;
And, though she be but little, she is fierce.

Her. Little again? nothing but low and little?
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
Let me come to her.

Ly». Get you gone, you dwarf;

You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made; ^')
You bead, you acorn.

Dem. You are too officious.

In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone; speak not of Helena;

Take not her part: for if thou dost intend ^^)
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby ^9) jt.

Lys. Now she holds me not;

Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right.
Or thine or mine, is most in Helena.
Dem. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole.
[Exeunt L\s, and Dem.
Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you:
Nay, go not back.

Hel. I will not trust you, I;

Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray;
My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit.
Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say.

[Exit, pursuing Helena.
Obe. This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st,
Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully.
Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me, I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on?
And so far blameless proves my enterprize,
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes:
And so far am I glad it so did sort, '*")
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight:
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron;
And lead these testy rivals so astray.
As one come not within another's way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
And from each other look thou lead them thus.
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep:
Th^n crush this herb into Lysander's eye;
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,'*')
To take from thence all error, with his might,
And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, '*-)
With league, whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles 1 in this affair do thee employ,
I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste ;
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast.
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there.
Troop home to church-yards: damned spirits all.
That in cross-ways and floods haA'e burial, '*^)
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light.
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.

Obe. But we are spirits of another sort:
I with the morning's love have oft made sport;'**)
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red.
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams.
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay:
We may effect this business yet ere day.

[Exit Obekon.
Puck. Up and down, up and down;
I will lead them up and down:
I am fear'd in field and town;
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one.

VII.

Act IV.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

137

Enter Ltsander.

Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak

thou now.
Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where

art thou?
Lyt. I will be with thee straight.
Puck. Follow me then

To plainer ground. [Exit Lys. as foUoteing the voice.

Enter Demetrius.

Dent. Lysander! speak again.

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?

Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars.
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
Andwilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child;
I'll whip thee with a rod: He is defil'd,
That draws a sword on thee.

Dem. Yea; art thou there?

Puck. Follow my voice; we'll try no manhood here.

[Exeunt.

Re-enter Ltsander.
Lyt. He goes before me, and still dares me on;
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
The villain is much lighter heel'd than I:
I foUow'd fast, but faster he did fly;
That fallen am I, in dark uneven way.
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!

[Lies down.
For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps.

Re-enter Puck and Demetrius.

Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou not?

Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st: for well I wot,
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place;
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou?

Puck. Come hither; I am here.

Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy
this dear.
If ever I thy face by day-light see:
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed. —
By day's approach look to be visited.

[Lies down and sleeps.

Enter Helena.

Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night,
Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the east;
That I may back to Athens, by day-light,

From these that my poor company detest: —
And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.
Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps.
Puck. Yet but three? Come one more;
Two of both kinds makes up four.
Here she comes, curst and sad:
Cupid is a knavish lad.
Thus to make poor females mad.

Enter Hermia.

Her. Never so weary, never so in woe.
Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers:
I can no further crawl, no further go;

My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me, till the break of day.
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray.

[Lies down.
Puck. On the ground
Sleep sound :

I'll apply

To your eye,
Gentle lover, remedy.

[Squeezing the juice on Ltsandkk's eye.

When thou wak'st,

Thou tak'st

True delight

In the sight
Of thy former lady's eye:
And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own.
In your waking shall be shown:

Jack shall have Jill;

Nought shall go ill;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall
be well.

[Exit Pock. — Dem. Hel. Lc. sleep.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The tame.

Enter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attending;
Oberon beJdnd unseen.

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, ')
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head.
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

Bot. Where's Peas-blossom?

Peas. Ready.

Bot. Scratch ray head. Peas-blossom. — Where's
monsieur Cobweb?

Cob. Ready.

Bot. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get your
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped
humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mon-
sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret your-
self too much in the action, monsieur; and, good
monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I
would be loth to have you oveiiiown with a honey-
bag, signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed?

Must. Ready.

Bot. Give me your nief, -) monsieur Mustard-seed.
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur.

Must. What's your will?

Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mon-
sieur; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about
the face: and I am such a tender ass, if my hair
do but tickle me, I must scratch.

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet
love ?

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music: let
us have the tongs ') and the bones.

Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat.

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch
your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great de-
sire to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath
no fellow.

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.

Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried
peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir
me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.

Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, begone, and be all ways away. "')
So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, *)
Gently entwist, — the female ivy *) so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!

[Theji sleep.

vn.

138

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

Act IV.

Oberon advances. Enter Puck.

Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet
sight ?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
For meeting her of late, behind the wood,
Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her, and fall out with her;
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls.
Stood now within the pretty flourets' eyes, ')
Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her,
And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
And now 1 have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain;
That he awaking when the other do,
May all to Athens back again repair;
And think no more of this night's accidents,
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the fairy queen.
Be, as thou wast wont to be;

[^Touching her eye* with an herb.
See, as thou wast wont to see:
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower ^)
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.

Tita. My Oberon! what visions have I seen!
Methought, I was enamour'd of au ass.
Obe. There lies your love.

Tita. How came these things to pass?

O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now!

Obe. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this head. —
Titania, music call; and strike more dead
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense,
Tita. Music, ho! music; such as charmeth sleep.
Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own

fool's eyes peep.
Obe. Sound, music. [Still musicj Come, my queen,
take hands with me.
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.'
Now thou and I are new in amity;
And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly,
Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly.
And bless it to all fair posterity: ')
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.

Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark;
I do hear the morning lark.

Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad.
Trip we after the night's shade:
We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wand'ring moon.

Tita. Come, my lord; and in our flight.
Tell me how it came this night,
That I sleeping here was found,
With these mortals, on the ground. [Exeunt.
[Horns eound within.

Enter Theseus, Hippoltta, Egeus, and Train.

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; —
For now our observation is perform'd; *")
And since we have the vaward of the day, • •)
My love shall hear the music of my hounds, —
Uncouple in the western valley; go; —
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. —

We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top.
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear
Such gallant chiding; *-) for, besides the groves.
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
So flew'd, ^ *) so sanded ; * '*) and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells.
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd too, nor cheer'd with horn.
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly;
Judge, when you hear. — But, soft; what nymphs
are these?

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep;
And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena:
I wonder of their being here together.

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe
The rite of May; **) and, hearing our intent,
Came here in grace of our solemnity. —
But, speak, Egeus; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice?

Ege. It is, my lord.

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.

Horns, and shout within. Dkmetrius, Lysandeb,
Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up.

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is
past; *')
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?

Lys. Pardon, my lord.

[He and the rest hnecl to Thesscs.

The. I pray you all, stand up.

I know, you are two rival enemies;
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy.
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

Lys. My lord, I shall reply araazedly.
Half 'sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear,
I cannot truly say how I came here:
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, —
And now I do bethink me, so it is;)
I came with Hermia hither: our intent
Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be
Without the peril of the Athenian law.

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough:
I beg the law, the law upon his head. —
They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you and me:
You, of your wife; and me, of my consent;
Of my consent that she should be your wife.

Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth.
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow'd them;
Fair Helena in fancy * ' ) following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,
(But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia,
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gawd, **)
Which in my childhood I did dote upon:
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart.
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye.
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia:
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food:
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,

vn.

Act v.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

139

Now do I wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.

The. Fair lovers, yon are fortunately met :
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. —
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn.
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. —
Away, with us, to Athens: Three and three,
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. —
Come, Hippolyta.

[Exeunt Theseus, Hifpolyti, Egeus, and Train.

Dcm. These things seem small, and undistinguishable.
Like far-off mountains, tui-ned into clouds.

Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye.
When every thing seems double.

Hel. So methinks:

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own. ^')

Detn. It seems to me, -<>)

That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think,
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?

Her. Yea, and my father.

Hel. And Hippolyta.

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple.

Detn. Why then, we are awake: let's follow him;
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt.

As they go out, Bottom awahes.
Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will an-
swer: — my next is. Most fair Pyramus. Hey,

ho! — Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender!
Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life! stolen
hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare
vision. I have had a dream, — past the wit of man
to say what dream it was: Man is but an ass, if
he go about to expound this dream. Methought I
>Yas — there is no man can tell what. Methought
I was, and methought I had, — But man is but a
patched fool, '•) if he will offer to say what me-
thought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the
ear of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able
to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to
report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince
to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called
Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I
will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the
duke: Peradventure, to make it the more gracious,
I shall sing it at her death. *-)

SCENE n.

Athens. A Room in Quince'* House.
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling.

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? is he
come home yet?

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he
is transported.

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred; It
goes not forward, doth it?

Quin. It is not possible: you have not a man in
all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he.

Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any handy-
craft man in Athens.

Quin. Yea, and the best person too: and he is a
very paramour, for a sweet voice.
. Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God
bless us, a thing of nought.

Enter Snug.

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple,

and there is two or three lords and ladies more mar-

ried : if our sport had gone forward, we had all
been made men.
Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost six-
pence a-day during his life; he could not have 'scaped
sixpence a- day: an the duke had not given him six-
pence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged;
he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day, in Py-
ramus, or nothing.

Enter Bottom.

Bot. Where are these lads? where are these hearts?

Quin. Bottom! — Omost courageous day! O most
happy hour!

Bot. Masters, lam to discourse wonders: but ask
me not what ; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian.
I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you,
is, that the duke hath dined : Gel your apparel to-
gether; good strings to your beards, ^^) new rib-
bons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace;
every man look o'er his part, for the short and the
long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let
Thisby have clean linen ; and let not him, that plays
the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for
the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no
onions, nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet breath)
and I do not doubt, but to hear them say. It is a sweet
comedy. No more words; away; go, away. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same. An Apartment in the
Palace of Theseus.

E/i/cr Thbsbus, Hippolyta, Piiilostratb, Lords,
and Attendants.

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers
speak of.

The. More strange than true. I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact: *)
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is, the madman; the lover, all as frantic.
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: ')
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to

heaven.
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation, and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination;
That, if it would but apprehend some joy.
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear.
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?

Hip. But all the story of the night told over.
And all their minds transfigur'd so together.
More witnesseth than fancy's images.
And grows to something of great constancy; *)
But, howsoever, strange, and admirable.

jEijfcr Lysander, Demetrius, Hbrmu, and Helena.
The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.—
Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love.
Accompany your hearts!

vn.

140

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM

Act V.

Lys. More than to us

Wait '') on your royal walks, your board, your bed!
The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall
we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours.
Between our after-supper, and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.
Philost. Here, mighty Theseus.

The. Say, what abridgment *) have you for this
evening ?
What mask, what music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
Philost. There is a brief, *) how many sports are ripe;
Make choice of which your highness will see first.

^Giving a paper.
The. [Reads.] The battle with the Centaur*, to

be sung,
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.
We'Jl none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules,
The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.
That is an old device, and it was play'd
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.

The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of learning, late deceased in beggary.
That is some satire, keen, and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.

A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief?
That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words
long;
Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long;
Which makes it tedious: for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
The. What are they that do play it?
Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens
here.
Which never laboured in their minds till now;
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd ') memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.
The. And we will hear it.

Philost. No, my noble lord,

It is not for you: I have heard it over.
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain.
To do you service.

The. I will hear that play;

For never any thing can be amiss.
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies.

[Exit Philostrate.
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.
The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind.
The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for no-
thing.
Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty cannot do,

Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale.
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears.
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence, yet, I piok'd a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of sawcy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity.
In least, speak most, to my capacity.

Enter Philosthate.
Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is

addrest. ^)
The. Let him approach. [Flouri$h of trumpeU. ')

Enter Prologue.
Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to offend.
But with good will. To show our simple skill,

That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then, we come but in despite.

We do not come as minding to content you.
Our true intent is. All for your delight.

We are not here. That you should here repent you.
The actors are at hand; and, by their show.
You shall knoiv all, that you are like to know.
The. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt;
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: It
is not enough to speak, but to speak true.

Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like
a child on a recorder: ^°) a sound, but not in go-
vernment. '■ ' )

The. His speech was like a tangled chain : nothing
impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

Enter Pitramus and Thisbb, Wall, Moonshine,

and Lion, as in dumb show.

Prol. "Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show ;

"But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
"This man is Pyramus, if you would know;

"This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain.
"This man with lime and rough-cast, doth present

"Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder :
"And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are
content

"To whisper, at the which let no man wonder.
"This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,

"Presenteth moon-shine : for, if you will know,
"By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn

"To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
"This grisly beast, which by name lion bight, ' -)
"The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
"Did scare away, or rather did affright :
"And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ;

"Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain :
"Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,

'•And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain:
"Whereat wit4i blade, with bloody blameful blade,

"He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast;
"And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,

"His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
"Let lion, moon-shine, wall, and lovers twain,
"At large discourse, while here they do remain."

[Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine.
The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak.
Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when
many asses do.

vn.

J

Act V.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

141

Wall. "In this same interlude, it doth befall,
"That I, one Snout by name, present a wall:
"And such a wall as I would have you think,
"That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink,
"Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
"Did whisper often very secretly.
"This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show,
"That I am that same wall; the truth is so:
"And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
^'Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper."

The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak
better ?

Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
discourse, my lord.

The, Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!

Enter Pyramus.

Pyr. "O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so
black!
"O night, which ever art, when day is not!
"O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,

"I fear my Thisby 's promise is forgot! —
**And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,

"That stand'st between her father's ground and

mine,

"Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,

"Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine

eyne. [Wall holdt up his finger*.

^'Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for

this!
"But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
"O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss;
"Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!"

The. The wall, methiuks, being sensible, should
curse again.

Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving
me, is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am
to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will
fall pat as I told you: — Yonder she comes.

Enter Thisbb.

This. "O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
"For parting my fair Pyramus and me:
*'My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones;
"Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee."
Pyr. "I see a voice: now will I to the chink,
"To spy an I can hear my Thisbe's face.
"Thisby!"
This. "My love! thou art my love, I think."
Pyr. "Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's
grace ;
"And like Limander am I trusty still." ' ^)
This. "And I like Helen, till the fates me kill."
Pyr. "Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true."
This. "As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you."
Pyr. "O, kiss me through the hole of this vile

wall."
This. "I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all."
Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straight-
way':?"
This. "Tide life, tide death, I come without delay."
Wall. "Thus have J, wall, ray part discharged so;
"And, being done, thus wall away doth go."

[Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe.
The. Now is the mural down between the two
neighbours.

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wil-
ful to hear without warning.
Hip. This is the silliest stuif that ever I heard.
The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and
the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.
Hip. It must be your imagfnation then, and not theirs.

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they
of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.
Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. *'*)

Enter Lion and Moonshine.

Lion. "You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear

"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,

"May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,

"When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
"Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am
"A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam:
"For if I should as lion come in strife
"Into this place, 'twere pity on my life."

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er
I saw.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour.

The. True; and a goose for his discretion.

Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valour cannot carry
his discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his
valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is
well ; leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to
the moon.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present:"

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible
within the circumference.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present;
"Myself the man i'th' moon do seem to be."

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the
man should be put into the lantern: How is it else
the man i'the moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle:
for, you see, it is already in snuff. ' ^)

Hip. I am aweary of this moon: Would, he would
change!

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion,
that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all
reason, we must stay the time.

Lys. Proceed, moon.

Mooji. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that
the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon;
this thorn - bush, my thorn - bush ; and this dog,
my dog.

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern;
for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes
Thisbe.

Enter Thisbk.

This. "This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my

love?"
Lion. „0h — ." [The Liou roan. — Tuisbe run» off.
Dem. Well roared, lion.
The. Well run, Thisbe.

Hip. Well shone. Moon. — Truly, the moon shines
with a good grace.
The. Well moused, lion. ")

[The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit,
Dem. And so comes Pyramus.
Lys. And then the moon vanishes.

Enter Pyramus.
Pyr. "Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny
beams ;
"I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright:
"For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, .
"I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
"But stay; — O spite!
"But mark; — Poor knight,
"What dreadful dole is here?
"Eyes, do you see?

▼n.

142

MIDSUMMER. NIGHT'S DREAM,

Act V.

"How can it be?
«0 dainty duck! O dear!
"Thy mantle good,
"What, stain'd with blood?
"Approach, ye furies fell!
"O fates! come, come;
"Cut thread and thrum; ")
"Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" ^^)
The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend,
would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
Pyr. "O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame?
"Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear:
"Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame,
"That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with
cheer. *')

"Come, tears, confound;
"Out, sword, and wound
"The pap of Pyramus:
"Ay, that left pap,
"Where heart doth hop: —
"Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
"Now am I dead,
"Now am I fled:
"My soul is in the sky:
"Tongue, lose thy light!
"Moon, take thy flight!
"Now die, die, die, die, die."

l^Dies. — Exit Moonshtne.
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is
but one.

Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he
is nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet
recover, and prove an ass.
Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe
comes back and finds her lover?

The. She will find him by star-light. — ^Here she
comes; and her passion ends the play.

Enter Thisbb.
Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for
such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief.

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra-
mus, which Thisbe, is the better.
Lya. She hath spied him already with those sweet
eyes.

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.

This. "Asleep, my love?
"What, dead, my dove?
"O Pyramus, arise,

"Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
"Dead, dead? A tomb
"Must cover thy sweet eyes.
"These lily brows, ^oj
"This cherry nose,
"These yellow cowslip cheeks,
"Are gone, are gone:
"Lovers, make moan!
"His eyes were green as leeks.
"O sisters three,
"Come, come, to me,
"With hands as pale as milk;
"Lay them in gore,
"Since you have shore
"With shears his thread of silk.
"Tongue not a word: —
"Come, trusty sword;
"Come, blade, my breast imbrue:
"And farewell, friends; —
"Thus Thisbe ends:
"Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies.

The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead.

Dem. Ay, and wall too.

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that
parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the
epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, ^ ') between
two of our company?

The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs
no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the players are
all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if
he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged
himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine
tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably dis-
charged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epi-
logue alone. [Here a dance of Clowua.
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : —
Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd
The heavy gait ^-) of night. — Sweet friends, to

bed. —
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Ejcetmt.

SCENE n.
Enter Puck.

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon:
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores.

All with weary task fordone. -^)
Now the wasted brands do glow.

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night.

That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one let's forth his sprite.

In the church- way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecat's team.
From the presence of the sun.

Following darkness like a dream.
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent, with broom, before.
To sweep the dust behind the door.-*)

Enter Oberon and Titania, witJi their Train.

Obe. Through this house give glinunering light,

By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf, and fairy sprite.

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me.
Sing, and dance it trippingly.

Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note.
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

Song, and Dance.

Obe. Now, until the break of day.
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we.
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue, there create.
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;
And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor marlf prodigious, ^ *) such as are

vn.

Act V.

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

143

Despised in nativity.
Shall upon their children be. —
With this field-dew consecrate.
Every fairy take his gait; -^)
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace with sweet peace:
E'er shall it in safety rest, *')
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away;
Make no stay;
Meet me aU by break of day.

[Exeunt Obero;«, Titikia, and Train.
Puck, y we shadow* have offended.

Think but this, (and all is mended,)

That you have but slumber'd here,

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme.

No more yielding but a dream.

Gentles, do not reprehend;

If you pardon we will mend.

And, as I'm an honest Puck,

If we have unearned luck, -<*)

JVoir to 'scape the serpent's tongue, ")

We will make amends, ere long:

Else the Puck a liar call.

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, »<>) if we be friends^

And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.

VtL.

VIII.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

PBaSOHS RSPBESENTED.

Fbrdinakd, King of Navarre.

BiRUN, i

L0NG1TII.I.B, > Lords, attending on th« King.

DCM.UN, 1

BoTKT, J Lords, attending on th« Princess of

Mkrcadb, j France.

Don Adriaxo db Arwado, a fantastical Spaniard.

Sir Nathanibt., a Curate.

HoLOFBRNBs, o Schoolttiatter.

DtTLL, m Constable.

Scene —

Costard, a Clown,
Moth, Page to Armado.
A Forester.
Princess of France.

ROSALINB, I

MARii, > Ladies, attending on the Princess.

Katharine, )

Jaqdknetta, a country Wench,
OfHcers and others, Atteiulaut^ on the King and
Princess.

Na-varre,

ACT I.

Scene I. Navarre. A Park,with aPalmce in it.
Enter the King, Biron, Lon6ji.tili.b, mud Ddmulin.

King.
Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives.
Live registered upon our brazen tombs.
And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring time.
The endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge.
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors! — for so you are,
That war against your own affections,
And the huge army of the worid's desires, —
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Birdn, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me.
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes.
That are recorded in this schedule here:
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ;
That his own hand may strike his honour down.
That violates the smallest branch herein:
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do.
Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too.

Long. I am resolv'd: 'tis but a three years' fast;
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankVout quite the wits.

Dutn. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified;
The grosser maimer of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these ') living in philosophy.

Biron. I can but say their protestation over,
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn.
That is. To live and study here three years.
But there are other strict observances:
As, not to see a woman in that term;

Which, I hope vrdl, is not enrolled there:
And, one day in a week to touch no food;
And but one meal on every day beside;
The which, 1 hope, is not enrolled there:
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night.
And not be seen to wink of all the day;
(When I was wont to think no harm all night,
And make a dark night too of half the day;)
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there;
O, the^e are barren tasks, too hard to ke^;
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from th«ie,

Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please;
1 only swore, to study with your grace.
And stay here in your court for three years' space.

liong. You swore to that, Biron, and to the re^t,

Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. —
What is the end of study ? let me know.

King. Why, that to know, which else we should
not know.

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from com-
mon sense?

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense.

Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so.
To know the thing I am forbid to know:
As thus, — To study where 1 well may dine.

When I to feast expressly am forbid;
Or, study where to meet some mistress fine.

When mistresses from common sense are hid:
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath.
Study, to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus, and this be so.
Study *kno>>s that, which yet it doth not know
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no.

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite.
And train our intellects to vain delight.

Biron. Why, all delights are A-ain ; but that most >Tun,
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain:
As, painfully to |>ore upon a book.

To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while
Doth falsely blind ^) the eyesight of his look:

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile:
So, ere yoa find where light in darkness lies.

■I

▼m.

Act I.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST

145

Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,

By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed.

And give him light that was it blinded by. ')
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun.

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks;
Small have continual plodders ever won,

Save base authority from others' books.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,

That give a name to every fixed star.
Have no more profit of their shining nights.

Than those that walk, and wot not what they are.

Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame;

And every godfather can give a name.

King. How well he's read, to reason against reading!

Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding !

Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the

weeding.
Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are

a breeding.
X>«7n. How follows that?

Biron. Fit in his place and time.

Dum. lu reason nothing.

Biron. Something then in rhyme.

Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, ■•)

That bites the first-boni infants of the spring.
Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud summer
boast.
Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in an abortive birth?
At Christmas I no more desire a rose.
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; ^)
But like of each thing, that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late.
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.
King. Well, sit you out:') go home, Biron; adieu!
Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay
with you:
And, though I have for barbarism spoke more.
Than for that angel knowledge you can say.
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore.

And bide the penance of each three years' day.
Give me the paper, let me read the same; V

And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name, f
King. How well this yielding rescues thee from^
shame ! )

Biron. [Read*.] Item, That no woman thall come
within a mile of my court. —
'* And hath this been proclaira'd?
Long. Four days ago.

Biron. Let's see the penalty.
[Read*.] — On pain of losing her tongue. —

Who devis'd this? 8)
Long. INIarry, that did I.
Biron. Sweet lord, and why?
Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty.
Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. ')
[Read*.] Item, If any man be teen to talk with
a woman tfithin the term of three yean, he shall
endure such public shame as the rest of the court
can possibly devise. —
This article, my liege, yourself must break;

For, well you know, here comes in embassy
The French king's daughter, with yourself to speak, —

A maid of grace, and complete majesty, —
About surrender-up of Aquitain

To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father:
Therefore this article is made in vain.

Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.
King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite

forgot.
Biron. So study evermore b OTer-shot;

While it doth study to have what it would,
It doth forget to do the thing it should:
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost.

King. We must, of force, dispense with this decree ;
She must lie here ^**) on mere necessity.
Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn

Three thousand times within this three years' space :
For every man with his affects is born;

Not by might master'd, but by special grace: ")
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me.
I am forsworn on mere necessity. —
So to the laws at large I write my name : [Subscribes.

And he, that breaks them in the least degree,
Stands in attainder of eternal shame:

Suggestions ^^) are to others, as to me;
But, I believe, although I seem so loth ;
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation '^) granted?
King. Ay, that there is: our court, you know, is
haunted

With a refined traveller of Spain;
A man in all the world's new fashion planted.

That hath a mint of phrases in his brain :
One, whom the music of his own vain tongue

Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony;
A man of complements,'"*) whom right and wrong

Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
This child of fancy, '^) that Armado hight, ")

For interim to our studies, shall relate.
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight

From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie.
And I will use him for ray minstrelsy. '")

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new words, ' ^) fashion's own knigltt.
Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be our sport ;
And, so to study, three years is but short.

Enter DcLt, teith a Letter, and Costard.

Dull. Which is the duke's own person?

Biron. This, fellow; What would'st?

Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am
his grace's tharborough: ") but I would see his
own person in flesh and blood.

Biron. This is he.

Dull. Signior Arme — Anne — commends you.
There's villainy abroad; this letter will tell you more.

Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.

King. A letter from the magnificent Armado.

Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God
for high words.

Long. A high hope for a low having: -") God
grant us patience !

Biron. To hear? or forbear hearing?

Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately;
or to forbear both.

Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us
cause to climb in the merriness.

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaque-
netta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the
manner. -')

Biron. In what manner?

Cost. In manner and form followng, sir; all those
three: I was seen with her in the manor house, sit-
ting \vith her upon the form, and taken following
her into the park; which, put together, is in man-
ner and form following. Now, sir, for the man-
ner, — it is the manner of a man to speak to a
woman: for the form, — in some form.

Biron. For the following, mt?

10

146

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act I.

Cost. As it shall follow in ray correction; And
God defend the right !

King. Will you hear this letter with attentipn?

Biron. As we would hear an oracle.

Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken
after the flesh.

King. [Reads.] Great deputy, the welkin's vice-
gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's
earth's God, and body's fostering patron, —

Cost. Not a word of Costard yet.

King. So it is, — •

Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he is,
in telling true, but so, so.

King. Peace.

Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares not fight !

King. No words.

Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you.

King. So it is, besieged with sable-coloured me-
lancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing hu-
mour to the most wholesome physic of thy health-
giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook
myself to walk. The time when ? About the sixth
hour ; when beasts most graze, birds best peck,
and men sit down to that nourishment which is
called supper. So much for the time when: Now
for the ground which; which, I mean, I walked
upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place
where; where, I mean, I did encounter that ob-
scene and most preposterous event, that draweth
from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink,
which here thou viewest, beholdest, survey est, or
seest : But to the place, where, — It standeth
north-north-east and by east from the west corner
of thy curious knotted-garden. --) There did I
see that low spirited swain, that base minnow of
thy mirth, ^^)

Cost. Me.

King. — that unletter'd small-knowing soul.

Cost. Me.

King. — that shallow vassal,

Cost. Still me.

King. — which, as I remember, hight Costard,

Cost. O me!

King. — sorted and consorted, contrary to thy
established proclaimed edict and continent canon,
with, — with, — O with, — but with this I pas-
sion to say wherewith,

Cost. With a wench.

King. — with a child of our grandmother Eve,
a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding,
a woman. Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks
me on) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of
punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony
Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing,
and estimation.

Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I am Antony Dull.

King. For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel
called, which I apprehended with the aforesaid
swain,) I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury;
and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring
her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted
and heart-burning heat of duty,

Don Adriano db Armado.

Biron. This is not so well as I look'd for, but
the best that ever I heard.

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah,
what say you to this?

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench.

King. Did you hear the proclamation?

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little
of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to
be taken with a wench.

Cost. I was taken with none, sir, I was taken with
a damosel.

King, Well, it was proclaimed damosel.

Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir; she was
a virgin.

King. It is so varied too; for it was proclaimed,
virgin.

Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken
with a maid.

King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir.

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir.

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: You
shall fast a week with bran and water.

Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and
porridge.

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. —
My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. — ■
And go we, lords, to put in practice that

Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. —
[Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dbmaiw.

Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat.

These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. —
Sirrah, come on.

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true it is, I
was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true
girl; and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of pros-
perity! Affliction may one day smile again, and till
then. Sit thee down, sorrow! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another part of the same. Armado'* House.

Enter Armado and Moth.

Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great
spirit grows melancholy?

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing,
dear imp.

Moth. No, no; O lord, sir, no.

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy,
my tender juvenal? ^'*)

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working,
my tough senior.

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior?

Moth. Why, tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?

Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent
epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which
we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title
to your old time, which we may name tough.

Arm. Pretty, and apt.

Moth. How mean you, sir; I pretty, and my saying
apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?

Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little pretty, because little? Wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master?

Arm. In thy condign praise.

Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise.

Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious?

Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. I do say thou art quick in answers: Thou
heatest my blood.

Moth. I am answered, sir.

Arm. I love not to be crossed.

Moth, He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love
not him. ^*) [Aside.

Arm. I have promised to study three years with
the duke.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.

Arm. Impossible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?

vin.

Act I,

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

147

Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of

a tapster.
Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir.
Arm. I confess both; they are both the varnish of

a complete man.
Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the

gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.
Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three.

Arm. True.

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study?

Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink:

and how easy is it to put years to the word three,
and study three years in two words, the dancing

horse will tell you. -'')

Arm. A most fine figure !

Moth. To prove you a cypher. [Jside.

Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : and
as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love
with a base wench. If drawing ray sword against
the humour of affection would deliver me from the
reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prison-
er, and ransom him to any French courtier for a
new demised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh; me-
thinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy:
What great men have been in love?

Moth. Hercules, master.

Arm. Most sAveet Hercules! — More authority,
dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them
be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Sampson, master: he was a man of good
carriage, great carriage: for he carried the town-
gates on his back, like a porter: and he was
in love.

Arm. O well-knit Sampson! strong-jointed Samp-
son; I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou
didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too, —
Who was Sampson's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two;
or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion?

Moth. Of the sea- water green, sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.

Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers: 2^)
but to have a love of that colour, methings, Samp-
son had small reason for it. He, surely, affected
her for her wit.

Moth. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red.

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked
under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue,
assist me.

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty,
and pathetical!

Moth. If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred.

And fears by pale-white shown:
Then, if she fear, or be to blame.

By this you shall not know ;
For still her cheeks possess the same.
Which native she doth owe. ^^)
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of
white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and
the Beggar?

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad
some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not to

be found; or if it were, it would neither serve for
the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I win have the subject newly writ o'er, that
I may example my digression ^ ') by some mighty
precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that
I took in the park with the rationed hind Costard;
she deserves well.

Moth. To be whipped ; and yet a better love than
my master. [Jside.

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

Arm. I say, sing.

Moth. Forbear till this company be past.

Enter Ddll, Costahd, and Jaqubnetta.

Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep
Costard safe : and you must let him take no delight,
nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a-week :
For this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she
is allowed for the day-woman.^") Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid.

Jaq. Man.

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.

Jaq. That's hereby, ^i)

Arm. 1 know where it is situate.

Jaq. Lord, how -wise you are!

Arm. I will tell thee wonders.

Jaq. With that face? ^-)

Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you say.

Arm. And so farewell.

Jaq. Fair weather after you!

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta.

Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere
thou be pardoned.

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do
it on a full stomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished.

Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows,
for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up.

Moth. Come, you transgressing slave; away.

Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast,
being loose.

Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt
to prison.

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of
desolation that I have seen, some shall see.

Moth. What shall some see?

Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent
in their words; and, therefore, I will say nothing:
I thank God, I have as little patience as another
man; and, therefore, I can be quiet.

[Exeunt Moth and Costaso.

Arm. I do affect ^^) the very ground, which is
base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by
her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be
forsworn, (which is a great argument of falsehood,)
if I love : And how can that be true love, which is
falsely attempted? Love is a familiar; love Is a
devil: there is no evil angel but love. Yet Samp-
son was so tempted; and he had an excellent strength:
yet was Solomon so seduced; and he had a very
good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft ^ *) is too hard for
Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a
Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will
not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the
duello he regards not: his disgrace is to be called
boy; but his glory is, to subdue men. Adieu, va-
lour! rust, rapier! be still, drum! for your manager
is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me some extem-

vm.

10

148

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST

Act II.

poral god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I shall turn
sonneteer. Devise wit; write pen; for I am for
whole volumes in folio. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Another part of the game. A Pavilion
and Tents at a distance.

Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria,
Katharine, Bo yet. Lords, and other Attendants.

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest
spirits; *)
Consider who the king your father sends;
To whom he sends; and what's his embassy;
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem;
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe.
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain; a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear.
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but
mean.
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye.
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues:
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth
Than you much willing to be counted wise
In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker, — good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow.
Till painful study shall out-wear three years.
No woman may approach his silent court:
Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates.
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, -) we single you
As our best-moving fair solicitor:
Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,
On serious business, craving quick despatch.
Importunes personal conference with his grace.
Haste, signify so much; while we attend.
Like humbly-visag'd suitors, his high will.

Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. \Exit.

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and your's is so. —
Who are the votaries, my loving lords.
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?

1 Lord. Longaville is one.

Prin. Know you the man?

Mar. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast.
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Falconbridge solemnized.
In Normandy saw I this Longaville :

A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;

Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms:
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.

The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,

(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,)

Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will;

Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills

It should none spare that come within his power.
Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so?
Mar. They say so most, that most his humours know.
Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.

Who are the rest?
Kath. The youngDumain, a well-accomplish'd youth,

Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd:

Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ;

For he hath wit to make an ill shape good.
And shape to win grace though he had no wit.
I saw him at the duke Alen9on's once;
And much too little ^) of that good I saw.
Is my report, to his great worthiness.

Ros. Another of these students at that time
Was there with him: if I have heard a truth,
Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal:
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch.
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest;
Which his fair tongue, (conceit's expositor,)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales.
And younger hearings are quite ravish'd;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Prin. God bless my ladles ! are they all in love ;
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

Mar. Here comes Boyet.

Re-enter Boyet.

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord?

Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ;
And he, and his competitors in oath, *)
Were all address'd *) to meet you, gentle lady.
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt.
He rather means to lodge you in the field,
(Like one that comes here to besiege his court,)
Than seek a dispensation for his oath.
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre. [The Ladies mash

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and
Attendants.

King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and, welcome
I have not yet: the roof of this court is too high
to be yours: and welcome to the wild fields too
base to be mine. *

King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

Prin. I will be welcome then ; conduct me thither.

King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath.

Prin. Our lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn.

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing
else.

King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where ') now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear, your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping;
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
And sin to break it.
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold;
To teach a teacher ill beseeraeth me.
Vauchsafe to read the purpose of my coming.
And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper.

King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.

Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away;
For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay.

Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

Biron. I know, you did.

Ros. How needless was it then

To ask the question!

Biron. You must not be so quick.

Ros. 'Tis long of you that spur me with such
questions.

Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast,
'twill tire.

Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

vni.

Act II.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

149

Biron. What time o' day?

Ros. The hour that fools should ask.

Biron. Now fair befall your mask!

Ros. ¥a\t fall the face it covers!

Biron. And send you many lovers!

Ros. Amen, so you be none.

Biron. Nay, then will I be gone.

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but the one half of an entire sura,
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,)
Receiv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which.
One part of Aquitain is bound to us.
Although not valued to the money's worth.
If then the king your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his majesty,
But that, it seems, he little purposeth.
For here he doth demand to have repaid
An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns.
To have his title live in Aquitain;
Which we much rather had depart withal, ')
And have the money by our father lent,
Than Aquitain so gelded as it is.
Dear princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast,
And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong.
And wrong the reputation of your name.
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

King. I do protest, I never heard of it;
And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back.
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin. We arrest your word: —

Boyet, you can produce acquittances.
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.

King. Satisfy me so.

Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come.
Where that and other specialties are bound;
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

King. It shall suffice me: at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness :
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
But here without you shall be so receiv'd.
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart.
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell :
To-worrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your
grace !

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place!
[Exeunt Kikg and his Train.

Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.

Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would
be glad to see it.

Biron. I would, you heard it groan.

Ros. Is the fool sick?

Biron. Sick at the heart.

Ros. Alack, let it blood.

Biron. Would that do it good?

Ros. My physic says, I.

Biron. Will you prick't with your eye?

Ros. No poynt, *) with my knife.

Biron. Now, God save thy life!

Ros. And yours from long living !

Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring.

Duin. Sir, I pray you^ a word : What lady is that
same?

Boyet. The heir of Alen9on, Rosaline her name.

Dam. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit.

Long. I beseech you a word; What is she in the
white?

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in
the light.

Long. Perchance, light in the light: I "desire her
name.

Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that,
were a shame.

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter?

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.

Long. God's blessing on your beard !

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended:
She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Long. Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady.

Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Long.

Biron. What's her name, in the cap?

Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.

Biron. Is she wedded, or no?

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.

Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu!

Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
[Exit BiBON. — Ladies unmask.

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord;
Not a word with him but a jest.

Boyet. And every jest but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you, to take him at his
word.

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to
board.

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry !

Boyet. And wherefore not ships?

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish
the jest?

Boyet, So you grant pasture for me.

[Offering to kiss her.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast ;

My lips are no common, though several they be. ')

Boyet. Belonging to whom ?

Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling : but, gentles, agree.
The civil war of wits were much better used
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused.

Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Naveirre is infected.

Prin. With what?

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected.

Prin. Your reason?

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire :
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, *")
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair.
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tend'iing their own worth, from where they

were glass'd.
Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes.
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes:

vin.

150

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act m.

I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give hiin for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd —
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos'd:
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st

skilfully.
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news

of him.
Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her

father is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ?
Mar. No.

Boyet. What then, do you see?

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.

Boyet. You are too hard for me.

\Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene I. Another part of the same.
Enter Armado and Moth.

Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense of
hearing.

Moth. Concolinel — - — ») [Singing.

Arm. Sweet air! — Go, tenderness of years; take
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him
festinately hither; ^) I must employ him in a letter
to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a
French brawl? ^)

Arm. How mean'st thou? brawling in French?

Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a
tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your
feet, '*) humour it with turning up your eye-lids;
sigh a note, and sing a note; sometime through the
throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love ;
sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up
love by smelling love; with your hat penthouselike,
o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed
on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit;
or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the
old painting; and keep not too long in one tune,
but a snip and away : These are complements, these
are humours; these betray nice wenches — that would
be betrayed without these; and make them men of
note, (do you note, men?) that most are affected
to these.

Ann. How hast thou purchased this experience?

Moth. By my penny of observation. *}

Arm. But O, — but O, —

Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot.

Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse?

Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt,
and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you
forgot your love?

Arm. Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart.

Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I
will prove.

Arm. What wilt thou prove?

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and
without, upon the instant: By heart you love her,
because your heart cannot come by her: in heart
you love her, because your heart is in love with
her; and out of heart you love her, being out of
heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet
nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me
a letter.

Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to
be embassador for an ass !

Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon
the horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go.

Arm. The way is but short; away.

Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

Moth. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no.

Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so :

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun?

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he : —
I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth. Thump, then, and I flee. [Exit.

Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of
grace.
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face :
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.

Re-enter Moth and Costard.
Moth. A wonder, master: here's a Costard bro-
ken *') in a shin.
Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, — thy V en-
voy ; ') — begin.
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no I'envoy; no salve in
the mail, sir: ") O, sii', plantain, a plain plantain;
no t envoy, no I'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain !
Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly
thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs pro-
vokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my
stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for I'envoy,
and the word, I'envoy, for a salve?
Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not I'en-
voy a salve?
Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to
make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral: Now the I'envoy.
Moth. I will add the I'envoy : Say the moral again.
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three:
Moth. Until the goose came out of door,
And stay'd the odds by adding four.
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow
with my I'envoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee.
Were still at odds, being but three:
Arm. Until the goose came out of door,

Staying the odds by adding four.
Moth. A good I'envoy, ending in the goose;
Would you desire more?
Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose,
that's flat: —
Sir, your pennyworth is good, Sin your goose be fat. —
To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose :
Let me see a fat I'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose.
Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this ar-
gument begin?
Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.
Then call'd you for the I'envoy.
Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came your
argument in;

vm.

Act IV,

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

151

Then the boy's fat I'envoy, the goose that you bought;
And he ended the market.

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard bro-
ken in a shin?

Moth. I will tell you sensibly.

Coat. Thou hast no feeling' of it, Moth; I will
speak that I'envoy.

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within.
Fell over the tlireshold, and broke my shin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.

Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin.

Ann. Sirrah, Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

Cost. O, marry me to one Frances; — I smell
some I'envoy, some goose, in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at
liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert immured,
restrained, captivated, bound.

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my pur-
gation, and let me louse.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from du-
rance; and in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing
but this: Bear this significant to the country maid
Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [giving him money]
for the best ward of mine honour, is, rewarding my
dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit.

Moth. Like the sequel, I. ') — Sigrtior Costard,
adieu.

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! ray incony
Jew! *°) [Exit Moth.

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera-
tion ! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings :
three farthings — remuneration. — What's the price
of this inkle? a penny: — No, I'll give you a
remuneration: why, it carries it. — Remuneration ! —
why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will
never buy and sell out of this word.

Enter Biron.

Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly
well met.

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
may a man buy for a remuneration?

Biron. What is a remuneration?

Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing.

Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk.

Cost. I thank your worship : God be with you !

Biron. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave.
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

Cost. When would you have it done, sir?

Biron. O, this afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: Falre you well.

Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is.

Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.

Cost. 1 will come to your worship to-morrow
morning.

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave,
it is but this; —

The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
And in her train there is a gentle lady;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her

name.
And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;
And to her wliite hand see thou do commend
This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; ^^) go.

[Crij;e« him money.

Cost. Guerdon, — O sweet guerdon! better than
remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most
sweet guerdon! — I will do it, sir, in print. ^*) —
Guerdon — remuneration. [Exit.

Biron. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have
been love's whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;

A critic: nay, a night-watch constable;

A domineering pedant o'er the boy.

Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! ' ^)

This wimpled, •"*) whining, purblind, wayward boy;

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid:

Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms.

The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,

Liege of all loiterers and malcontents.

Dread prince of plackets, *^) king of codpieces.

Sole imperator, and great general

Of trotting pari tors, '■^) O my little heart! —

And I to be a corporal of his field, ^'')

And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop! ")

What? I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!

A woman, that is like a German clock,

Still a repairing; ever out of frame;

And never going aright, being a watch.

But being watch'd that it may still go right?

Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all;

And, among three, to love the worst of all;

A whitely wanton with a velvet brow.

With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes;

Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed.

Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:

And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!

To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague

That Cupid will impose for my neglect

Of his almighty dreadful little might.

Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan;

Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit.

ACT IV.

Scene I. Another part of the tame.

Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharinb,
BoYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.

Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so
hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he.

Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch;
On Saturday we will return to France. —
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in?

For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot.
And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

Prin. What, what? fij"st praise me, and again
say, no?
O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe!

For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now;

Where fedr is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true;

[Giving him money.
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

For. Nothing but fair is that wliich you inherit.

Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow: — Now mercy goes to kill.
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't;
If wounding, then it was to show my skilly
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kilL
And, out of question, so it is sometimes;

Vlll.

152

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST

Act IV.

Glory grows guilty of detested crimes;

When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part.

We bend to that the working of the heart:

As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill.

Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self- sovereignty
Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords?

Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter Costard.

Prin. Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

Cost. God dig-you-den ^) all! Pray you, which is
the head lady?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest
that have no heads.

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

Prin. The thickest, and the tallest.

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth

' is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit.
One of these maids' girdles for your waist should

be fit.
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest
here.

Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will?

Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one
lady Rosaline.

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend
of mine.
Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve;
Break up this capon. -)

Boyet. I am bound to serve. —

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I swear :

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair, is
most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous;
truth itself , that thou art lovely: More fairer than
fair, beautiful than beauteous; truer than truth
itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal I
The magnanimous and most illustrate king Co-
phetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate
beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might
rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize
in the vulgar, (O base and obscure vulgar!) vi-
delicet; 7te came, saw, and overcame: he came,
one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the
king; Why did he come ? to see ; Why did he see ?
to overcome: To whom came he? to the beggar;
What saw he? the beggar; Who overcame he?
the beggar: The conclusion is victory; On whose
side? the king's: the captive is enriched; On whose
side? the beggar's: The catastrophe is a nuptial;
On whose side ? The king's ? — no, on both in one,
or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the
comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth
thy lowliness. Shall I commafid thy love? I may:
Shall I enforce thy love? J could: Shall I entreat
thy love ? J will. What shalt thou exchange for
rags? robes; For tittles, titles; for thyself, me.
Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on
thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart
on thy every part.

Thine, in the dearest design of industry,

Don Adriano db Armado.

Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey:

Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play:

But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited
this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear
better ?
Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the

style.
Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere-

while. ^)
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps
here in court;
A phantasm, a Monarcho, '*) and one that makes sport
To the prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word :

Who gave thee this letter?
Cost. I told you, my lord.

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it?
Cost. From my lord to my lady.

Prin. From which lord, to which lady?
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine ;
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords,
away.
Here, sweet, put up this : 'twill be thine another day,
[Exit Princess and Traiu.
Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
JRos. Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Ros. Why, she that bears the bow.

Finely put off!

Boyet. Mylady goes to killj horns; but,if thou marry.
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
B^inely put on!
Ros. Well then, I am the shooter.
Boyet. And who is your deer?

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come near.
Finely put on, indeed ! —
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she

strikes at the brow.
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit

her now?
Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying,
that was a man when king Pepin of France was a
little boy, as touching the hit it?

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old,
that was a woman when queen Guinever '') of Bri-
tain was a little wench, as touching the hit it?
Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, [Singing,

Thou canst not hit i't, my good man.
Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.

[Exeunt Ros. and Kath.
Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did

fit it!
Mar. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both

did hit it!
Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ; A mark,
says my lady!
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it
may be.
Mar. Wide o'the bow hand! ^) I'faith your hand

is out.
Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er

hit the clout. ')
Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your

hand is in.
Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving

the pin.
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, *) your lips

grow foul.
Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; chal-
lenge her to bowl.

vin.

Act IV.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

153

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my

good owl. [Exeunt Bovkt and Mabia.

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clown !

Lord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him down !

O' my troth, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar wit !

When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it
were, so fit.

Armatho o'the one side, — O, a most dainty man!

To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan !

To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly
a' will swear! —

And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit!

Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!

Sola, sola ! [Shouting within.

[Exit C08TABD, running.

SCENE n.

The same.
Enter Holofeknes, ') Sir NAXHANiEt, and Dull.

Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the
testimony of a good conscience.

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, —
blood ; ripe as a pomewater, ' ") who now hangeth
like a jewel in the ear of ctelo, — the sky, the
welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on
the face of terra, — the soil, the land, the earth.

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: But, sir,
I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket.

Hoi. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of in-
sinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication;
facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare,
to show, as it were, his inclination, — after his
undressed, unpolished, imeducated, unpruned, un-
trained, or, rather unlettered, or, ratherest, uncon-
firmed fashion, — to insert again my haud credo
for a deer.

Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas
a pricket.

Hal. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus ! — O thou
monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that
are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it
were; he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not
replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in
the duller parts;
And such barren plants are set before us, that we

thankful should be
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts

that do fructify in us more than he.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,

or a fool.
So, were there a patch ^») set on learning, to see

him in a school:
But, om7ie bene, say I; being of an old father's mind,
Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind.

Dull. You two aie book-men: Can you tell by
your wit.
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not
five weeks old as yet?

Hoi. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good
man Dull.

Dull. What is Dictynna?

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.

Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam was
no more;
And raught not '-) to five weeks, when he came

to fivescore.
The allusion holds in the exchange. ^3)

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the
exchange.

Hoi. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allu-
sion holds in the exchange.

Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the ex-
change; for the moon is never but a month old:
and 1 say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the
princess kill'd.

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal
epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humoiu*
the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess
kill'd, a pricket.

Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it
shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

Hoi. I will something affect the letter; "') for it
argues facility.

The praiseful princess pier&d and prick' d a pretty
pleasing pricket;
Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made
sore with shooting.
The dogs did yell; put I to sore, then sorel Jumps
from thicket;
Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall
a hooting.
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores;

O sore L!
Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but
one more L.

Nath. A rare talent!

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws
him with a talent. * *)

Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a
foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures,
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo-
lutions: these are begot in the ventricle of memory,
nourished in the womb of pia mater; and deliver'd
upon the mellowing of occasion: But the gift is
good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thank-
ful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may
my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by
you, and their daughters profit very greatly under
you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.

Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they
shall want no instruction: If their daugthers be ca-
pable, I will put it to them: But, vir sapit, qui
pauca loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard.

Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person.

Hoi. Master person, — quasi pers-on. And if one
should be pierced, which is the one?

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest
to a hogshead.

Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of
conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint,
pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it is well.

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me
this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent
me from Don Armatho: I beseech you, read it.

Hoi. Fauste, precor gelidd quando pecus omne sub
umbra Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old
Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth
of Venice:

Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi lion ti vede, ei non ti pregia.
Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth
thee not, loves thee not. — Vt, re, sol, la, mi,
fa. — Under pardon, sir, what are the contents?
or, rather, as Horace says iu his — What, my
soul, verses?

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

VIII.

154

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act IV.

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a yerse ; Lege,

domine.

Hath. If love make ine forsworn, how shall I

swear to love?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed !

Though to myself forsworn, to tliee I'll faithful

prove ;
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers

bowed.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes ;
Where all those pleasures live, that art would

comprehend :
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall

suffice ;
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee

commend :
All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without

wonder ;
(Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts

admire;)
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his

dreadful thunder.
Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire.
Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong.
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly
tongue !
Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss
the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here
are only numbers ratified; but for the elegancy, fa-
cility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius
Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso; but
for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy,
the jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing: so doth
the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired
horse ") his rider. But damosella virgin, was this
directed to you?

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, * ') one of
the strange queen's lords.

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the
mow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Ro-
taline. I will look again on the intellect of the
letter, for the nomination of the party writing to
the person written unto:

Your Ladyship's in all desired employment,

BiRON.

Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries
with the king; and here he hath framed a letter
to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, acci-
dentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscar-
ried. — Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper
into the royal hand of the king; it may concern
much : Stay not thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty ;
adieu.

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save
your life!

Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt Cost, and Jaq.

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God,
very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith

Hoi, Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co-
lourable colours. ^8) But, to return to the verses;
Did they please you, sir Nathaniel?

Nath. Marvellous well for the peiv.

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain
pupil of mine, where if, before repast, it shall please
you to gratify the table with a grace; I will, on
my privilege I have with the parents of the fore-
said child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto:
where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,
neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention; I
beseech your society.

Nath. And thank you too; for society, (saith the
text,) is the happiness of life.

Hoi. And, certes *5) the text most infallibly con-
cludes it. — Sir, [to Dull] I do Invite you too:
you shall not say me, nay: pauca verba. Away;
the gentles are at their game, and we will to our
recreation. [Exeuiu.

SCENE in.

Another part of the tame.

Enter Biron, with a Paper.

Biron, The king he is hunting the deer; I am
coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; 1 am
toiling in a pitch; ^o) pitch that defiles; defile! a
foul word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for so
they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the
fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is
as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a
sheep: Well proved again on my side! 1 will not
love: if I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but
her eye, — by this light, but for her eye, I would
not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do
nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat.
By heaven, I do love; and It hath taught me to
rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of
my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath
one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore It, the
fool sent It, and the lady hath It: sweet clown,
sweeter fool, sweetest lady ! By the world, I would
not care a pin if the other three were in: Here
comes one with a paper; God give him grace to
groan! [Gels up into a tree.

Enter the King, with a Paper.
King. Ah me!

Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven ! — Proceed, sweet
Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt
under the left pap: — I'faith secrets.
King. [Reads.] So sweet a hiss the golden sun
gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows :
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light ;

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep:
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee.
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe;
Do but behold the tears that swell in me.

And they thy glory through my grief will show :
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel !
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. —
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper;
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who Is he comes here?

[Slept cuide.

Enter Longaville, with a Paper.
What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.
Biron. Now In thy likeness, one more fool, appear !

[Aside.

Long. Ah me! I am forsworn.

JB»ro«. Why he comes in like a perjure,-^) wearing

papers. [Aside.

King. In love, I hope ; Sweet fellowship In shame !

[Aside.
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name.

[Aside,
Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so?
Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort; not
by two, that I know:

vni.

Act JV.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST

155

Thou inak'st the triumviiy, the corner cap of society.
The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.
Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to
move:
O sweet Maria, empress of my love !
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Biron. \Aiide.'\ O, rhymes are guards on wanton
Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop. '-)
Long. This same shall go —

[He readt the eonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye

('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,)
Persuade my heart to this false perjury f

Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment,
A woman I forswore; but I will prove.

Thou being a goddess, I for sic ore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;

Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:

If broken then, it is no fault of mine ;
If by me broke. What fool is not so true.
To lose an oath to win a paradise?
Biron. [Jside.] This is the liver vein, -^) which
makes flesh a deity:
A green goose, a goddess: pure, pure idolatrj'.
Grod amend us, God amend ! we are much out o'the
way.

Enter Dumain, with a Paper.
Long. By whom shall I send this? — Company!
stay. [Stepping aside.

Biron. [Aride.] All hid, all hid, -'') an old infant play :
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,
And WTetched fools' secrets heedfuUy o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill ! O heavens, I have my wish ;
Dumain transform'd : four woodcocks in a dish !
Dum. O most divine Kate !

Biron. O most profane coxcomb.

[Aside.
Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye!
Biron. By earth she is but corporal: there you lie.

[Aside.
Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. -^)
Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted.

[Aside,
Dum. As upright as the cedar.
Biron. Stoop, I say;

Her shoulder is with child. [Aiide.

Dum. As fair as day.

Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must
shine. [Aside.

Dum. O that I had my wish!
Long. And I had mine!

[Aside.

King. And I mine too, good lord! [Aside.

Biron. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good

word ? [Aside.

Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she

Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be.

Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then incision

Would let her out in saucers; 2') Sweet misprision!

[Aside.
Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ.
Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit.

[Aside.
Dum. On a day, (alack the day!)

Love whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom, passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through tk* velvet Uave* the wind,

All unseen, 'gan passage find;

That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;

Air, would I might triumph so !

But, alack, my hand is sworn.

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.

Do not call it sin in me,

That J am forsworn for thee;

Thou for whom even Jove would swear,

Juno but an Ethiop were;

And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love. —

This will I send; and something else more plain.
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O, would the King, Biron, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill.
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Long. Dumain, [advancing] thy love is far from
charity,
That in love's grief desir'st society :
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o'erheard and taken napping so.

King. Come, sir, [advancing] you blush; as his
your case is such;
You chide at him, offending twice as much:
You do not love Maria; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile;
Nor never lay his >vreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush.
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
Ah me! says one: O Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes :
You would for paradise break faith and troth;

[To LoKO.
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.

[To DUMAIR.

What will Blrdn say, when that he shall hear
A faith infring'd, which such a zeal-") did swear?
How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. —
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me:

[Descends from the tree.
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches; -^) in ycyir tears.
There is no certain princess that appears:
You'll not be peijured, 'tis a hateful thing;
Tush, none but minstrels like of somieting.
But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot?
You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of foolery I have seen.
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! *')
O me, with what strict patience have I sat.
To see a king transformed to a gnat! '")
To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,
And profound Solomon to tune a jigg.
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys.
And critic Timon ^ ' ) laugh at idle toys !
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?

VIII.

156

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act IV.

And where my liege's? all about the breast: —
A caudle ho!

King. Too bitter is thy jest.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view?

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you:
I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow 1 am engaged in;
I am betray'd, by keeping company
With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time
In pruning me? ^-) When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, ^ ^) a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb? —

King. Soft; Whither away so fast?

A true man, or a thief, that gallops so?

Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go.

Enter Jaqubnbtta and Costard.

Jaq. God bless the king !

King. W hat present hast thou there ?

Cost. Some certain treason.

King. What makes treason here?

Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treason, and you, go in peace away together.
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read;
Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said.

King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter.
Where hadst thou it?
Jaq. Of Costard.
King. Where hadst thou it?
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou

tear it?
Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy; your grace needs

not fear it.
Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore

let's hear it.
Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.

[Picks up the pieces.
Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [to Costaed]
you were born to do me shame. —
Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess.
King. What?

Biron. That you thi-ee fools lack'd me fool to make
up the mess:
He, he, and you, my liege, and J,
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.
Biron. True, true ; we are four : —

Will these turtles be gone?
King. Hence, sirs; away.

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai-
tors stay. [Exeunt Costard and Jaqubketta.
Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace !
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be:
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;

Young blood will not 3*} obey an old decree:
We cannot cross the cause why we were born;
Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn.
King. What, did these rent lines show some love

of thine?
Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the heavenly
Rosaline,
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,
At the first opening of the gorgeous east.
Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind,

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her majesty?

King. What zeal, what fury, hath inspir'd thee now?
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron:
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity;

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, —
Fye, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not:
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs;

She passes praise ; then praise too short doth blot.
A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn.
Might shake oft" fifty, looking in her eye :
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born.

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.
O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine!
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine!

A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? where is a book?

That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack.
If that she learn not of her eye to look:
No face is fair, that is not full so black.
King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night;
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. ^*)
Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of
light.
O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt.

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, '*)
Should ravish doters with a false aspect;

And therefore is she born to make black fair.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days;

For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore I'ed, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.
Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black.
Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted bright.
King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack.
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain.
For fear their colours should be wash'd away.
King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell
you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.
Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day here.
King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.
Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her face
see. [Showing his shoe.

Biron. O, if the streets were payed with thine eyes.

Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!
Dutn. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies

The street should see as she walk'd over head.
King. But what of this? Are we not all in love?
Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.
King. Tlien leave this chat : and, good Biron, now
prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Dum. Ay, marry, there; — some flattery for this evil.
Long. O, some authority how to proceed;
Some tricks, some quillets, ^^) how to cheat the devil.
Dum. Some salve for perjury.

Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! —

Have at you then, affection's men at arms: *^)
Consider, what you first did swear unto; —
To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; —
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young;

ym.

Act V.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

157

And abstinence engenders maladies.

And where that you have vow'd to study, lords,

In that each of you have forsworn his book:

Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look?

For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,

Have found the ground of study's excellence,

Without the beauty of a woman's face?

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:

They are the ground, the books, the academes.

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

Why, universal plodding prisons up

The nimble spirits in the arteries; ^')

As motion, and long-during action, tires

The sinewy vigour of the traveller.

Now, for not looking on a woman's face,

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes:

And study too, the causer of your vow:

For where is any author in the world.

Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself.

And where we are, our learning likewise is.

Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, '*'*])

Do we not likewise see our learning there?

O, we have made a vow to study, lords;

And in that vow we have forsworn our books;

For when would you, my liege, or you, or you.

In leaden contemplation have found out

Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes

Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with?

Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; '*^)

And therefore finding barren practisers.

Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil:

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,

Lives not alone immured in the brain;

But with the motion of all elements.

Courses as swift as thought in every power:

And gives to every power a double power.

Above their functions and their offices.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye;

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind;

A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound.

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; ^^)

Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible.

Than are the tender horns of cockled *^) snails;

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste :

For valour, is not love a Hercules,

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? *'*)

Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical.

As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;

And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.

Never durst poet touch a pen to write.

Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs;

O, then his lines would ravish savage ears.

And plant in tyrants mild humility.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;

They are the books, the arts, the academes.

That show, contain, and nourish all the world;

Else, none at all in aught proves excellent:

Then fools you were these women to forswear;

Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.

For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love;

Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men;* 5)

Or for men's sake, the authors of these women;

Or women's sake, by whom we men are men;

Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves.

Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths:

It is religion to be thus forsworn:

For charity itself fulfils the law;

And who can sever love from charity?

King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the field !

Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords ;

Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis'd.
In conflict that you get the sun of them.

Long. Now to plain -dealing; lay these glozes by
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
King. And win them too: therefore let us devisefe
Some entertainment for them in their tents.
Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them
thither;
Then, homeward, every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon
We will with some strange pastime solace them.
Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours.
Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted.
That will be time, and may by us be fitted.
Biron. Allans ! Allans ! — Sow'd cockle reap'd no
corn
And justice always whirls in equal measure:
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.

\Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Another part of the same.
Enter Holofbrnes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull.

Hoi. Satis quad sufficit.

Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at
dinner have been*) sharp and sententious; pleasant
without scurrility, witty without affection, ^) auda-
cious without impudency, learned without opinion,
and strange without heresy. I did converse this
quondam day with a companion of the king's, who
is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de
Armado.

Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te: His humour is
lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his
eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. ^) He
is too picked, *) too spruce, too affected, too odd,
as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet.

[^Takes out his table-book.

Hot. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity
finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such
fanatical fantasms, such insociable and point-devise ^)
companions; such rakers of orthography, as to speak,
dout, fine, when he should say, doubt; det, when
he should pronounce debt; d, e, b, t; not, d, e, t:
he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour, vo-
catur, nebour; neigh, abbreviated, ne: This is ab-
hominable, (which he would call abominable,) it
insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelligis, domine ? to
make frantic, lunatic.

Nath. Laus Dea, bone intelliga.

Hoi. Bone? bone, for bene: Priscian a little

scratch'd; 'will serve.

Enter Armado, Moth, and Costasd.

Nath. Videsne quis venit?

Hoi. Video, et gaudeo.

Arm. Chirra! [To Moth.

Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah?

Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd.

Hoi. Most military sir, salutation.

Math. They have been at a great feast of languages,
and stolen the scraps. [To Costard aside.

Cost. O, they have liv'd long in the alms-basket
of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee

vm.

158

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act V.

for a word; for thou art not so long by the head
as honorificabilitudinitatibut : thou art easier swal-
lowed than a flap-dragon. ')

Moth. Peace; the peal begins.

Arm. Monsieur, [to Hol,] are you not letter'd?

Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook: —
What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his head ?

Hol. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn: — You
hear his learning.

Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant?

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat
tliem; or the fifth, if I.

Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i. —

Moth. The sheep: the other two concludes it; o, u.

Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterra-
neum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit: ')
snip, snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my intel-
lect: true wit.

Moth. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which is
wit-old.

Hol, What is the figure? what is the figure?

Moth. Horns.

Hol. Thou disputest like an infant; go, whip thy gig.

Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will
whip about your infamy circitm circa; A gig of a
cuckold's horn.

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is
the very remuneration 1 had of thy master, thou
half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre-
tion. O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou
wert but my bastard ! what a joyful father wouldst
thou make me! Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill,
at the finger's ends, as they say.

Hol. O, 1 smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem.

Arm. Arts-man, praambula; we will be singled
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at
the charge-house ») on the top of the mountain?

Hol. Or mons, the hill.

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

Hol. I do, sans question.

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and
aifection, to congratulate the princess at her pavil-
ion, in the posteriors of this day ; which the rude
multitude call, the afternoon.

Hol. The posterior of the day, most generous sir,
is liable, congruent, and measurable for the after-
noon : the word is well cuU'd, chose ; sweet and apt,
I do assure you, sir, I do assure.

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman; and my
familiar, I do assure you, very good friend: — For
what is inward ') between us, let it pass: I do
beseech thee, remember thy courtesy; — I beseech
thee, apparel thy head; *") — and among other im-
portunate and most serious designs, — and of great
import indeed, too ; but let that pass : — for I must
tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world)
sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder; and with
his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement, '» )
with my mustachio : but, sweet heart, let that pass.
By the world, I recount no fable; some certain
special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart
to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath
seen the world : but let that pass. — The very all
of all is, — but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, —
that the king would have me present the princess,
sweet chuck, » 2) with some delightful ostentation,
or show, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now,
understanding that the curate and your sweet self,
are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking
out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you
withal, to the end to crave your assistance.

Hol. Sir, you shall present before her the nine
worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en-
tertainment of time, some show in the posterior of
this day, to be rendered by our assistance, — the
king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate,
and learned gentleman, — before the princess; I
say, none so fit as to present the nine worthies.

^ath. Where will you find men worthy enough to
present them?

Hol. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gen-
tleman, Judas Maccabaeus ; this swain, because of
his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the great;
the page, Hercules.

Arm. Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity enough
for that worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the
end of his club.

Hol. Shall I have audience? he shall present Her-
cules in minority: his enter and ejxit shall be
strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for
that purpose.

Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the au-
dience hiss, you may cry: well done, Hercules 1
now thou crushest the snake! that is the way to
make an offence gracious; though few have the
grace to do it.

Arm. For the rest of the worthies?

Hol. I will play three myself.

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman !

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing?

Hol. We attend.

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, * ^) an antic.
I beseech you, follow.

Hol. Via, ^ '^) goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no
word all this while.

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.

Hol. Allons ! we will employ thee.

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will
play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them
dance the hay.

Hol. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE n.

Another part of the same. Before the Prin-
cess'* Pavilion.

Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and
Maria.

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If fairings come thus plentifully in:
A lady wall'd about with diamonds! ,

Look you, what I have from the loving king. '

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that?

Prin. Nothing, but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

Ros. That was the way to make his god-head
wax; **)
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Kath. Ah, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd
your sister.

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy j
And so she died: had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit.
She might have been a grandam ere she died:
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, *') of this
light word?

Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark.

Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out.

vxn.

Act V.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

159

Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff; ^ ')
Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.

Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark.

Kath. So do not you: for you are a light wench.

Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.

Kath. You weigh me not, — O, that's you care
not for me.

Rot. Great reason ; for. Past cure is still past care.

Prin. Well banded both; a set of wit " *) wellplay'd.
But, Rosaline, you have a favour too:
Who sent it? and what is it?

Rog. I would, you knew:

An if my face were but as fair as yours.
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron:
The numbers true; and, were the numb'ring too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

Prin. Any thing like?

Rot. Much, in the letters; nothing in the praise.

Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Rot. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your
debtor,
My red dominical, my golden letter:
O, that your face were not so full of O's!

Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows! *')

Prin. But what - °} was sent to you from fair Du-
main ?

Kath. Madam, this glove.

Prin. Did he not send you] twain ?

Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover.
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover:
A huge translation of hypocrisy.
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.

Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville ;
The letter is too long by half a mile.

Prin. I think no less : Dost thou not wish in heart.
The chain were longer, and the letter short?

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so.

Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture ere I go.
O, that I knew he were but in by the week!'*)
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek;
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes.
And shape his service wholly to my behests;
And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! - -)
So portent-like would I o'ersway his state.
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

Prin, None are so surely caught, when they are
catch'd,
As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd.
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

Rot. The blood of youth burns not with such excess.
As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note.
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote;
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

Enter Botbt.
Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's

her grace?
Prin. Thy news, Boyet?

Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! —

Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd:

Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid ! What are they.
That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, say.

Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour:
When lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest.
Toward that shade I might behold addrest
The king and his companions: warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by.
And overheard what you shall overhear;
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page.
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage:
Action and accent, did they teach him there;
Thut must thou speak, and thus thy body bear:
And ever and anon they made a doubt,
Presence majestical would put him out;
For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou tee;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.
The boy reply 'd. An angel is not evil:
I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil.
With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder t
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd and swore,
A better speech was never spoke before:
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd Via! we will do't, come what will come:
The third he caper'd, and cried. All goet well:
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous -^) appears.
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.

Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us?

Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus, —
Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, to court, and dance:
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress; which they'll know
By favours several, which they did bestow.

Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be
task'd: —
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd;
And not a man of them shall have the grace.
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. —
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear;
And then the king will court thee for his dear;
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ;
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. —
And change your ^ "*) favours too ; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

Ros. Come on then ; wear the favours most in sight.

Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent?

Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs:
They do it but in mocking merriment;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal.
Upon the next occasion that we meet.
With visages display'd, to talk and greet.

Rot. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?

Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a foot:
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace:
But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face-

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's
heart.
And quite divorce his memory from his part.

Prin. Therefore I do it: and, I make no doubt.
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game;

vm.

160

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act V.

And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.

[Trumpets sound within.

Boyet. The trumpet soimds ; be mask'd, the maskers

come. \The Ladies mask.

Enter the King, Biron, Longavillb, and Dumain,
in Russian habits, and masked: Moth, Musi-
cians, and Attendants.

Moth. All hail the richest beauties on the earth!

Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich tall'ata. ^ ^)

Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames,

[The Ladies turn their backs to him.
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views I

Biron. Their eyes, villain; their eyes.

Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views !
Out —

Boyet. True; out indeed.

Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits,

vouchsafe
Not to behold —

Biron. Once to behold, rogue.

Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed
eyes, with your sun-beamed eyes, —

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet;
You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes.

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue.

Bos. What would these strangers? know their
minds, Boyet:
If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes:
Know what they would.

Boyet. What would you with the princess?

Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.

Bos. What would they, say they?

Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.

Bos. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone.

Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone.

King. Say to her, we have measur'd many uules.
To tread a measure with her on this grass.

Boyet. They say, that they have measur'd many
a mile.
To tread a measure-*) with you on this grass.

Bos. It is not so: ask them how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.

Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles.
And many miles; the princess bids you tell,
How many inches do fill up one mile.

Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

Boyet. She hears herself.

Bos. How many weary steps,

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone.
Are nuiiiber'd in the travel of one mile?

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you ;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite.
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face.
That we, like savages, may worship it.

Bos. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do !
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd,) upon our wat'ry eyne.

Bos. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water.

King. Then, in our measure do - ''} but vouchsafe
one change:
Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange.

Bos. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it soon.

[Music plays.
Not yet; — no dance : — thus change I like the moon.

King. Will you not dance? How come you thus
estrang'd ?

Bos. You took the moon at full; but now she's
chang'd.

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

Bos. Our ears vouchsafe it.

King. But your legs should do it.

Bos. Since you are strangers, and come here by
chance.
We'll not be nice : take hands ; — we will not dance.

King, Why take we hands then?

Bos. Only to part friends : —

Conrt'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.

King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.

Bos. We can afford no more at such a price.

King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your
company ?

Ros. Your absence only.

King. That can never be.

Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you!

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

Ros. In private then.

King. I am best pleas'd with that.

[They converse apart.

Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word
with thee.

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so
nice,)
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; — Well run, dice!
There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu!

Since you can cog, - ^) I'll play no more with you.

Biron. One word in secret.

Prin. Let it not be sweet.

Biron. Thou griev'st my gall.

Prin. Gall? bitter.

Biron. Therefore meet.

[They converse apart.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word ?

Mar. Name it.

Dum. Fair lady, —

Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord, —

Take that for your fair lady.

Dum. Please it you,

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

[They converse apart.

Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue?

Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

Kath. O, for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.

Long. You have a double tongue within your mask.
And would afford my speechless visor half.

Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman; — Is not veal
a calf?

Long. A calf, fair lady?

Kath. No, a fair lord calf.

Long. Let's part the word.

Kath. No, I'll not be your half:

Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp
mocks !
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.

Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.

[They converse apart.

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible.
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;

Above the sense of sense: so sensible
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have wings.
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter
things.

vm.

Act V.

LOVE'S LA^BOUR'S LOST.

161

Rot, Not one word more, my maids; break off,
break off.

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits,
[i^xpunt King, Lords, Moth, Music, and Attendants.

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. —
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at?

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths
pufrd out.

Ros. Well-liking wits ^') they have; gross, gross;
fat, fat.

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?

Or ever, but in visors, show their faces?
This pert Birdn was out of countenance quite.

Ros. O ! they were all in lamentable cases !
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Birdn did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
No ■point, quoth I; ^") my servant straight was mute.

Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And trow you, what he call'd me?

Prin. Qualm, perhaps.

Kath. Yes, in good faith.

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art!

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-
caps. ^ ')
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.

Prin. And quick Birdn hath plighted faith to me.

Kath. And Longaville was for my service born.

Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.

Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digest this harsh indignity.

Prin. Will they return?

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows.

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair.
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be understood.

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud :
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown.
Are angels vailing clouds, ^-) or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?

Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd.
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd:
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
And wonder, what they were; and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land.
[Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria.

Enter the King, Biron, Longavilt^i;, and Dumain,
in their proper habits.

King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the princess?

Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty.
Command me any service to her thither?

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.

[Exit.

Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas ;
And utters it again when God doth please:
He is wit's pedler: and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassels,^^) meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;

Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve:
He can carve too, and lisp: Why, this is he.
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice.
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms; nay, he can sing
A mean ^'*) most meanly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:
This is the flower that smiles on every one.
To show his teeth as white as whales bone :
And consciences, that will not die in debt.
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart.
That put Armado's page out of his part!

Enter the Princess, usher' d by Botet; Rosaline,
Maria, Katharine, and Attendants.
Biron. See where it comes! — Behaviour, what
wert thou.
Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou now?
King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive.
King. Construe my speeches better, if you may.
Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave.
King. W^e came to visit you : and purpose now

To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then.
Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:

Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.
King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke;

The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you should have
spoke ;
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure

As the unsullied lily, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,

I would not yield to be your house's guest:
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here.

Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Prin. Not so, my lord, it is not so, I swear;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game;
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
King. How, madam? Russians?
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord;

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Ros. Madam, speak true : — It is not so, my lord ;
My lady (to the manner of the days,)
In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. ^ ')
We four, indeed, confronted here with four
In Russian habits; here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
'T'hey did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
W^hen they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
Biron. This jest is dry to me. — Fair, gentle sweet, ^ ''}
Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we greet
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light : Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye, —
Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
Ros. All the fool mine?

Biron. I cannot give you less.

Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore?
Biron. Where? when? what visor? why demand
you this?

vm.

11

162

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act V.

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case,
That hid the Avorse, and show'd the better face.
King. We are descried: they'll mock us now down-
right. 1
Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.
Prin. Auiaz'd, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?
Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon! Why look
you pale? —
Sea-sicic, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
Can any face of brass hold longer out?
Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me;

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout!
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance.

Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,

Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in visor to my friend; ^')

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song:
Tafi"ata phrases, silken terms precise,

Three-pil'd hyperboles, ^3) spruce affectation, 3')
Figures pedantical; these summer-flies

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them: and I here protest.

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God
knows ! )
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd

In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes':
And, to begin wench, — so God help me, la! —
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you.
Biron. Yet I have a trick

Of the old rage; — bear with me, I am sick;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see; —
Write, Lord have mercy on us, '***) on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies:
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited; you are not free.
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
Vrin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.
Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
Ros. It is not so ; For how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
Biron. Peace; for I will not have to do with you.
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end.
King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans-
gression ,
Some fair excuse.
Prin. The fairest is confession.
Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?
King. Madam, I was.

Prin. And were you well advis'd?

King. I was, fair madam.

Prin. When you then were here,

What did you whisper in your lady's ear?
King. That more than all the world I did respect her.
Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re-
ject her.
King. Upon mine honour, no.
Prin. Peace, peace, forbear;

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.'**)
King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin. I will: and therefore keep it: — Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world: adding thereto, moreover.
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.

King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, my troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.

Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.

King. My faith and this, the princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear: —
What; will you have me, or your pearl again?

Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. —
I see the trick on't; — Here was a consent, '*^)
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment,)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy :
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some light zany, "* ')
Some mumble-news, some trencher knight, some Dick, —
That smiles his cheek in years ; "* "*) and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, —
Told our intents before: which once disclos'd,
The ladies did change favours: and then we.
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now% to our perjury to add more terror.
We are again forsworn; in will, and error.
Much upon this it is: — And might not you,

\To BOYKT.

Forestal our sports, to make us thus untrue?

Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire, **)

And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd; '"')
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword,

Boyet. Full merrily

Hatli this brave manage, this career, been run.

Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I have done.

Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.

Cost. O lord, sir, they would know.
Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no.

Biron. What, are there but three?

Cost. No, sir; but it is vara fine.

For every one pursents three.

Biron. And three times thrice is nine.

Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope, it
is not so:
You cannot beg us, *') sir, I can assure you, sir;

we know what we know:
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, —

Biron. Is not nine.

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuutil
it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get
your living by reckoning, sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the ac-
tors, sir, will show, whereuntil it doth amount: for
my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one
man, — e'en one poor man; Pompion the great, sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pom-
pion the great: for mine own part, I know not the
degree of the worthy; but I am to stand for him.

Biron. Go, bid them prepare.

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take
some care. [Exit Costard.

King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not ap-
proach.

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some

policy.
To have oneshowworse than the king'sand his company.

vm.

Act V.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

163

King. I say, they shall not come.

Vrin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now ;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how;
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth ;
Wiien great things labouring perish in their birth.

Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy
royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.
[AauADO converses with the Kikg, and delivers him
a paper.

Prin. Doth this man serve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Artn. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch :
for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fan-
tastical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : But we w ill
put it, as they say, to fortuna delta guerra. I wish
you the peace of mind, most I'oyal couplement!

[Exit Armabo.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of wor-
thies : He presents Hector of Troy ; the swain, Pom-
pey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Arma-
do's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabaeus.
And if these four worthies in their first show thrive.
These four will change habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There is five in the first show.

King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest,
the fool and the boy: —

Abate a throw at novum ; * *) and the whole woi'ld again.
Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein.

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.
\Seats brought for the King, P&ikcess, &c.

Pageant of the Nine Worthies.
Enter Costard arm'd, for Pompey.

Cost. I Pompey am,

Boyet. You lie, you are not he.

Cost. / Pompey am,

Boyet. With libbard's head '* ') on knee.

Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be
friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big. —

Dum. The great.

Cost. It Is great, sir ; — Pompey surnam'd the great ;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make

my foe to sweat:
And, travelling along this coast, I here am come

by chance;
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet

lass of France.
If your ladyship would say, Thanhs, Pompey, I
had done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope I was
perfect: I made a little fault in, great.

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the
best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel arm'd, for Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
commander ;
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con-
quering might:
My ''scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it
stands too right. ^•')

vm.

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-
smelling night.

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good
Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
commander.

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.

Biron. Pompey the great, —

Cost. Your servant, and CostArd.

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali-
sander.

Cost. O, sir, [to Nath.] you have overthrown Ali-
sander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of
the painted cloth for this : your lion, that holds his
poll-ax sitting on a close stool, will be given to
A-jax: *') he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror,
and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisan-
der. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you;
a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and
soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour,
insooth ; and a very good bowler : but, for Alisander,
alas, you see, how 'tis; — a little o'er-parted: *-)
But there are worthies a coming will speak their
mind in some other sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Holofbrnes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth
arm'd, for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed
canus;
And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus;
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;
Ergo, / come with this apology. —
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. \_Exit Moth.

Hol. Judas I am, —

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir. —
Judas I am, ycleped Machabaus.

Dum. Judas Machabaeus dipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A kissing tiaitor: — How art thou prov'd
Judas 'i

Hol. Judas I am, —

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder.

Biron. Well foUow'd : Judas was hang'd on an elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.

Biron. Because thou hast no face,

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.

Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion.

Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. *^)

Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. *^)

Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer :
And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun-
tenance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance.

Biron. False : we have given thee faces.

Hol. But you have out-faced them all.

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

Dum. B'or the latter end of his name.

Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him: —
Jud-as, away.

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not bumble.

11*

164

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act V.

Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows dark,

he may stumble.
Prin. Alas, poor Machabajus, how hath he been
baited !

Enter Armado arm' d, for Hector.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles ; here comes Hector
in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will
now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan ^ ') in respect of this.

Boyet. But is this Hector V

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd.

Long. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small.

Biron. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes faces.

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances ^'') the al-
mighty.
Gave Hector a gift, —

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.

Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. Peace!
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea

From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower, —

Dum. That mint.

Long. That columbine.

ArJii. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs
against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet
chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he
breath'd, he was a man — But I will forward with my
device: Sweet royalty, \to the Princess] bestow on me
the sense of hearing. [Biron whispers Costaro.

Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, —

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is
gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the
poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child
brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arin. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates?
thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta
that is quick by him; and hang'cl, for Pompey that
is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Biron.- Greater than great, great, great, great Pom-
pey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is mov'd: — More Ates, *') more

Ates; stir them on! stir them on!
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's

belly than will sup a flea.
Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern

man; ^^) I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword: — I

pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.

Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

Moth. Mastei-, let me take you a button-hole lower.
Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat?
What mean you ? you will lose your reputation.

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will
not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made
the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will,

Biron. What reason have you for't?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt;
I go woolward '^') for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for
want of linen : since when, I'll be sworn, he wore
none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; and that 'a
wears next his heart, for a favour.

Enter Mbrcadb.

Mer. God save you, madam!

Prin. Welcome, Mercade ;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring,
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father —

Prin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud.

Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath :
I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole
of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.

\Exeunt Worthies.

King. How fares your majesty?

Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-night.

King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

Prin. Prepare, I say.— I thank you, gracious lords.
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat.
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide,
The liberal ''") opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, ^^) your gentleness
Was guilty of it. — Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides ''-)
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the sniiling courtesy of love.
The holy suit which fain it would convince; ^^)
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot.
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what is purpos'd; since to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable.
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double.

Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of
grief; —
And by these badges undei'stand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents :
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, —
As love is full of unbefitting strains;

All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;

Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms.
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll

To every varied object in his glance:

Which party-coated presence of loose love

VIII.

Act V.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

165

Put oil by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have inisbecoiii'd our oaths and gravities.
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults.
Suggested us ''*) to make: Therefore, ladies.
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false.
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin.
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Frin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;
Your favours, the embassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy.
As bombast, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, in our respects.
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.

Long. So did our looks.

Ros. We did not quote them so.

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour.
Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too short

To make a world-without-end bargain in:
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore, this, —
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage.
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
Where stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning:
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, '' *)
Nip not the gandy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love; *'')
Then, at the expiration of the year.
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house;
Raining the tears of lamentation.
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny.
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me?

Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank;
You are attaint with faults and perjury;
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest.
But seek the weary beds of people sick.

Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me?

Kath. A wife! — A beard, fair health, and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

Kath. Not so, my lord; — a twelvemonth and a day
ril mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again.

Long. What says Maria?

^t^O'i'. At the twelvemonth's end,

I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long.

Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young.

Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me.
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye.
What humble suit attends thy answer there ;
Impose some service on me for thy love.

Roi. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons, and wounding flouts;
Wliich you on all estates will execute.
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain;
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won,)
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be.
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit.
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit.
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears.
Deaf d with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then.
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Riffht joyful of your reformation.

Biron. A twelvemonth ? well, befal what will befal,
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

Prin. Ay, sweet iny lord; and so I take my leave.

[To the King.

King. No, madam : we will bring you on your way.
■ Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
And then 'twill end.

Biron. That's too long for a play.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, —

Prin. Was not that Hector?

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave:
I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold
the plough for her sweet love three years. But,
in'jst esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue
that the two learned men have compiled, in praise
of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed
in the end of our show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.

Arm. Holla! approach.

Enter Holofernbs, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard,
and others.

This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver^-the spring;
the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the
cuckoo. Ver, begin.

Song.

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver- while.
And cuckoo-buds ''') of yelloiv hue.

Do paint the meadows with delight.
The cuckoo then, on every tree.

vm.

166

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Act V.

Mocks married men, for thus sings hey

Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear y
Vnpleasing to a married earl

II.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks.
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he.

Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear,
XJnpleasing to a married ear!

III.

Winter. When icicles hang by the wall.

And Dick the shepherd blows Ids nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall.

And milk comes frozen home in pail.
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul.

Then nightly sings the staring owl.
To -who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel ' •*) the pot.

IV.

When all aloud the wind doth blow.

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,^ ')
And birds sit brooding iti the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw.
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, '")
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who;
Tu whit, to-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the
songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way.

\Exeunt.

▼xn.

IX.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

feusons representsd.

Suitors to Portia.

Duke of Vbmcb.

Princk of Morocco,

Prince of Arragon,

Antonio, the Merchant of Venice:

Bassanio, his Friend.

Salanio, ^) i

Salarino, > Friends to Antonio a7id Bassanio.

Gratiano, )

LoRKNzo, in love with Jessica.

Shylock, a Jew:

LAUNcsr^oT GoBBo, a Clown, Servant to Shylock.
Old GoBBo, Father^ to Launcelot.
Salkrio, -) a Messenger from Venice.
Lkonardo, Servant to Bassanio.

„ " ' ! Servants to Portia.

Sthphano, I

Portia, a rich Heiress :
Nerissa, her Waiting -maid.
Jessica, Daughter to Shylock.

Magnificoes o/" Venice, Officers of the Court of Jus-
tice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants.

Tubal, a Jew, his Friend.

Scene — partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Venice. A Street.
Enter Antonio, Sat^arino, and Salanio.
Antonio.
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ;
It wearies me; you say, it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it.
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn ;

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me.
That I have much ado to know myself.

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies '•) with portly sail, —
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, ■*}
Or, as it were, the pageant.s-,of the sea, —
Do overpeer the petty traffickers.
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence.
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Salan. Believe mfe, sir, had I such venture forth.
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, ^) to know where sits the wind;
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads ;
And every object, that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt.
Would make ine sad.

Salar. My wind, cooling my broth,

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run.
But I should think of shallows and of flats;
And see my wealthy Andrew '') dock'd in sand.
Vailing her high-top ") lower than her ribs.
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church.
And see the holy edifice of stone.
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side.
Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this.

And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought,
prhat such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?
But, tell not me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandize.

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my foi'tune for it.
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted.
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad.

Salan. Why then you are in love.

Ant. Fye, fye!

Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you
are sad,
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy
For you to laughT^iul^ fesp, and say, you are merry.
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes.
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper:
And other of such vinegar aspect.
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile.
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well;
We leave you. now with better company.

Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.

Ant. Your worth is Aery dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you.
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Salar. Good-morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?
Say when?
You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so?
Salar. W^e'II make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt Salarino and Salamo.
Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found An-
tonio,

IK.

168

xMERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act I.

We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time,

I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Bass. I will not fail you.
Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio;

You have too much respect upon the world:

They lose it, that do buy it with much care.

Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;

A stage, wheie every man must play a part,

And mine a sad one.
Gra. Let me play the Fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;

And let my liver rather heat with wine,

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,

Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes V and creep into the jaundice

liy being peevish V I tell thee what, Antonio, —

I love thee, and it is my love that speaks; —

There are a sort of men, whose visages

Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;

And do a Avilful stillness entertain,

With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;

As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,

And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!

O, my Antonio, I do know of these.

That therefore only are reputed wise,

For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools.

I'll tell thee more of this another time:

But fish not, with this melancholy bait.

For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. —

Come, good Lorenzo : — Fare ye well, a while;

I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time :
T must be one of these sanie dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more.
Thou slialt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear.

Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only commend-
able
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
[Exeunt Gratiako and Lorenzo.

Ant. Is that any thing now?

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice: His reasons are
as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff;
you shall seek all day ere you find them ; and, when
you have them, they are not worth the search.

Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same ^)
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate.
By something showing a more swelling port ')
Than my faint means would grant continuance:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged: to you, Antonio,
1 owe the most, in money, and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes.
How to get clear of all the debts 1 owe.

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it,
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do.
Within the eye of honour, be assured.
My purse, my person, my extremes! means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof.
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth.
That which I owe is lost: but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt.
As I will watch the aiin, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again.
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time.
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong.
In making question of my uttermost.
Than if you had made waste of all I have:
Then do but say to me what I shall do.
That in your knowledge may by me be done.
And I am prest unto it: *") therefore, speak.

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left.
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word.
Of wond'rous virtues; sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand.
And many Jasons come in quest of her.

0 my Antonio, had I but the means

To hold a rival place with one of them,

1 have a mind presages me such thrift.
That I should questionless be fortunate.

A7tt. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea;
Nor have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth.
Try what my credit can in Venice do;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost.
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia,
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make.
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.

Enter Portia and Nerissa.

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary
of this great world.

^er. You would be, sweet inadam, if your miseries
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes
are: And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick,
that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with
nothing: It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be
seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by
white hairs, but competency lives longer.

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced.

Ner. They would be better, if well followed.

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were
good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor
men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine
that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of
the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain
may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper
leaps over a cold decree: such a hare is madness
the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel
the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion

IX.

Act I.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

169

to choose me a husband : — O me, the word choose !
I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse
whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter
curb'd by the will of a dead father: — Is it not
hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor re-
fuse none?

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy
men, at their death, have good inspirations; there-
fore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three
chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who
chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt,
never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you
shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in
your affection towards any of these princely suitors
that are already come?

Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou
namest them, I will describe them; and according
to my description, level at my affection.

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.

Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing
but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great ap-
propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe
him himself: I am much afraid, ray lady his mother
played false with a smith.

Ner. Then, is there the county '■ *) Palatine.

Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should
say. And if you will not have me, choose: he
hears merry tales, and smiles not: I fear, he will
prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old,
being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth.
I had rather be married to a death's head with a
bone in his mouth, than to either of these. God
defend me from these two!

Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur
Le Bon?

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass
for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a
mocker; But, he! why, he hath a horse better than
the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning
than the count Palatine: he is every man in no
man : if a throstle sing, he falls straif |^t a caper-
ing ; he will fence with his own shadow ; if I should
marry him, I should marry twenty husbands; If he
would despise me, I would forgive him; for if he
love nie to madness, I shall never requite him.

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the
\ouiig baron of England?
1 Por. You know, I say nothing to him : for he un-
derstands not jne, nor I him ; he hath neither Latin,
French, nor Italian; and you will come into the
court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth
in the English. He is a proper man's picture; '-)
But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show?
How oddly he is suited! I think, he bought his
doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bon-
net in Germany, and his behaviour every where.

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his
neighbour?

Pur. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him;
for he borrowed a box of the ear of the English-
man, and swore he would pay him again, when he
was able: I think, the Frenclunan became his sure-
ty, ^^) and sealed under for another.

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke
of Saxony's nephew?

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober ;
and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk :
when he is best, he- is little worse than a m&n ; and
when he is worst, he is little better than a beast;
an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I shall make
shift to go without him.

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the

right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's
will, if you should refuse to accept him.

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee,
set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary
casket : for, if the devil be within, and that tempt-
ation without, I know he will choose it. I will do
any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge.

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of
these lords : they have acquainted me with their
determinations; which is indeed, to return to their
home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless,
you may be won by some other sort than your fa-
ther's imposition, depending on the caskets.

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die
as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the
manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel
of wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one
among them but I dote on his very absence, and I
pray God '■*) grant them a fair, departure.

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in yoiu" father's
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came
hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so was
he called.

Ner. True, madam : he, of all the men that ever
my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserv-
ing a fair lady.

Por. I remember him well; and I remember him
worthy of thy praise. — How now! what news?

Enter a Servant.

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to
take their leave : and thei'e is a fore-runner come
from a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who brings
word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night.

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good
heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should
be glad of his approach; if he have the condition '^)
of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had
rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come,
Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we shut
the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the
door. [Ejceunt.

SCENE III.

Venice. A public Place.

Enter Bassanio and Shylock.

Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well.

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.

Shy. For three months, — well.

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall
be bound.

Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well.

Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me?
Shall I know your answer?

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and
Antonio bound.

Bass. Your answer to that.

Shy. Antonio is a good man.

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the con-
trary ?

Shy. Ho, no, no; no, no: — my meaning, in saying
he is a good man, is to have you understand me,
that he is sufficient: yet his means are in suppo-
sition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, an-
other to the Indies; I understand moreover upon
the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for

England, and other ventures he hath squander'd

abroad ; But ships are but boards, sailors but men :
there be land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves,
and land-thieves; I mean pirates; and then, there

IX.

170

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act I.

is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks : The man
is, notwithstanding, sufficient; — three thousand
ducats ; — I think, 1 may take his bond.

Baxs. Be assured you may.

Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may
be assured, I will betliink me: May I speak with
Antonio ?

Bass. If it please you to dine with us.

Sky. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation
which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the
devil into: "') I will buy with you, sell with you,
talk with you, walk with you, and so following;
but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor
pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? — Who
is he comes here?

Enter Antonio.

Bass. This is signior Antonio.

Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks !
I hate him for he is a Christian:
But more, for that, in low simplicity.
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails.
Even there where merchants most do congregate.
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift.
Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!

Bass. Shy lock, do you hear?

Shy. I am debating of my present store:
And, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats: What of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe.
Will furnish me: But soft; How many months
Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior :

[To Antomo.
Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking, nor by giving of excess.
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, ^')
I'll break a custom: — Is he yet possess'd, ^^)
How much you would?

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.

Ant. And for three months.

Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so.

Well then, your bond; and, let me see, ■ But

hear you;
Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow,
Upon advantage.

Ant. I do never use it.

Shy, When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep.
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,)
The third possessor; ay, he was the third.

Ant. And what of him? did he take interest?

Shy. No, not take interest; not as you would say.
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromis'd.
That all the eanlings ' ') which were streak'd, and pied.
Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank,
In the end of autumn turned to the rams :
And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act.
The skilful shepherd pcel'd me certain wands,
And, in the doing of the deed of kind, -")
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes;
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time
Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest;
And thrift ^ ') is blessing, if men steal it not.

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for >
A thing not in his power to bring to pass.
But sway'd, and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good?
Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams?

Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : —
But note me, signior.

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio,

The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness.
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;
A goodly apple rotten at the heart;
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round
sum.
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you?

Shy. Signior Antonio! many a time and oft,
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my usances: --)
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
B^r sufferance is the badge of all our tribe:
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine.
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears, you need my help:
Go to then: you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, -^) we would have monies; You say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say.
Hath a dog money? is it possible,
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key.
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness.

Say this,

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last:
You spurn' d me such a day; another ti7ne
YoH call'd me — dog; and for these courtesies
I'll lend yqu thus inuch monies.

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again.
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends; (for when did friendship take
A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) - *)
But lend it rather to thine enemy;
Who if he break, thou may'st with better face
Exact the penalty.

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm?

I would be friends with you, and have your love.
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with.
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me:
This is kind I offer.

Ant. This were kindness.

Shy. This kindness will I show : —

Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and in a merry sport.
If you repay me not on such a day.
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
la what part of your body pleaseth me.

Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond.
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew.

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me,
I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it;
Within these two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

IK.

Act II.

MERCHANT OF VENICE

171

8hy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are ;
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither.
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship;
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

81iy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's;
Give him direction for this merry bond.
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard -^)
Of an unthriftly knave; and presently
I will be with you. \JBxit.

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew.

This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.

Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.

Ant. Come on; in this there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Belmont, A Room in Portia's
House.

Flourish of Comets. Enter the Prince of Morocco,

and his Train; Portia, Nerissa, anrf other of

her Attendants.

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion.
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun.
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born.
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles.
And let us make incision for your love.
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. •)
1' tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant; -) by my love, I swear.
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue.
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

For. In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes:
Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
But, if my father had not scanted me.
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself
His wife, who wins me by that means I told you.
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair,
As any comer I have look'd on yet,
For my affection.

Mor. Even for that I thank you;

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets.
To try my fortune. By this scimitar, —
That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, —
I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look.
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear.
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey.
To win thee, lady: but, alas tlie while!
If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me.
Miss that \yhich one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

I Par. You must take your chance ;

j And either not attempt to choose at all.

Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wrong,
I Never to speak to lady afterward

In way of marriage; therefore be advised. ■')
I Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance.
i Por. First, forward to the temple: after dinner
^ Your hazard shall be made.
l Mor. Good fortune then! [ComeU.

To make me bless't, *} or cursed'st among men.

[ExeunL

SCENE n.

Venice. A Street.

Enter Launcelot Gobbo.

Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to
run from this Jew my master : The fiend is at mine
elbow; and tempts me, saying tome, Goi Jo, ZvfflKnee-
lot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or
good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the
start, ru7i away : My conscience says, — no ; take
heed, honest Launcelot ; take heed, honest Gobbo;
or as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not
run; scorn running with thy heels: Well, the most
courageous fiend bids me pack ; vial says the fiend;
away! says the fiend, for the heavens; rouse up
a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my
conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart,
says very wisely to me, — my honest friend Launce-
lot, being an honest man's son, or rather an
honest woman's son ; — for, indeed, my father did
something smack, something grow to, he had a kind
of taste; — well, my conscience says, Launcelot,
budge not; budge, says the fiend; budge not, says
my conscience; Conscience, say I, you counsel well;
I fiend, say I, you counsel well : to be ruled by my
! conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,
I who, (God bless the mark !) is a kind of devil ; and,
I to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by
j the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
hunself: Certainly, the Jew is the very devil in-
carnation; and, in my conscience, my conscience is
but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
me to stay with the Jew : The fiend gives the more
friendly counsel : I will run, fiend ; my heels are at
your commandment, I will run.

Enter old Gobbo, with a Basket.

Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which
is the way to master Jew's ?

Laun. l^Aside.'] O heavens, this is my true begotten
father! who, being more tiian sand-blind, high-gravel
blind, knows me not: — I will try conclusions *)
with him.

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which
is the way to master Jew's?

Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next
turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your
left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no
hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to
hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot that
dwells with him, dwell with him, or no?

Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? —
Mark me now; [aside] now will 1 raise the waters:
— Talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son; his
father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor
man, and, God be thanked, well to live.

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we
talk of young master Launcelot.

IK.

172

MERCHANT OF VENICE

Act II.

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.

Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be-
seech you; Talk you of young master Launcelot?

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of master
Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (accord-
ing to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings,
the sisters three, and such branches of learning,) is,
indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain
terms, gone to heaven.

Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very
staff of my age, my very prop.

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post,
a staff, or a prop'^ — Do you know me, father?

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen-
tleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is ray boy, (God
rest his soul!) alive or dead?

Laun. Do you not know me, father?

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you
might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father,
that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will
tell you news of your son : Give me your blessing :
truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long,
a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out.

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure, you are
not Launcelot, my boy.

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about
it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your
boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

Gob. I cannot think, you are my son.

Laun. I know not what I shall ^hink of that : but
I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure,
Margery, your wife, is my mother.

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be sworn,
if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and,
blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be! what a beard
hast thou got ! thou hast got more^hair on thy chin,
than Dobbin my thill-horse '■) has on his tail.

Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail grows
backward ; I am sure he had more hair on his tail,
than I have on my face, when I last saw him.

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou
and thy master agree? I have brought him a present.
How 'gree you now?

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I
have set up my rest to run away, so I will not
rest till I have run some ground : my master's a
very Jew; Give him a present! give him a halter:
I am famished in his service; you may tell every
finger I have with ray ribs. Father, I ara glad you
are come; give me your present to one master Bas-
sanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I
serve not him, I will run as far as God has any
ground. — O rare fortune ! here comes the man ; —
to him, father ; for I ara a Jew, if I serve the Jew
any longer.

Enter Bassanio, witli Leonardo, and other
Followers.

Bass. You may do so : — but let it be so hasted,
that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the
clock: iSee these letters deliver'd; put the liveries
to making; and desire Gratiano to come anon to
my lodging. [Exit a Servant.

Laun. To him, father?

Gob. God bless your worship!

Bans. Gramercy ; Would'st thou aught with rac ?

Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man;
that would, sir, as my father shall specify,

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would
say, to serve

Laun. Lideed, the short and the long is, I serve
the Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall
specify,

Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's
reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins:

Laun, To be brief, the very truth is, that the
Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as ray
father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto
you,

Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would
bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is,

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to
myself, as your worship shall know by this honest
old man; and, though I say it, though old man,
yet, poor raan, my father.

Bass. One speak for both; — What would you?

Laun. Serve you, sir.

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir.

Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtained thy suit :
Shyiock, thy master, spoke with me this day.
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment,
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleraan.

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between
ray master Shyiock and you, sir; you have the grace
of God, sir, and he hath enough.

Bass-. Thou speak'st it well ; Go, father, with thy
son: —
Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out: — give him a livery

\To his Followers.
More guarded ') than his fellows': See it done.

Laun. Father, in: — I cannot get a service, no; —
I have ne'er a tongue in ray head. — Well ; [looking
on his palm] if any raan in Italy have a fairer table, ^)
which doth offer to swear upon a book. — I shall
have good fortune; Go to, here's a simple line of
life! here's a small trifle of wives: Alas, fifteen
wives is nothing; eleven widows, and nine maids,
is a simple coming-in for one man: and then, to
'scape drowning thrice; and to be in peril of my
life with the edge of a feather-bed; — ^) here are
simple 'scapes! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's
a good wench for this gear. — Father, come ; I'll
take ray leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an
eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and old Gobbo.

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this ;
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd.
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
My best-esteera'd acquaintance; hie thee, go.

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.

Enter Gratiano.
Gra. Where is your master?
Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks.

[Exit LEoNARno.

Gra. Signlor Bassanio,

Bass. Gratiano!

Gra. I have a suit to you.

Bass. You have obtained it.

Crrtt. You must not deny me; I must go with you

to Behnont.
Bass. Why, then you must; — But hear thee, Gra-
tiano ;
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice; —
Parts, that become thee happily enough.
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they

show
Something too liberal: — '") pray thee take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild be-
haviour,

IK.

Act II.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

173

I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me:

If I do not put on a sober habit.
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then.
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen;
Use all the observance of civility.
Like one well studied in a sad ostent '')
To please his grandam, never trust me more.

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. ' -)

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me
By what we do to-night.

Bass. No, that were pity;

I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment: But fare you well,
I have some business.

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest;
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The tame. A Room in Shylock'* House.

filter Jkssica and Latjncet.ot.

Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so;
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil.
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness:
But fare thee well: there is a ducat for thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:
Give him this letter; do it secretly,
And so farewell; I would not have my father
See me talk with thee.

Laun. Adieu! — tears exhibit my tongue. —
Most beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew! If a
Christian did not play the knave, and get thee, I
am much deceived: But, adieu! these foolish drops
do somewhat drown my manly spirit; adieu! [Exit.

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me.
To be asham'd to be my father's child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife;
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

The same. A Street.

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio.

Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time;
Disguise us at my lodging, and return
All in an hour. ^

Gra. We have not made good preparation.

Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.

Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd;
And better, in my mind, not undertook.

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two hours
To furnish us ; —

Enter Launcelot, with a Letter.

Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it
shall seem to signify.

Lor. I know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;
And whiter -than the paper it writ on,
Is the fair hand that writ.

Gra. Love-news, in faith.

Laun. By your leave, sir.

T^or. Whither goest thou?

Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew
to snp to-night with my new master the Christian.

Lor. Hold here, take this : — tell gentle Jessica,
I will not fail her; — speak it privately; go. —
Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot.

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.

Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

Salan. And so will I.

Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano,

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

Salar. 'Tis good >ve do so.

[Exeunt Salar. and Salar.

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed.
How I shall take her from her father's house;
What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with;
What page's suit she hath in readiness.
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven.
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:
And never dare misfortune cross her foot.
Unless she do it under this excuse, —
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me; peruse this, as thou goest:
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt,

SCENE V.

The same. Before Shylock'* House.
Enter Shylock and Launcelot.

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy
judge.
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : —
What Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize.
As thou hast done with me; — What Jessica! —
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out; —
Why, Jessica, I say!

Laun. Why, Jessica!

Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could
do nothing without bidding.

Enter Jessica.

Jes. Call you? What is your will?

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica;
There are my keys: — But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they |iatter me:
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian. — * ^) Jessica, my girl.
Look to my house: — I am right loath to go;
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest.
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master
doth expect your reproach.

Shy. So do I his.

Laun. And they have conspired together, — I will
not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do,
then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a
bleeding on Black-Monday last, *'*) at six o'clock
i'the morning, falling out that year on.Ash-Wednes-
day was four year in the afternoon.

Shy. What, are there masques? Hear you me,
Jessica:
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum.
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife.
Clamber not you up to the casements then.
Nor thrust your head into the public street.
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces:
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house. — By Jacob's staff, I swear.

IX.

174

xMERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act II.

I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:

But I will go Go you before me, sirrah;

Say I will come.

Laun. I will go before, sir. —

IVIistress, look out at window, for all this;
There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit.

Sliy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?

Jes. His words were, B^arewell, mistress; nothing
else.

Shy. The patch ^ *) is kind enough ; but a huge feeder,
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me;
Therefore I part with him; and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrowed purse. — Well, Jessica, go in;
Perhaps, I will return immediately ;
Do, as I bid you.

Shut doors after you: Fast bind, fast find;
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit.

Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit.

SCENE VI.

The same.

Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued.

Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo
Desii'd us to make stand.

Salar. His hour is almost past.

Gra. And it is marvel he out- dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont.
To keep' obliged faith unforfeited!

Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast.
With that keen appetite that he sits down ?
Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measui'es with the unbated lire
That he did pace them first? All things that are.
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younker, or a prodigal.
The scarfed bark ^) puts from her native bay,
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return;
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails.
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

■ Enter Lorenzo.

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo; — more of this here-
after.
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode ;
Not I, but my affairs, have made you Avait;
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then. — Approach ;
Here dwells my father Jew: — Ho! who's within?
*
Enter Jessica above, in boy's clothes.

Jes. Who are you? Tell me for more certainty,
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.

Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed:
For who love I so much? and now who knows.
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that
thou art.

Jes. Here, catch this casket ; it is worth the pains.
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me.
For I am much asham'd of my exchange:
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;

For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too, too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;
And I should be obscur'd.

Lor. So are you, sweet,

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once:

For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.

[Exit, from above.

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.

Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily:
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall s)ie be placed in my constant soul.

Enter Jessica, below.
What, art thou come? — On, gentlemen, away;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

[Exit with Jessica and Salabino.

Enter Antomo.

Jnf. Who's there?

Gra. Signior Antonio?

Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
'Tis nine o'clock ; our friends all stay for you : — ■
No masque to-night: the wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard:
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight.
Than to be under sail, and gone to night. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIL

Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter Portia, with the
Prince of Morocco, and both their Trains.

Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince : —
Now make your choice.

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears ; —
JVho chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
The second, silver, which this promise carries ; —
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt; —
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do choose the right?

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince ;
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see,
I will survey the inscriptions back again :
What says this leaden casket?
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
Must give — For what? for lead? hazard for lead?
This casket threatens: Men, that hazard all,
Do it in hope of fair advantages:
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves? — Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand:
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady;

IK.

Act IL

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

175

And yet to be afeard of my deserving,

Were but a weak disabling of myself.

As much as I deserve! — Why, that's the lady:

I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,

In graces, and in qualities of breeding;

J3ut more than these, in love I do desei-ve.

Wliat if I stray'd no further, but chose here? —

Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold.

Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.

Why, that's the lady: all the world desires her:

From the four corners of the earth they come.

To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.

The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds

Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now,

F^or princes to come view fair Portia:

Tiie watry kingdom, whose ambitious head

S[)its in the face of heaven, is no bar

To stop the foreign spirits; but they come

As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.

One of these three contains her heavenly picture,

Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation,

To think so base a thought; it were too gross

To rib *^) her cerecloth in the obscure grave.

Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd.

Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold?

O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem

Was set in worse than gold. They have in England

A coin, that bears the figure of an angel

Stamped in gold; but that's insculp'd upon: *^)

But here an angel in a golden bed

Lies all within. — Deliver me the key;

Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

For. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there.
Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket.

Mor. O hell! what have we here?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll? I'll read the writing.

All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold,
Hut 7ny outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold.
Young in limbs, in judgment old.
Your answer had not been inscrol'd;
Fare you well; your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. —
Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit.

For. A gentle riddance, Di'aw the curtains,

go:— —
Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt.

SCENE vm,

Venice. A Street.
Enter Salarino and Salanio.

Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not.

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke;
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail :
But there the duke was given to understand,
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica:
Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke.
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,

As the dog Jew did utter in the streets :

My daughter! — O my ducats! — O my daughter I

Pled with a Christian f — O my christian ducats! —

Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!

A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,

Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!

And jewels; two stones, two rich a7id precious stones,

Stol'n by my daughter! — Justice! find the girl I

She hath the stones tipon her, and the ducats!

Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him.
Crying, — his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day.
Or he shall pay for this.

Salar. Marry, well remember'd:

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday; ")
Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part
The French, and English, there miscanied
A vessel of our country, richly fraught:
I thought upon Antonio, when he told me;
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed
Of his return; he answer'd — Do not so.
Slubber not - ") business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time;
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love :
Be merry; and employ your chief est thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there :
And even there, his eye being big with tears.
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, -')
And with affection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.

Salan. 1 think he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee, let us go, and find him out.
And quicken his embraced heaviness --)
With some delight or other.

Salar. Do we do so. [Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.

Enter Nerissa, with a Servant.

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee draw the curtain
straight ;
The prince of Arragon hath ta'en liis oath,
And comes to his election presently.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince o/' Abragon,
Portia, and their Trains.

For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince :
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd.
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd;
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to obsei've three tilings :
First, never to unfold to any one
Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life.
To woo a maid in way of marriage; lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,
Immediately to leave you and be gone.

For. To these injunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

Ar. And so have J address'd me: -^) Fortune now
To my heart's hope! — Gold, silver, and base lead.
Wlio chooselh me, must give and hazard all he hath:
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard.

IK.

176

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act III.

What says the golden chest? ha! let me see: —
Who choosetJi me, shall gain what many men desire. —
What many men desire. — That many may be meant
By the fool multitude, that choose by show.
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet.
Builds in the weather on the outward wall.
Even in the force -'*) and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire.
Because I will not jump - ') with common spirits.
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:
Who chooseth m,e, shall get as much as he deserves;
And well said too; For who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit! Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.
O, that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare?
How many be commanded, that command?
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd
From the true seed of honour? -^) and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times.
To be new varnish'd? Well, but to my choice:
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves:
I will assume desert; — Give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

For. Too long a pause for that which you find there.

Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Pi'esenting me a schedule? I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia?
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings?
Wlto chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves.
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?
]s that my prize? are my deserts no better?

For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices.
And of opposed nature.

Ar. What is here?

The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgment is.
That did never chooae antias:
Some there be, that shadows kiss ;
Such have Out a shadow's bfiss:
There he fools alive, I wis, -')
Silver' d o'er; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
1 will ever be your head:
So, begone, sir, you are sped.

Still more fool I shall appear

By the time I linger here:

With one fool's head I came to woo,

But I go away with two. —

Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath.

Patiently to bear my wroth. - ^)

[Exeunt Arragon, and Train.
For. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O these deliberate fools! when they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
fier. The ancient saying is no heresy; —
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Where is my lady?

For. Here; vvhat would my lord?

Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify the approaching of his lord :
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets: -')

To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath.

Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen

So likely an ambassador of love :

A day in April never came so sweet.

To show how costly summer was at hand.

As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

For. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard.
Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee.

Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him ■

Come, come, Nerissa: tor 1 long to see
Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly.

Her. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be!

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Venice. A Street.

Enter Sat-anio and Salarino.

Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto?

Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that An-
tonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the nar-
row seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place;
a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcases
of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my
gossip report be an honest woman of her word.

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that,
as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her nelghboui-s be-
lieve she wept for the death of a third husband :
But it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or
crossing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good

Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a

title good enough to keep his name company !

Salar. Come, the full stop.

Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou? — Why the end
is, he hath lost a ship.

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses !

Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil
cross my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness
of a Jew.

Enter Siiylock.

How now, Shylock? what news among the mer-
chants ?

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you,
of my daughter's flight.

Salar. That's certain; I for my part, knew the tai-
lor, that made the wings she flew withal.

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the
bird was fledg'd; and then it is the complexion of
them all to leave the dam.

Shy. She is damn'd for it.

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge.

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel!

Salan. Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these
years?

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh
and hers, than between jet and ivory; more between
your bloods, than there is between red wine and
rhenish: But tell us, do you hear whether An-
tonio have had any loss at sea or no?

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt,
a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the
Rialto; — a beggar, that used to come so smug
upon the mart; — let him look to his bond: he
was wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his
bond : he was wont to lend money for a Christian
courtesy; — let him look to his bond.

IR.

Act III.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

177

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not
take his flesh: What's that good for?

Shy. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced
me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at
my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation,
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated
mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew:
Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, or-
gans, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed
with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,
subject to the same diseases, healed by the same
means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and
summer, as a Christian is? if you prick us, do we
not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if
you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong
us, shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the
rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong
a Christian, what is his humility? revenge; If a
Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance
be by Christian example? why, revenge. The vil-
lainy, you teach me, I will execute; and it shall
go hard, but I will better the instruction.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house,
and desires to speak with you both.
Salar. MVe have been up and down to seek him.

Enter Tubal.

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe; a third

cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

[Exeunt Salan. Salar., and Servant.

Shy. How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa?
hast thou found my daughter?

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but
cannot find her.

Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort!
The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I ne-
ver felt it till now: — two thousand ducats in that;
and other precious, precious jewels. — I would, my
daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in
her ear! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and
the ducats in her coffin! No news of them? — Why,
so: — and I know not what's spent in the search:
Why, thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so
much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis-
faction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring, but
what lights o' my shoulders; no sighs, but o' my
breathing; no tears, but o' my shedding.

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio,
as I heard in Genoa, —

Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from
Tripolis.

Shy. I thank God, I thank God: — Is it true?
is it true?

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped
the wreck.

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal; — Good news,
good news: ha! ha! — Where? in Genoa?

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard,
one night, fourscore ducats.

Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : I shall

never see ray gold again: Foiuscore ducats at a
sitting! fourscore ducats!

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in
my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose
but break.

Shy. I am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll
torture him: I am glad of it.

Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had
of your daughter for a monkey.

Shy. Out upon her! thou torturest me. Tubal: it
was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was a
bachelor: ') I would not have given it for a wilder-
ness of monkeys.

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone.

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, Tubal,
fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight before:
I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for were
he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I
will: Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our syna-
gogue; go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Belmont. A Room in Portia's House.

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nkrissa, and
Attendants. The Casket* are set out.

For. I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two»
Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
I lose your company; therefore, forbear a while:
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,)
I would not lose you; and you know yourself.
Hate counsels not in such a quality:
But lest you should not understand me well,
(And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,)
I would detain you here some month or two.
Before you venture for me. I could teach you,
How to choose right, but then I am forsworn;
So will I never be: so may you miss me;
But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin.
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes.
They have o'erlook'd me, and divided me;

One half of me is yours, the other half yours, —

Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours.
And so all yours: O! these naughty times
Put bars between the owners and their rights;
And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it so.
Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I.
I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time} ^)
To eke it, and to draw it out in length.
To stay you from election.

Bass. Let me choose;

For, as I am, I live upon the rack.

For. Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess
What treason there is mingled with your love.

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust.
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
There may as well be amity and life
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

For. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack.
Where men enforced do speak any thing.

Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

For. Well then, confess and live.

Bass. Confess, and loTQ,

Had been the very sum of my confession:
O happy torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliverance !
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

For. Away then: I am lock'd in one of them;
If you do love me, you will find me out. —
NerLssa, and the rest, stand all aloof. —
Let music sound, while he doth make hia choicej
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end.
Fading in music: that the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall he the stream.
And wat'ry death-bed for him: He may win;
And what is music then? then music is
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
To a new-crown'd monarch: such it is>
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day.

IX.

12

178

MERCHANT OF VENICE

Act IIL

That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,

And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,

With no less presence, *) but with much more love,

Than young Alcides, when he did redeem

The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy

To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice,

The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives.

With bleared visages, come forth to view

The issue of the exploit Go, Hercules'.

Live thou, I live : — With much much more dismay

I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray.

Music, tphilst Bassamio comments on the caskets
to himself:

Song.

1. Tell me, where is fancy ^) bred.
Or in the heart, or in the head?

How begot, how nourished?

Reply. 5)

2. It is engendered in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies:

Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it, — — Ding, dong, bell.
All. Ding, dong, bell.

Bass. — So may the outward shows be least them-
selves.
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt.
But, being season'd with a gracious voice, ^)
Obscures the show of evil? In religion.
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it ') with a text.
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars;
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk?
And these assume but valour's excrement, ^)
To render them redoubted. Look on beauty.
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight;
Which therein works a miracle in nature.
Making them lightest that wear most of it;
So are those crisped snaky golden locks.
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind.
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore')
To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word.
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest. Therefore thou gaudy gold.
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee:
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead.
Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught.
Thy plainness *°) moves me more than eloquence,
And here choose I; Joy be the consequence!

Par. How all the other passions fleet to air.
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair,
And shuddering fear and green-ey'd jealousy,

0 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,

In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess;

1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less.
For fear I surfeit?

Bass. What find I here? [Opening the leaden casket.
Fair Portia's counterfeit? '*) What demi-god

Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine.
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips.
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider ; and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men.
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: But her eyes, —
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his.
And leave itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance. — Here's the scroll.
The continent and summary of my fortune.

You that choose not by the view.
Chance as fair, and c/ioose as true I
Since this fortune falls to you.
Be content, and seek no new.
If you be tvell pleas'd tvith this.
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is.
And claim her with a loving kiss.

A gentle scroll; — Fair lady, by your leave:

[Kissing her.
I come, by note, to give, and to receive.
Like one of two contending in a prize.
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause, and universal shout.
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no;
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;
As doubtful whether what I see be true.
Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

Par. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand.
Such as I am: though, for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich;

That only to stand high on your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends.
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sum of something; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd :
Happy in this, she is not yet so old.
But she may learn; and happier than this, '-)
She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours
Is now converted : but now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of ray servants.
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now.
This house, these servants, and this same myself.
Are yours, my lord; I give them with this ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away.
Let it presage the ruin of your love,
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins:
And there is such confusion in my powers.
As, after some oration fairly spoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ;
Where every something being blent together, '^)
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Express'd and not express'd: But when this ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence;
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead.

IX.

Act III.

MERCHANT OF VENICE

179

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time.
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper.
To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady !

€hra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady!
I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
For I am sure, you can wish none from me: **)
And when your honours mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
Even at that time I may be married too.

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission '^)
No more pertains to roe, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there;
And so did mine too, as the matter falls:
For wooing here, until I sweat again;
And swearing, till my very roof was dry
With oaths of love; at last, — if promise last, —
I got a promise of this fair one here.
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Achiev'd her mistress.

Por. Is this true, Nerissa?

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal.

Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

Gra. Yes, 'faith, my lord.

Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your
marriage.

Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a
thousand ducats.

Ner. What, and stake down?

Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, «nd

stake down.

But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel?
What and my old Venetian friend, Salerio?

Enter Lorekzo, Jessica, and Salerio.

Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither;
If that the youth of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome : — By your leave,
I bid my very friends and countrymen.
Sweet Portia, welcome.

Por. So do I, my lord;

They are entirely welcome.

Lor. I thank your honour : — For my part, my lord.
My purpose was not to have seen you here; .
But meeting with Salerio by the way.
He did entreat me, past all saying nay.
To come with him along.

Sale. I did, my lord.

And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
Commends him to you. [Give* Bassamo a letter.

Bass. Ere I ope his letter,

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
Will^show you his estate.

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger: bid her welcome.
Your hand, Salerio; What's the news from Venice ?
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know, he will be glad of our success;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

Sale. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost !

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon' same

paper.
That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek:
Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse? —
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself.
And I must freely have the half of any thing
That this same paper brings you.

Bass. O sweet Portia,

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words.
That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady.
When I did first impart my love to you,
I freely told you, all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I wais a gentleman;
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady.
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a braggart: When I told you
My state was nothing, I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy.
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;
The paper as the body ^ ^) of my friend.
And every word in it a gaping wound.
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
Have adl his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India?
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks?

Sale. Not one, my lord.

Besides, it should appear, that if he had
The present money to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it. Never did I know
A creature, that did bear the shape of man.
So keen and greedy to confound a man:
He plies the duke at morning, and at night;
And doth impeach the freedom of the state.
If they deny him justice; twenty merchants.
The duke himself, and the magnificoes
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with himi
But none can drive him from the envious plea
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.

Jes. When I was with him, I have heard him swear.
To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen.
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh.
Than twenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him; and I know, my lord.
If law, authority, and power deny not.
It will go hard with poor Antonio.

Por. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble ?

Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man.
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears.
Than any that draws breath in Italy.

Por. What sum owes he the Jew?

Bass. For me, three thousand ducats.

Por. • What, no more?

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
Double six thousand, and then treble that.
Before a friend of this description
*') Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.
First, go with me to church, and call me wife:
And then away to Venice to your friend ;
For never shall you lie by Portia's side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over;
When it is paid, bring your true friend along:
My maid Nerissa, and myself, meantime,
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away;
For you shall hence upon your wedding day:
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer; ' *)
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. —
But let me hear the letter of your friend.

Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have atl
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate w
very loir, my bond to the Jew is forfeit: and since,
in paying it, it is impossible I should lice, all
debts are cleared between you and I, if I might
but see you at my death: notwithstanding, use
IH. 12*

180

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act III.

your pleasure: if your love do not persuade you
to come, let not my letter.
Par. O love, despatch all business, and be gone.
Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away,
I will make haste: but, till I come again.
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,

^ '} No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. \Exmnt.

SCENE III.

Venice. A Street.

Enter Shxlock, Salanio, Antonio, and Gaoler.

Shy. Gaoler, look to him; — Tell not me of

mercy;

This is the fool that lent out money gratis; —
Gaoler, look to him.

Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock.

Shy. I'll have my bond ; speak not against my bond ;
I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond:
Thou call'dst me dog, before thou had'st a cause:
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs:
The duke shall grant me justice. — I do wonder,
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond ^<')
To come abroad with him at his request.

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak.

Shy. I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak :
I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool.
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond.

[Exit ShyIiOCK.

Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur,
That ever kept with men.

Ant. Let him alone;

I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
He seeks my life; his reason well I know;
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
Many that have at times made moan to me;
Therefore he hates me.

Salan. I am sure, the duke

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law;
For the commodity that strangers have
"With us in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice of the state;
Since that the trade and profit of the city
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me.
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh

To-morrow to my bloody creditor.

Well, gaoler, on: — Pray God, Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!

\Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Belmont. A Room in Portia'* House.

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and
Balthazar.

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
But, if you knew to whom you show this honour,
How true a gentleman you send relief.
How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
I know, you would be prouder of the work.
Than customary bounty can enforce you.

For. I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now: for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together.

Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love.

There must be needs a like proportion

Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;

Which makes me think, that this Antonio,

Being the bosom-lover of my lord.

Must needs be like my lord: If it be so,

How little is the cost I have bestow'd.

In purchasing the semblance of my soul

From out the state of hellish cruelty?

This comes too near the praising of myself;

Therefore, no more of it: hear other things. —

Lorenzo, I commit into your hands

The husbandry and manage of my house.

Until my lord's return: for mine own part,

I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow,

To live in prayer and contemplation.

Only attended by Nerissa here.

Until her husband and my lord's return:

There is a monastery two miles off.

And there we will abide. I do desire you.

Not to deny this imposition;

The which my love, and some necessity.

Now lays upon you.

Lor. Madam, with all my heart;

I shall obey you in all fair commands.

Por. My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you and Jessica
In place of lord Bassanio and myself.
So fare you well, till we shall meet again.

Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you!

Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content.

Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica. —
[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo.
Now, Balthazar,

As I have ever found thee honest, true.
So let me find thee still: Take this same letter.
And use thou all the endeavour of a man.
In speed to Padua; see thou render this
Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario ;
And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed
Unto the tranect, -') to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice: — waste no time in words.
But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee.

Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed.

[Exit.

Por. Come, on, Nerissa; I have work in hand.
That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands,
Before they think of us.

JVer. Shall they see us?

Por. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit
That they shall think we are accomplished
With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager.
When we are both accouter'd like young men,
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace;
And speak, between the change of man and boy,
With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride; and speak of frays.
Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lies.
How honourable ladies sought my love.
Which I denying, they fell sick and died;
I could not do with all; ^*) then I'll repent.
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them:
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,
That men shall swear, I have discontinued school
Above a twelvemonth; — I have within my mind
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
Which I will practise.

Her. Why, shall we turn to men?

Por. Fye! what a question's that,
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter?

IK.

Act IV.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

lai

But come, I'll tell thee all my Avhole device
When I am in my coach, which stays for us
At the park-gate; and therefore haste away.
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The same. A Garden.

Enter Ladncblot and Jbssica.

Laun. Yes, truly: — for, look you, the sins of
the father are to be laid upon the children; there-
fore, I promise you, I fear you. -^) I was always
plain with you, and so now I speak ray agitation
of the matter: Therefore, be of good cheer; for,
truly, I think, you are damn'd. There is but one
hope in it that can do you any good; and that is
but a kind of bastard hope neither.

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee?

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father
got you not, that you are not the Jew's daughter.

Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed ; so
the sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both by
father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your
father, I fall into Chary bdis, your mother: well,
you are gone both ways.

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband: he hath
made me a Christian.

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we were
Christians enough before; e'en as many as could
well live, one by another: This making of Chris-
tians w ill raise ihe price of hogs ; if we grow all
to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher
on the coals for money.

Enter Lorenzo.

Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you
say; here he comes.

Lor. 1 shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launce-
lot, if you thus get my wife into corners.

Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo ; Launce-
lot and 1 are out : he tells me flatly, there is no
mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's
daughter: and he says, you are no good member of
tlie commonwealth ; for, in converting Jews to Chris-
tians, you raise the price of pork.

Lor. I shall answer that better to the conunon-
wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's
belly; the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot.

Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more
than reason: but if she be less than an honest wo-

ii;m, she is, indeed, more than I took her for.

Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! I
think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into
silence ; and discourse grow commendable in none
only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah; bid them pre-
pare for dinner.

Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you!
then bid them prepare dinner.

Laun. That is done, too, sir; only, cover is the
word.

Lor. Will you cover then, sir?

Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in-
stant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his
plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover
the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in
to dinner.

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in;
for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your

coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours
and conceits shall govern. [Exit Lavncklot.

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited !
The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words; And I do know
A many fools, that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica?
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion.
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife?

Jes. Past all expressing: It is very meet.
The lord Bassanio live an upright life;
For, having such a blessing in his lady.
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
And, if on earth he do not mean it, it
Is reason he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match,
And on the wager lay two earthly women.
And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.

Lor. Even such a husband

Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife.

Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.

Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner.

Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach.

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
I shall digest it.

Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I. Venice. A Court of Justice.

Enter the DvKB, the Maguificoes; Antonio, Bassa-
nio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others.

Duke. What, is Antonio here?

Ant. Ready, so please your grace.

Duke. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to answer
A stony adversary', an inhuman wretch,
Uncapable of pity, void and empty
From any dram of mercy.

Ant. I have heard.

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,
And that no lawful means can carry me
Out of his envy's reach, ^) I do oppose
My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit.
The very tyranny and rage of his.

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court.

Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

Enter Shylock.
Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face. —
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too.
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought,
Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse, *ymore strange
Than is thy strange apparent ^) cruelty:
And where *) thou now exact'st the penalty,
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,)
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture.
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love.
Forgive a moiety of the principal;
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses.
That have of late so huddled on his back;
Enough to press a royal merchant down.
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint,

IK.

182

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

Act IV.

From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd

To offices of tender courtesy.

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of vshat I purpose;
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn,
To have the due and forfeit of my bond :
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humour; Is it answer'd?
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig:
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose,
Cannot contain their urine; For affection,^)
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes, or loaths : Now, for yoTir answer :
As there is no firm reason to be lender'd,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat ;
Why he, a swollen bag-pipe ; *] but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame,
As to offend, himself being offended;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing,
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answered?

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man.
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer.

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love?

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

Bass. Every ofl'ence is not a hate at first.

Shy. What, Avould'st thou have a serpent sting thee
> twice?

Ant. I pray you, think you question ') with the Jew :
You may as well go stand upon the beach.
And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
You may as well use question with the wolf,
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise.
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven;
You may as well do any thing most hard.
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?)
His Jewish heart: — Therefore, I do beseech you,
Make no more ofi'ers, use no further means.
But, with all brief and plain conveniency.
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,
I would not draw them, I would have my bond.

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none ?

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?
You have among you many a purchas'd slave, •*)
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules.
You use in abject and in slavish parts.
Because you bought them: — Shall I say to you.
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be season'd with such viands? You will answer,
The slaves are ours: — So do I answer you;
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought, is mine, ') and I will have it:
If you deny me, fye upon your law!
There is no force in the decrees of Venice:
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?

Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this coUrt,
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor.
Whom I have sent for to determine this,
Come here to-day.

Salar. My lord, here stays without

A messenger with letters from the doctor,
New come from Padua.

Duke. Bring us the letters; Call the messenger.

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man? courage yet!
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me:
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk.

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

Ner. From both, my lord: Bellario greets your
grace. [Presents a letter.

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou makest thy knife keen: but no metal can,
No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog!
And for thy life let justice be accus'd.
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men: thy curxish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhalloAv'd dam,
Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous.

Shy. Till thou can'st rail the seal from off my bond,
Thou but oftend'st thy lungs to speak so loud:
Repair thy Avit, good youth, or it will fall
To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law.

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend
A young and learned doctor to our court: —
Where is he?

Ner. He attendeth here hard by,

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

Duke. With all my heart : — some three or four of you.
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. —
Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

[Clerk reads.] Your grace shall understand, that,
at the receipt of your letter, £ am very nick : but
in the instant that your messenger came, in loving
visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome,
his name is Balthasar: I acquainted him with the
cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio
the merchant: we turned o'er many books toge-
ther: he is furnish' d with my opinion; which, bet-
ter'd with his own learning, (the greatness ichereof
I cannot enough commend,^ comes with him, at
my importunity, to Jill up your grace's request in
my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be
no impediment to let him lack a reverend estima-
tion: for I never knew so young a body with so old
a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance,
whose trial shall better publish his commendation.

Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes :
And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

Enter Poktia, dressed like a doctor of laws.
Give me your hand: Came you from old Bellario?

IK.

Act if.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

183

Por. I did, my lord.

Duke. You are welcome : take your place.

Are you acquainted witli the difference
Tliat holds this present question in the court?

Por. I am informed throughly of the cause.
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

Por. Is your name Shylock?

Shy. Shylock is my name.

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
Yet in such a rule, that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn you, ' ") as you do proceed. —
Y'ou stand withm his danger, ' ') do you not?

[To Aktomo.

Ant. Ay, so he says.

Por. Do you confess the bond?

Ant. I do.

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful.

Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that.

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty.
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this scepter'd sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, —
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: '*) we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much.
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money?

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
Yea, twice the sura: if that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er.
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
If this will not suffice, it must appear
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you
Wrest once the law to your authority:
To do a great right, do a little wrong;
And curb this cruel devil of his will.

Por. It must not be; there is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established:
'Twill be recorded for a precedent;

And many an error, by the same example,
Will rush into the state : it cannot be.

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee!

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.
Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven :

Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?

No, not for Venice.

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit;

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim

A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off

Nearest the merchant's heart: Be merciful!

Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. —

It doth appear, you are a worthy judge;

You know the law, your exposition

Hath been most sound ; I charge you by the law.

Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar.

Proceed to judgmentt by my soul I swear,

There is no power in the tongue of man

To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.

Por. Why then, thus it is.

You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man!

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty.
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.

Shy. Ay, his breast:

So says the bond; — Doth it not, noble judge? —
Nearest his heart, those are the very words.

Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh
The flesh?

Shy. I have them ready.

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge.
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond?

Por. It is not so express'd; But what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charity.

Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say?

Ant. But little; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. —
Give me your band, Bassanio; fare you well!
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom: it is still her use,
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth.
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow.
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
Of such a misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honourable wife:
Tell her the process of Antonio's end,
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge.
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend,
And he repents not that he pays your debt;
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart.

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife,
Which is as dear to me as life itself;
But life itself, my life, and all the world,
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life ;
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.

Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love;
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.

Shy. These be the Christian husbands: I have a
daughter ;
'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas
Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! [Aide.
We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence.

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine;
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Shy. Most rightful judge!
Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast;

The law allows it, and the court awards it.
Shy. Most learned judge! A sentence; come, prepare.
Por. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. —

IK.

184

MERCHANT OF VENICE

Act IV.

This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;

The -words expressly are, a pound of flesh:

Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;

But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed

One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods

Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate

Unto the state of Venice.

Gra. O upright judge! — Mark, Jew; — O learned
judge!

Shy. Is that the law?

Por. Thyself shall see the act:

For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd,
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

6rra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew; a learned judge!

Shy. I take this ofl'er then ! — pay the bond thrice,
And let the Christian go.

Bass. Here is the money.

For. Soft;
The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ; — no haste ; —
He shall have nothing but the penalty.

Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

For. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more.
But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more.
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance,
Or the division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair, —
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.

For. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go.

Bass. I have it ready for thee; here it is.

For. He hath refus'd it in the open court;
He shall have merely justice, and his bond.

Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel! —
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

Shy. Shall I not barely have my principal?

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture.
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it!
I'll stay no longer question.

For. Tarry, Jew;

The law hath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, —
If it be prov'd against an alien.
That by direct, or indirect attempts,
He seek the life of any citizen.
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive,
Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
Comes to the pi'ivy cofi'er of the state;
And the offender's life lies in the mercy
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st:
For it appears by manifest proceeding,

That, indirectly, and directly too.

Thou hast contriv'd against the very life

Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd

The danger formerly by me rehears'd.

Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.
Gra. Beg that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself:

And yet, thy health being forfeit to the state,

Thou hast not left the value of a cord;

Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.
Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,

I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:

For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;

The other half comes to the general state,

Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.
For. Ay, for the state; •^) not for Antonio.
Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that:

You take my house, when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life,
When you do take the means whereby I live.

For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else ; for God's sake.

Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court,
To quit the fine for one half of his goods;
I am content, so he will let me have
The other half in use, — to render it.
Upon his death, unto the gentleman
That lately stole his daughter;
Two things provided more, — That, for this favour.
He presently become a Christian ;
The other, that he do record a gift.
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter.

Duke. He shall do this; or else I do recant
The pardon, that I late pronounced here.

For. Art thou contented, Jew, Avhat dost thou say ?

Shy. I am content.

For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence ;
I am not well ; send the deed after me.
And I will sign it.

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it.

Gra. In christening thou shalt have two godfathers ;
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, * ^)
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

[Exit Shvlock.

Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

For. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon;
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet, I presently set forth.

Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
Antonio, gratify this gentleman;
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

[Exeunt Duke, Magnilicoes, and Train.

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend.
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof.
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

Ant. And stand indebted, over and above.
In love and service to you evermore.

For. He is well paid that is well satisfied:
And I, delivering you, am satisfied.
And therein do account myself well paid;
My mind was never yet more mercenary.
I pray you, know me, when we meet again;
I wish you well, and so I take my leave.

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further;
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute.
Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

For. You press me far, and therefore I will yield.
Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;
And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you : —
Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no moi'e;
And you in love shall not deny me this.

Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a trifle;
I will not shame myself to give you this.

For. I will have nothing else but only this;

And now, methinks, I have a mind to it.

Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the value.

The dearesi ring in Venice will I give you,

And find it out by proclamation;

Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

For. I see, sir, you are liberal in off'ers:

You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks.

You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife ;

And, when she put it on, she made me vow.

That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.

IH.

Act V.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

185

Por. That 'sense serves many men to save their gifts.
An if your wife be not a mad woman,
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring,
She would not hold out enemy for ever.
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

[Exeunt Portia and IVerisha.

Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring;
Let his deservings, and my love withal,
13e valued 'gainst your wife's commandment.

Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him,
Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou can'st,
Unto Antonio's house: — away, make haste.

[Exit Gbatiako.
Come, you and I will thither presently;
And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont: Come, Antonio. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Street.

Enter Portia and Nerissa.

Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed,
And let him sign it; we'll away to-night.
And be a day before our husbands home:
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

Enter Gratiano.

Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken:
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice, '*)
Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.

Por. That cannot be:

This ring I do accept most thankfully.
And so, I pray you, tell him: Furthermore,
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

Gra. That will I do.

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you: —

I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [to Portia.
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

Por. Thou maj'st, I warrant; We shall have old
swearing.
That they did give the rings away to men;
But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.
Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry.

Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene I. Belmont. Avenue to Portisi^ s House.
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.

Lor. The moon shines bright : — In such a night as this.
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.

Jes. In such a night,

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.

Lor. In such a night,

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.

Jes. In such a night,

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old ^ffison.

Lor. In such a night.

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew:

And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.

Jes. And in such a night, ')

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.

Lor. And in such a night.

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew.
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come:
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

Enter Stephano.

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?

Steph. A friend.

Lor. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray
you, friend?

StepJt. Stephano is my name, and I bring word,
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.

Lor. Who comes with her?

Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. —
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

Enter Launcblot.

Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola!

Lor. Who calls?

Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and mis-
tress Lorenzo? sola, sola!

Lor. Leave hollaing, man; here.

Laun. Sola! where? where?

Lor. Here.

Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my
master, with his horn full of good news ; my master
will be here ere morning. [Exit.

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
And yet no matter; — Why should we go in?
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you.
Within the house, your mistress is at hand:
And bring your music forth into the air. —

[Exit Stephako.
How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night.
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines -) of bright gold ;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings.
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls; *)
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. —

Enter Musicians.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; ^)
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear.
And draw her home with music.

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. [Music.

Lor. The reason is your spirits are attentive:
For do but note a wild and wanton herd.
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts.
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound.
Or any air of music touch their ears.
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,

IX.

186

MERCHANT OF VENICE

Act V-

Their savage eyes tum'd to a modest gaze.

By the sweet power of music: Therefore, the poet

Did feigtt that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;

Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,

But music for the time doth change his nature:

The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds.

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;

The motions of his spirit are dull as night,

And his affections dark as Erebus:

Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music.

Enter Portia and Nkrissa, at a distance.

Por. That light we see, is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king.
Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

Ner, It is your music, madam, of the house.

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; ^)
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and, I think,
The nightingale, if she should sing by day.
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season seasoned are
To their right praise, and true perfection! —
Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak'd ! [Music ceases.

Lor. That is the voice.

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.

Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo.
By the bad voice.

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home.

Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare.
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they return'd?

Lor. Madam, they are not yet;

But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.

Por. Go in, Nerissa,

Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence; —
Nor you, Lorenzo; — Jessica, nor you.

[A tucket ') sounds.

Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick,
It looks a little paler; 'tis a day.
Such as the day is when the sun is hid-

Enter Bassamo, Antonio, Gratiano, and their
Followers.

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walk in absence of the sun.

Por. Let me give light, ') but let me not be light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband.
And never be Bassanio so for me;
But God sort all! — You are welcome home, my lord.

Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my

friend. —
This is the man, this is Antonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him,
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of.

Por, Sir, you are very welcome to our house:

It must appear in other ways than words;
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy. ^)

[Gbatiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart.

Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong;
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part.
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter?

Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me; whose posy was
For all the world, like cutler's poetry ')
Upon a knife. Love me, and leave me not.

Ner. What talk you of the posy or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you.
That you would wear it till your hour of death;
And that it should lie with you in your grave :
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths.
You should have been respective, and have kept it.
Gave it a judge's clerk! — but well I know.
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it.

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man.

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man.

Crra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, —
A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift;
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted so with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it ; and here he stands ;
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it,
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside.

Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed,
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine:
And neither man, nor master, would take aught
But the two rings.

Por. What ring gave you, my lord?

Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone.

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.

Ner. Nor I in yours,

Till I again see mine.

Bass. Sweet Portia,

If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring.
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When naught would be accepted but the ring.
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half the worthiness that gave the ring.
Or your own honour to contain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable.
If you had pleas'd to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe;
I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring.

IK.

Act V.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

187

Basg. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny hiin,
And sufier'd him to go displeas'd away;
Even he that had held up the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?
I was enforc'd to send it after him ;
I was beset with shame and courtesy:
My honour would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady ;
For by these blessed candles of the night.
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

For. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house:
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd.
And that which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you;
I'll not deny him any thing I have.
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed:
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:
Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus;
If you do not, if I be left alone,
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd,
How you do leave me to mine own protection.

Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then;
For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome, not-
withstanding.

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;
And in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself,

Por. Mark you but that!

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself:
In each eye one: — swear by your double self, ^"^
And there's an oath of credit.

Bass. Nay, but hear me:

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
I never more will break an oath with thee.

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth;**)
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,

[to FOKTIA.

Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again.
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.

Por. Then you shall be his surety : Give him this ;
And bid him keep it better than the other.

Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor !

Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;
For by this ring the doctor lay with me.

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,
In lieu of this, last night did lie with me.

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high-ways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough :
What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it?

Por. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaz'd :
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario :
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor;
Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here.
Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you.
And but even now return'd; I have not yet
Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome;
And I have better news in store for you.
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;
There you shall find, three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.

Ant. I am dumb.

Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?

Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold?

Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it.
Unless he live until he be a man.

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow;
When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
For here I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road.

Por. How now, Lorenzo?

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. —
There do I give to you, and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift.
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop maiuia in the way
Of starved people.

Por. It is almost morning.

And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full: Let us go in;
And charge us there upon intergatories.
And we will answer all things faithfully.

Gra. Let it be so; The first intergatory.
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is.
Whether till the next night she had rather stay;
Or go to bed now, being two hours to-day:
But were the day come, I should wish it dark.
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt.

SB.

X.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

PEaSONS REPRESENTED.

Duke, living in exile.

Fredkrfck, Brother to the Duke, and Usurper of

his dominions.
Amiens, J Lords attending upon the Duke in his
jAttuEs, ) banishment.

Lb Beau, a Courtier attending upon Frederick.
Charles, his Wrestler.
Oliver, i

Jaques, > Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois.
Orlando, j
Adam, )
Dennis, j

Servants to Oliver.

Touchstone, a Clown.

Sir Oliver Mar-text, a Vicar.

c, ' > Shepherds.
SrLvius, ( ^

William, a Country Fellow, in love with Audrey.
A Person representing Hymen.
Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke.
Celia, Daughter to Frederick.
Phebe, a Shepherdess.
Audrey, a Country Wench.

Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Fores-
ters, and other Attendants.

Scene — lies, first, near Oliver's House; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and

partly in the Forest of Arden.

ACT I.

SCENE I. An Orchard, near Oliver's House.
Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orlando.
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
bequeathed me: By will, but a poor thousand
crowns: ') and, as thou say'st, charged my brother,
on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins
my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school,
and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my
part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak
more properly, stays me here at home unkept; ^)
For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my
birth, that differs not from the stalling of an oxV
His horses are bred better: for, besides that they
are fair with their feeding, they are taught their
manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but I,
his brother, gain nothing under him but growth;
for the which his animals on his dunghills are as
much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that
he 80 plentifully gives me, the something that na-
ture gave me, his countenance seems to take from
me; he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the
place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies,
mines my gentility with my education. This is it,
Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father,
which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against
this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though
yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

Enter Oliver.
Adam. Yonder conies my master, your brother.
Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he
will shake me up.
Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? ^)
Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing.
Oli. What mar you then, sirV
Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that

which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours,
with idleness.

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught
awhile. ■*)

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with
them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I
should come to such penury?

Oli. Know you where you are, sir?

Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.

Oli. Know you before whom, sir?

Orl. Ay, better than he ^} 1 am before knows me.
I know, you are my eldest brother: and, in the
gentle condition of blood, you should so know me :
The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in
that you are the first-born; but the same tradition
takes not away my blood, were there twenty bro-
thers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in
me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before
me is nearer to his reverence. '')

Oli. What, boy!

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young
in this.

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

Orl. I am no villain:') I am the youngest son of
sir Rowland de Bois : he was my father ; and he is
thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot
villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not
take this hand from thy throat, till this other had
pull'd out thy tongue for saying so ! thou hast railed
on thyself.

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your father's
remembrance, be at accord.

Oli. Let me go, I say.

Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear roe.
My father charged you in his will to give .me good
education: you have trained me like a peasant,
obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or

K.

Act I.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

189

give me the poor allottery my father left me by
testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

OH. And what Avilt thou do? beg, when that is
spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be
troubled with you: you shall have some part of
your will: I pray you leave me.

Or I. I will no further offend you than becomes me
for my good.

OH. Get you with him, you old dog.

Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have

lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my

old master! he would not have spoke such a word.

[Exeunt Oklando and Aoam.

OH. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me?
I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thou-
sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis!

Enter Dennis.

Den. Calls your worship?

OH. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here
to speak with me?

Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and
importunes access to you.

OH. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] — 'Twill be a
good way: and to-morrow the wrestling is.

Enter Charles.

Cha. Good morrow to your worship.

OH. Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new
news at the new court?

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the
old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his
younger brother the new duke; and three or four
loving lords have put themselves into voluntary
exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich
the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave ^)
to wander.

OH. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daugh-
ter, be banished with her father?

Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, ') her cou-
sin, so loves her, — being ever from their cradles
bred together, — that she would have followed
her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is
at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than
his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as
they do.

OH. Where will the old duke live?

Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of***)
Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there
they live like the old Robin Hood of England : they
say many young gentlemen flock to him every day;
and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the
golden world.

OH. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new
duke?

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint
you with a matter, I am given, sir, secretly to
understand, that your younger brother, Orlando,
hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me
to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my cre-
dit; and he that escapes me without some broken
limb, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but
young and tender; and, for your love, I would be
loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour,
if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I
came hither to acquaint you withal; that either you
might stay him from his intendment, or brook such
disgrace well as he shall run into ; in that it is a
thing of his own search, and altogether against
my will.

OH. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me,
which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite.
I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein,

and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade
him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee,
Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of
France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of
every man's good parts, a secret and villainous con-
triver against me his natural brother ; therefore use
thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his
neck as his finger: And thou wert best look to't;
for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he
do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
against thee, by poison, entrap thee by some trea-
cherous device, and never leave thee till he hath
ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for,
I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it,
there is not one so young and so villainous this day
living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should
I anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush and
weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If
he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If
ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize
more : And so, God keep your worship ! [Exit.

OH. Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir
this gamester: •') I hope, I shall see an end of him;
for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing
more than he. Yet he's gentle ; never school'd, and
yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts '-)
enchantingly belov'd; and, indeed, so much in the
heart of the world, and especially of my own people,
who best know him, that I am altogether misprised :
but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear
all : nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thi-
ther, which now I'll go about. [Exit.

SCENE II.

A Lawn before the Duke'« Palace.

Enter Rosalind and Cblia.

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am
mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier?
Unless you could teach me to forget a banished
father, you must not learn me how to remember
any extraordinary pleasure,

Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the
full weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy ba-
nished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my
father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could
have taught my love to take thy father for mine;
so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me
were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.

Hos. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,
to rejoice in yours.

Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I,
nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies,
thou shalt be his heir; for what he hath taken
away from thy father perforce, I will render thee
again in affection; by mine honour, I will: and
when I break that oath, let me turn monster ; there-
fore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

Ros. From henceforth, I will, coz, and devise sports :
let me see; What think you of falling in love?

Cel. IVIarry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal:
but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in
sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou
may'st in honour come off again.

Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife. For-
tune, from her wheel, *^) that her gifts may hence-
forth be bestowed equally,

Ros. I would, we could do so ; for her benefits are
mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman
doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

190

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act I.

Cel. 'Tis true: for those that she makes fair, she
scarce makes honest; and those, that she makes
honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to
nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not
in the lineaments of nature.

Enter Touchstone.

Cel. No : When nature hath made a fair creature,
may she not by fortune fall into the fire? — Though
nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath
not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature;
when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off
of nature's wit.

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work nei-
ther, but nature's ; who perceiving our natural wits
too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this
natural for our whetstone: '"*) for always the dul-
ness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. —
How now, wit? av hither wander you?

Touch, Mistress, you must come away to your
father.

Cel. Were you made the messenger?

Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come
for you.

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool?

Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his
honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his
honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to
it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was
good: and yet was not the knight forsworn.

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of
your knowledge?

Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom.

Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your
chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were :
but if you swear by that that is not, you are not
forsworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his
honour, for he never had any: or if he had, he had
sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes
or that mustard.

Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st?

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him.
Enough! speak no more of him: you'll be whipp'd
for taxation, '■ *) one of these days.

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak
wisely, what wise men do foolishly.

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the
little wit, that fools have, was silenced, ' '') the little
foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show.
Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.

Enter Lk Beau.

Ros. With his mouth full of news.

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their
young.

Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.

Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more market-
able. Bon jourt Monsieur Le Beau: What's the
news?

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good
sport.

Cel. Sport? Of what colour?

Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I an-
swer you?

Ros. As wit and fortune will.

Touch. Or as the destinies decree.

Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. *')

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank,

Ros. Thou losest thy old smell.

Le Beau. You amaze me, ^ **) ladies : I would have
told you of good wrestling, which you have lost
the sight of.

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it
please your ladyships, you may see the end; for
the best is yet to do; and here, where you are,
they are coming to perform it.

Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and buried.

Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three
sons,

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale.

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent
growth and presence;

Ros. With bills on their necks, — Be it known
unto all men by these presents, *')

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wi-estled with
Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a
moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that
there is little hope of life in him: so he served the
second, and so the third : Yonder ' they lie ; the
poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole
over them, that all the beholders take his part with
weeping.

Ros. Alas!

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the
ladies have lost?

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of.

Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it
is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs
was sport for ladies.

Cel. Or I, I promise thee.

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken
music in his sides? -'*) is there yet another dotes
upon rib-breaking? — Shall we see this wrestling,
cousin ?

Le Beau. You must if you stay here : for here is
the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are
ready to perform it.

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now
stay and see it.

Flourish. i5/ifcr Duke Frederick, Lords, Ort^ando,
Charles, and Attendants.

Dtike F. Come on; since the youth will not be
entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.

Ros. Is yonder the man?

Le Beau. Even he, madam.

Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks successfully.

Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin ? are you
crept hither to see the wrestling?

Ros. Ay, my liege: so please you give us leave.

Duke F. You will take little deliglit in it, I can
tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of
the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him,
but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies ;
see if you can move him.

Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke goes apart.

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses
call for you.

Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty.

Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the
wrestler ?

Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general challenger :
I come but in, as others do, to try with him the
strength of my youth.

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold
for your years : You have seen cruel proof of this
man's strength : if you saw yourself with your eyes,
or knew yourself with your judgment, -^) the fear
of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal

Act I.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

191

enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.

Roi. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not there-
fore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the
duke, that the >vrestling might not go forward.

OtI. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
thoughts : wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your
fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my
trial : wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed
that was never gracious; if killed, but one dead
that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends no
wrong, for I have none to lament me: the world
no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the
world I fill up a place, which may be better sup-
plied when I have made it empty.

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it
were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceived
in you!

Ctl. Your heart's desires be with you.

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is s©
desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more
modest working.

Huhe F. You shall try but one fall.

Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not
entreat him to a second, that have so mightily per-
suaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not
have mocked me before; but come your ways.

Ro8. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!

Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
fellow by the leg. [Charles and Oklakdo wrestle.

Ros. O excellent young man I

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can
tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout.

Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yet well
breathed.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ?

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.

Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out.

What is thy name, young man?

Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir
Rowland de Bois.

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some
man else.
The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy:
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed,
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth;
I would, thou hadst told me of another father.

[Exeunt Duke Fred. Train, and Le Beau.

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son.
His youngest son; — and would not change that

calling, 2-)
To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul.
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties.
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.

Cel. Gentle cousin.

Let us go thank him, and encourage him:
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd ;
If you do keep your promises in love.
But justly, as you have exceeded promise, -^)
Your mistress shall be happy.

Ros. Gentleman,

[Giving him a chain from her neck.
Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune; 2'*)
That could give more, but that her hand lacks

means. —
Shall we go, coz?
Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman.

Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all thrown down ; and that which here stands up,
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. -^)
Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my
fortunes :
I'll ask him what he would: — Did you call, sir? —
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel, Will you go, coz?

Ros. Have with you: — Fare you well.

[Exeunt Rosalind and Ceua.
Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my
tongue ?
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.

Re-enter Le Beau-

0 poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown :

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.

Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition, -'')
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humorous: what he is, indeed
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.

Orl. I thank you, sir; and pray you, tell me this;
Which of the two was daughter of the duke
That here was at the wrestling?

Le Beau. Neither his daughter if we judge by
manners;
But yet, indeed, the shorter, -') is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke.
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle.
To keep his daughter company : whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece;
Grounded upon no other argument.
But that the people praise her for her virtues.
And pity her for her good father's sake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well!
Hereafter in a better world than this,

1 shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well!

[Exit Le Beav.
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother: —
But heavenly Rosalind ! [Exit.

SCENE m.

A Room in the Palace.
Enter Celia and RosAi.ml>^

Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have
mercy! — Not a word?

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast
away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come,
lame me with reasons.

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when
the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other
mad without any.

Cel. But is all this for your father?

192

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act I.

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father ; O, how
full of briars is this working-day world!

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee
in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden
paths, our very petticoats will catch them.

Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs
are in my heart.

Cel. Hem them away.

Ros. I would try; if 1 could cry hem, and have him.

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler
than myself.

Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you -will try in
time, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests
out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is it
possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so
strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son ?

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly.

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love
his son dearly? by this kind of chase, -^) I should
hate him, for my father hated his father dearly;
yet I hate not Orlando.

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? -5)

Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love
him because I do: — Look, here comes the duke.

Cel. With his eyes full of anger.

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.

Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest
haste.
And get you from our court.

Ros. Me, uncle ?

Duke F. You, cousin :

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles.
Thou diest for it.

Ros. I do beseech your grace,

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myself I hold intelligence.
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn,
Did I offend your highness.

Duke F. Thus do all traitors;

If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself: —
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor :
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's
enough.

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his
dukedom ;
So was I, when your highness banish'd him:
Treason is not inherited, my lord:
Or, if we did derive it froip oi* friends,
What's that to me? my father was no traitor:
Then good my liege, mistake me not so much,
To think my poverty is treacherous.

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake.
Else had she with her father rang'd along.

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay.
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; ^^)
I was too young that time to value her.
But now I know her; if she be a traitor.
Why so am I: we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled, and inseparable.

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee , and her smooth-
ness.
Her very silence, and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more

virtuous.
When she is gone: then open not thy lips;
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege ;
I cannot live out of her company.

Duke F. You are a fool: — You, niece, provide
yourself;
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.

[^Exeunt Duke Frgdkrick and Lords.

Cel. O my poor Rosalind: whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am.

Ros. 1 have more cause.

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin;

Pr'ythee, be cheerful; know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?

Ros. That he hath not.

Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly.
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not seek to take your change upon you.
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out:
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

Ros. Why, whither shall we go?

Cel. To seek my uncle. ^1)

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us.
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire.
And with a kind of umber smirch my face: ^^)
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.

Ros. Were it not better,

Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-ax ^^) upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing ^ *) and a martial outside ;
As many other mannish cowards have.
That do outface it with their semblances.

Cel, What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ?

Ros. ril have no worse a name than Jove's own
page,
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state :
No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ;
Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away.
And get our jewels and our wealth together;
Devise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight: Now go we in content,
To liberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt.

X.

Act JL

AS YOU LIKE IT.

193

ACT II.

SCEXE I. The Forett of Arden.

Enter Dukr senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in
the dress of Foresters.

Duhe S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet

Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the en\-ious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as, the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
i^ven till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, —

1 liis is no flatterj': these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; ')
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks.
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace.
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, —
Being native burghers of this desert city, —
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads -)
Have their round haunches gor'd.

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord.

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself.
Did steal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whose antique roots peep out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag.
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt.
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord.
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans.
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool.
Much mark'd of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook.
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke S. But what said Jaques?

Did he not moralize this spectacle?

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies.
F-irst, for his weeping in the needless stream; ^)
jPoor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy suin of more
To that which had too much: Then, being alone.
Left and abandon'd of his Aelvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part
The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd.
Full of the pasture, jmnps along by him.
And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?
Ihus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, *} city, court.
Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse.
To fright the animals, and to kill them up.
In their assign'd and native dwelling place.

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem-
plation ?

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer.

Duke S. Show me the place;

I love to cope him ^) in these sullen fits.
For then he's full of matter.

2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exemu.

SCENE II.

A Room, in the Palace.

Enter Duke Frbsebick, Lords, and Attendants.

DukeF. Can it be possible, that no man saw them?
It cannot be: some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early,
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.

2Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, ') at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman.
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone.
That youth is surely in their company.

Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant
hither :
If he be absent, bring his brother to me,
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail ')
To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Before Oliver's House.

Enter Oblakdo and Abam, meeting.

Orl. Who's there?

Adam. What! my young master? — O, my gentle
master,
O, my sweet master, O you memory ^)
Of old sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valijuit ?
Why would you be so fond ') to overcome
The bony priser ^°) of the humorous duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle msister.
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!

Orl. Why, what's the matter?

Adam. O unhappy youth.

Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother — (no, no brother; yet the son —
Yet not the son; — I will not call him son —
Of him I was about to call his father,) —
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it: if he fail of that.
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him, and his practices.
This is no place, *') this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.

Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my
food?

13

194

AS YOU LIKE IT

Act II.

Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce

A tliievish living on the common roadV

This I must do, or know not what to do:

Yet this I will not do, do how I can;

I rather will subject me to the malice

Of a diverted '-) blood, and bloody brother.

Adam. But do not so : 1 have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father.
Which I did store, to be my foster-nuise,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame.
And unregarded age in corners throvkn;
Take that: and He that doth the ravens feed.
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ;
All this I give you: Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty:
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

Orl. O good old man; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world.
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times.
Where none will sweat, but for promotion;
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having: ^^) it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree.
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry:
But come thy ways, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee.
To the last gasp, with tnith and loyalty. —
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
But at fourscore, it is too late a week:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better.
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.

[Exeunt,

SCENE IV.

The Forest of Arden.

Enter Rosalind in boyh clothes, Cklia drest like

a Shepherdess, and Touchstonk.

Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits!

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were
not weary.

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must com-
fort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought
to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore,
courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no
further.

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you,
than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, ^'*) if
I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money
in your purse.

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, how am I in Arden: the more fool I;
when I was at home, I was in a better place; but
travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone: — Look you,
who comes here ; a young man, and an old, in
solemn talk.

Enter Cokin and Silvius.

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.

jS»7. O Coiin, that thou knew'st how I do love her !

Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess;
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy love was ever like to mine,
(As sure I think did never man love so,)
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

iSt7. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily:
If thou remeraber'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into.
Thou hast not lov'd:
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
»*} Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise.
Thou hast not lov'd:
Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

[Exit SiLvius.

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound,
I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in
love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him
take that for coming anight"') to Jane Smile: and
I remember the kissing of her batlet, ^') and the
cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd :
and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead
of her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving
her them again, said with weeping tears. Wear these
for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into
strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so
is all nature in love mortal in folly, ^s)

Ros. Thou speak' st wiser, than thou art 'ware of.

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own
wit, till I break my shins against it.

Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale
with me.

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,
If he for gold will give us any food;
1 faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla ; you, clown !

Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman.

Cor. Who calls?

Touch. Your betters, sir.

Cor. Else are they very wretched.

Ros. Peace, I say : —

Good even to you, friend.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold.
Can in this desert place buy entertainment.
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed:
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd.
And faints for succour.

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her.

And wish for her sake, more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her:
But I am shepherd to another man.
And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze;
My master is of churlish disposition.
And little recks *') to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality:
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds to feed,
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now.
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come see.
And in my voice ^°) most welcome shall you be.

Act n.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

195

Rot. What is he that shall buy his flocks and
pasture ?

Cor. That yoimg swain that you saw here but
erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.

Rot. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty.
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock.
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold:
Go with me; if you like, upon report.
The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be.
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The tame.

Enter Amiens, Jaqubs, and others.

Song.

Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loees to lie with me.
And tune hit merry note
Unto the tweet bird's throat.
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy.
But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.

Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazle sucks
eggs: More, I pr'ythee more.

Ami. My voice is ragged; -*) I know, I cannot
please you.

Jaq. 1 do not desire yon to please me, I do desire
you to sing ; Come, more ; another stanza : Call you
them stanzas?

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. Nay, 1 care not for their names; they owe
me nothing: Will you sing?

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself.

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank
you: but that they call compliment, is like the en-
counter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks
me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny,
and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come,
sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover the
while; the duke will drink under this tree: — he
hath been all this day to look you.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid hiin.
He is too disputable --) for my company: I think
of as many matters as he : but I give heaven thanks,
and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

Song.

WIio doth ambition shun, [All together here.
And loves to live »' the tun.
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he tee
No enemy.
But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made
yesterday in despite of my invention.
Ami. And I'll sing it.
Jaq. Thus it goes:

/^ it do come to pats.
That any man turn ass.
Leaving his wealth and ease,
A ttubborn will to pleate,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdhme; -^)
Here shall he tee.
Gross fools as he.
An if he will come to Ami, ^♦)

Ami. What's that ducdame f

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail
against all the first-bom of Egypt.

Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is
prepared. [Exeum teveraUy.

SCENE VI.

The tame.
Enter Orlando and Adam.

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further : O, I die
for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my
grave. Farewell, kind master.

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in
thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself
a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing sa-
vage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for
food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than
thy powers. For my s£ike, be comfortable; hold
death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with
thee presently; and if I bring thee not something
to eat, I'll give thee leave to die : but if thou diest
before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour.
Well said! thou look'st cheerily: and I'll be with
thee quickly. — Yet thou liest in the bleak air:
Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou
shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any
thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! [ExeuaX.

SCENE VII.

The tame.

A table $et out. Enter Duke senior, Amibns,
Lords, and others.

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast:
For I can no where find him like a man.

1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence :
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, -*) grow musical.
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres: —
Go, seek him; tell hun, I would speak with him.

Enter Jaqubs.

1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! w hat a life
is this.
That your poor friends must woo your company?
What! you look merrily.

Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i'the forest,

A motley fool; — a miserable world! —
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun.
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool.
Good-morrow, fool, quoth I : No, tir, quoth he.
Call me not fool, till heaven hath tent me fortune ••-*')
And then he drew a dial from his poke:
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye.
Says very wisely, /* it ten o'clock:
Thut may we tee, quoth he, how the world wagt:
'Tit but an hour ago, since it wat nine;
And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven;
X. 13*

196

AS YOU LIKE IT

Act JI.

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe.
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot.
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission.
An hour by his dial. — O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

Duhe S. What fool is this?

Jaq. O worthy fool ! — One that hath been a courtier ;
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair.
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, —
Which is as dry as the remainder bisket
After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms: — O, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.

Duke S. Thou shalt have one.

Jaq. It is my only suit ; * ')

Provided, that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind.
To blow on whom I please: for so fools have:
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church :
He, that a fool doth very wisely hit.
Doth very foolishly, although he smart.
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squandring glances of the fool. - ^)
Invest me in my motley: give me leave
To speak my mind, and 1 will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world.
If they Avill patiently receive my medicine.

Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

Jaq. What, for a counter, ^') would I do, but good?

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin :
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils.
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride.
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it now flow as hugely as the sea.
Till that the very very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name.
When that I say. The city-Avoman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her.
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function.
That says, his bravery ^°) is not on my cost,
(Thinking that I mean hini,) but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then ; How, Avhat then; ^ ^} Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him ; if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself: if he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here?

Enter Orlando, witJi his sword drawn.

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet.

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of?

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress;
Or else a rude despiser of good manners.
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred,-^-)
And know some nurture :^^) But forbear, I say;
He dies that touches any of this fruit.
Till I and my affairs are answered.

Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I
must die.

Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness
shall force.
More than your force move us to gentleness.

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it.

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you :
I thought, that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are.
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs.
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days;
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;
If ever sat at any good man's feast;
If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear.
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be :
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days :
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command ^'*) what help Ave have,
That to your wanting may be ministred.

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man.
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd, —
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, —
I will not touch a bit.

Duke S. Go find him out.

And we will nothing A\aste till you return.

Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good
comfort ! [Exit.

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy :
This Avide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

Jaq. All the AVjadd^ a stage.

And all the men and Avomen merely players :
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages. ^^) At first, the infant
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel.
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Sighing like furnace, Avith a Avoeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eye-broAv: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, ^')
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick ^') in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, Avith good capon lin'd.
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut.
Full of wise saws and modern instances, ^^)
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a Avorld too wide
F'or his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And Avhistles in his sound: Last scene of all,

K.

Act hi.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

197

That ends this strange eventful history.

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

Re-enter Oklando, with Adam.

Duke S. Welcome : Set down your venerable burden,
And let hiin feed.

Or/. I thank you most for him.

Adam. So had you need;
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

Duke S. Welcome, fall to; I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes: —
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

Amiens singt.
Song.
I.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Tkou art not so unkind ^'')

As man's ingratitude ;
Thy tooth is not so keen.
Because thou art not seen, '*")
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :
Then, heigh, ho, the holly!
This life is most Jolly.

II.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky.
That dost not bile so nigh

As benefits forgot :
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember' d not. '*^)
Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c.

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's
son, —

> s you have whisper'd faithfully, you were ;

\ud as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, —
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke.
That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune.
Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man.
Thou art right welcome as thy master is:
Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand.
And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt.

ACT ni.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and
Attendants.

DukeF. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercy,
1 .-should not seek an absent argument ')
Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it;
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is:
Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living,
\Vithin this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more"
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine.
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands;
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth.
Of what we think against thee.

OH. O, that your highness knew my heart in this !
I never lov'd my brother in my life.

Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him out
of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature

Make an extent -) upon his house and lauds:

Do this expediently, ^) and turn him going. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Forest.

Enter Orlando, with a Paper.

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love :

And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,

Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway.
O ! Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every eye, which in this forest looks.

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree.
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive ^) she. [Exit.

Enter Corin and Touchstone.

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master
Touchstone?

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is
a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's
Hie, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
like it very well; but in respect that it is private,
it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the
fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not
in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life,
look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is
no more plenty in it, it goes much against my sto-
mach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one
sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that
wants money, means, and content, is \>ithout three
good friends: — That the property of rain is to
wet, and fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat
sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack
of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by
nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, ^)
or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.
Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn'd.

Cor. Nay, I hope,

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd ; like an ill-roasted
egg, '') all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou
never saws't good manners; if thou never saw'st
good manners, then thy manners must be wicked;
and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: Thou
art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone : those, that are good
manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the coun-
try, as the behaviour of the country is most mock-
able at the court. You told me, you salute not at
the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy
would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Touch. Instance, briefly : come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and
their fells, you know, are greasy.

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat?
and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as
the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better
instance, I say; come.

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

louch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shal-
low, again: A more sounder instance, cotoe.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the sur-

198

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act in.

gery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss
tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in
respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed! — Learn
of the wise, and perpend : Civet is of a baser birth
than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend
the instance, shepherd.

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me : I'll rest.

Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee,
shallow man! God make incision in thee! ') thou
art raw. ^)

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat,
get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's
happiness; glad of other men's good, content with
my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see
my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to bring
the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get
your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd
to a bell-wether; ') and to betray a she-lamb of a
twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old cuckoldy ram,
out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd
for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds;
I cannot see else how thou should 'scape.

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new
mistress' brother.

Enter Rosalind, reading a paper.
Ros. From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures, fairest lin'd, *")
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no face be kept in mind.
But the fair ^^) of Rosalind.

Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together;
dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted ;
it is the right butter woman's rank to market. * 2)

Ros. Out, fool!

Touch. For a taste:

If a hart do lack a hind.

Let him seek out Rosalind.

Jf the cat will after kind.

Ho, be sure, wilt Rosalind.

Winter-garments must be lin'd,

So must slender Rosalind.

They that reap, must sheaf and hind.

Then to cart with Rosalind.

Sweetest nut hath sowrest rind,

Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest Rose will find.

Must find love's prick, and Rosalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses; Why do
you infect yourself with them?

Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a tree.

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff
it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit ^^)
in the country : for you'll be rotten e'er you be half
ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or no,
let the forest judge.

Enter Cblu, reading a paper.
Ros. Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.

Cel. Why should this desert silent bet
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show. **)

Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his erring pilgrimage ;
That the stretching of a span

Buckles in his sum of age.
Some, of violated Vows

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But vpon the fairest boughs.

Or at every sentence' end.
Will I Rosalinda write;

Teaching all that read, to know
The quintessence of every sprite

Heaven would in little show. ^ ^)
Therefore heaven nature charg'd

That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:

Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;

Cleopatra's majesty !
Afalanta's better part: *')

Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devis'd.
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts.

To have the touches '") dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have.
And I to live and die her slave.

Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! — what tedious homily
of love have you wearied your parishioners withal,
and never cry'd, Have patience, good people!

Cel. How now! back friends: — Shepherd, go off
a little : — Go with him, sirrah.

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable
retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet with
scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt Cobin and Toi;ch8tone.

Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for
some of them had in them more feet than the verses
would bear.

Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not
bear themselves without the verse, and therefore
stood lamely in the verse.

Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how
thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these
trees ?

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the won-
der, before you came; for look here what I found
on a palm-tree: ' ^) I was never so be-rhymed since
Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, * ') which
I can hardly remember.

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this?

Ros. Is it a man?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck:
Change you colour?

Ros. I pr'ythee, who?

Cel. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends
to meet; -") but mountains may be removed with
earthquakes, and so encounter.

Ros. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it possible?

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary
vehemence, tell me who it is.

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
wondei-ful, and yet again wonderful, and after that
out of all whooping! -')

Ros. Good my complexion! -^) dost thou think,
though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a dou-
blet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay
more is a South-sea-oft" discovery. -^) I pr'ythee
tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I
would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour
this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes

Act in.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

199

out of a narrow-inouth'd bottle; either too much at
once, or not at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out
of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly.

Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of
man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chia worth
a beard?

Cel. Nay, ho hath but a little beard.

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will
be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard,
if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the wrest-
ler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant.

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad
brow, and true maid. ^*)

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he.

Rot. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my dou-
blet and hose? — What did he, when thou saw'st
him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went
he?-*) What makes he here? Did he ask for me?
Where remains he? How parted he with thee?
and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in
one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth ^'')
first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this
age's size: To say, ay, and no, to these parti-
culars, is more than to answer in a catechism.

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest,
and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he
did the day he wrestled?

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, -') as to re-
solve the propositions of a lover: — but take a
taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good
observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd
acorn.

Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it
drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.

Ros. Proceed.

Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded
knight.

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground.

Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, -^) \ pr'ythee; it
curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like
a hunter.

Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. ^')

Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : thou
bring'st me out of tune.

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I
think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaqubs.

Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not here ?

Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

[Ceha and Rosalind retire.

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good
faith, I had as lief have been by myself alone.

Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I
thank you too for your society.

Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can.

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers.

Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
lovesongs in their barks.

Orl. 1 pray you, mar no more of my verses with
reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orl. Y"es, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when
she was christen'd.

Jaq. What stature is she of?

Orl. Just as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you
not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and
conn'd them out of rings?

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, *°)
from whence you have studied your questioiw.

Jaq. You have a nimble wit ; I think it was made
of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me?
and we two will rail against our mistress the world,
and all our misery.

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but
myself; against whom I know most faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love.

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not. change for your best
virtue. I am weary of you.

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when
I found you.

Orl. He is drown'd ia the brook; look but in, and
you shall see him.

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure.

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher.

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good
signior love.

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good
monsieur melancholy.

[Exit Jaques. — Gklia and Rosalind come forward.

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey,
and under that habit play the knave with him. —
Do you hear, forester?

Orl. Very well; what would you?

Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock?

Orl. Y'ou should ask me, what time o'day ; there's
no clock in the forest.

Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest;
else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour,
would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not
that been as proper?

Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces
with divers persons: I'll tell you who time ambles
withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops
withal, and who he stands still withal.

Orl. I pr'ythee who doth he trot withal?

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be-
tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it
is solemnized; if the interim be but a se'nnight,
time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of
seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal?

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich
man that hath not the gout : for the one sleeps easily,
because he cannot study; and the other lives mer-
rily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the
burden of lean ' and wasteful learning ; the other
knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury : These
tune ambles withal.

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?

Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too
soon there.

Orl. Who stays it still withal? ^

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep
between term and term, and then they perceive not
how time moves.

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; herein the
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

Orl. Are you a native of this place?

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she
is kindled.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could
purchase in so removed^') a dwelling.

200

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act III.

Ro8. I have been told so of many: but, indeed,

an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak,

who was in his youth an in-land man; ^-) one that

knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love.

I have heard him read many lectures against it;

and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touch'd

with so many giddy offences as he hath generally
tax'd their whole sex withal.

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils,
that he laid to the charge of women V

Ros. There were none principal: they were all
like one another, as half-pence are : every one fault
seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to
match it.

Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them.

Kos. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but on
those that ai'e sick. There is a man haunts the
forest, that abuses our young plants with carving
Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns,
and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the
name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-mon-
ger, I would give him some good counsel, for he
seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you,
tell me your remedy.

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you:
he taught me how to know a man in love; in which
cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner.

Orl. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue
eye: ^^) and sunken; which you have not: an un-
questionable spirit; ^^) which you have not: a beard
neglected; which you have not; but I pardon you
for that; for, simply, your having ^^) in beard is
a younger brother's revenue: — Then your hose
should be ungarter'd, ^o) your bonnet unhanded,
your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every
thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation.
But you are no such man; you are rather point-
device ^') in your accoutrements; as loving your-
self, than seeming the lover of any other.

Orl. Fair youth, 1 would I could make thee be-
lieve I love.

Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her
that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is
apter to do, than to confess she does; that is one
of the points in the which women still give the lie
to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you
he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Ro-
salind is so admired?

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand
of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes
speak ?

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
much.

Ros. Love is merely a madness; and I tell you,
deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as
madmen do: and the reason why they are not so
punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordin-
ary, that the whippers are in love too : Yet I pro-
fess curing it by counsel.

Orl. Did you ever cure any so?

Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to
imagine me his love, his mistress; -and I set him
every day to woo me: At which time would I,
being but a moonish youth, ^s) grieve, be effeminate,
changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical,
apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles;
for every passion something, and for no passion
truly any thing, as boys and women are for the
most part cattle of this colour: would now like him,
now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear

him ; now weep for him, then spit at him ; that I
drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a
living humour of madness; which was, to forswear
the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook
merely monastic: And thus I cured him; and this
way will 1 take upon me to wash your liver as
clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not
be one spot of love in't.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth.

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me
Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and
woo me.

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell
me where it is.

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and,
by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest
you live: Will you go?

Orl. With all my heart, good youth.

Ros. Nay, you must call me, Rosalind: — Come,
sister, will you go? [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Touciistonk and Audrey; ^') jA«iUEs at a
distance, observing them.

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey ; I will fetch up
your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey ? am 1 the
man yet? Doth my simple feature content you?

And. Your features! Lord warrant us! what fea-
tures ?

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the
most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the
Goths. ■*")

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited!'") worse than
Jove in a thatched house! [Aside.

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood,
nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward
child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead
than a great reckoning in a little room: — -*-) Truly,
I would the gods had made thee poetical.

Aud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest
in deed, and word? Is it a true thing?

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the
most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and
what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers,
they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made
me poetical?

Touch. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me, thou
art honest; now, if thou wex't a poet, I might have
some hope thou didst feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest?

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd :
for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a
sauce to sugar.

Jaq. A material fool! '*^) [Aside.

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray
the gods make me honest !

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul
slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I
am foul. '*^)

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness !
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it
may be, I will marry thee, and to that end, I have
been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the
next village; who hath promised to meet me in
this place of the forest, and to couple us.

Jag. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside.

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy !

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear-
ful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have
no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-

Act III.

AS YOU LIKE IT

201

beasts. But what though?*^) Courage! As horns
are odious, they are necessary. It is said, — Many
a man knows no end of his goods: light: many a
man has good horns, and knows no end of tiiem.
Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of

his own getting. Horns? Even so: Poor

men alone V No, no; the noblest deer hath

them as huge as the rascal. '*<') Is the single man
therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more
worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a
married man more honourable than the bare brow
of a bachelor: and by how much defence^") is bet-
ter than no skill, by so much is a hora more pre-
cious than to want.

Enter Sir Oliver Mak-tbxt.
Here comes Sir Oliver: — ^^) Sir Oliver Mar-text,
you are well met: Will you dispatch us here under
this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?

Sir OH. Is there none here to give the woman?

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man.

Sir on. Truly, she must be given, or the mar-
riage is not lawful.

Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll
give her.

Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't:
How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild
you '*'-') for your last company: I am very glad to
see you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir : — Nay ;
pray, be cover'd.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley?

Touch. As the ox hath his bow,*") sir, the horse
his curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath
his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would
be nibbling.

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding,
be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you
to church, and have a good priest that can tell
you w hat marriage is : this fellow will but join you
together as they join wainscot: then one of you
will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber,
warp, warp.

Touch. I am not in the mind, but I were better
to be married of him than of another: for he is not
like to marry me well; and not being well married,
it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave
my wife. [Aside.

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey;
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
B'arewell, good master Oliver!
Not — O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Leave me not behi' * ' ) thee ;
But — Wind away,
Begone I say,
I will not to wedding wi' ^-J thee.

[Exeunt Jaquks, Touchstone, and Audeky.

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave
of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

The tame. Before a Cottage.

Enter Rosalijnd and Cblia.

Ro8. Never talk to me, I will weep.

Cel. Do, I pr'jihee; but yet have the grace to
consider, that tears do not become a man.

Bos. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause £is one would desire; there-
fore weep.

Bos. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: *^) marry,
his kisses are Judas's own children.

Bos. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour. *^)

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever
the only colour.

Bos. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the
touch of holy bread. **)

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana :
a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli-
giously ; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Bos. But why did he swear he would come this
morning, and comes net?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

Bos. Do you think so?

Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a
horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think
him as concave as a cover'd goblet,*'') or a worm-
eaten nut.

Bos. Not true in love?

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in.

Bos. You have heard him swear downright, he was.

Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover
is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they
are both the confirmers of false reckonings: He at-
tends here in the forest on the duke your father.

Bos. I met the duke yesterday, and had much
question*") with him: he asked me of what paren-
tage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he
laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fa-
thers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave ver-
ses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and
breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart*") the
heart of his lover; *'') as a puny tilter, that spurs
his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a
noble goose : but all's brave, that youth mounts,
and folly guides: — Who comes here?

Enter CoaiN.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel. Well, and what of him?

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love.
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain.
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Bos. O, come, let us remove;

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love: —
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Forest.

Enter Silvius and Pjiebb.

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe:
Say, that you love me not : but say not so
In bitterness: The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck.
But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be
Then he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

Enter Rosalind, Cblia, and Corin, at a distance.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable: <^'*)

202

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act IV

That eyes, — that are the frail'st and softest things,

Who shut their coward gates on atomies, —

Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!

Now I do frown on thee with ail my heart;

And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;

Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;

Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame.

Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.

Now show the wound mine eyes hath made in thee;

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains

Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush.

The cicatrice and capable impressure <* ')

Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyes.

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;

Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,

If ever, (as that ever may be near,)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, <'^)
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.

Phe. But, till that time,

Come not thou near me : and, when that time comes.
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As till that time, I shall not pity thee.

Roi. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who
might be your mother, ''^)
That you insult, exult, and all at. once,
Over the wretched ? What though you have ''^J more

beauty,
(As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless;
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work: — ''*) Od's my little life!
I think, she means to tangle my eyes too: —
No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship. —
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her.
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than she a woman: 'Tis such fools as you.
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her. —
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees.
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, —
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. "^)
So, take her to thee, shepherd; — fare you well.

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year toge-
ther;
I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.

Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and
she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as
fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll
sauce her with bitter words. — Why look you so
upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me.
For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I like you not : If you will know my house,
'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by: —
Will you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ply her hard : —
Come, sister — Shepherdess, look on him better.
And be not proud; though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as he. ^'')

Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt Rosaiind, Celm, and Corih.

Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at jirtt sight? «•")

Sil. Sweet Phebe, —

Phe. Ha! what say 'st thou, Silvius?

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be;
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extennin'd.

Phe. Thou hast my love ; Is not that neighbourly ?

iSj7. I would have you.

Phe. Why, that were covetousness.

Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love:
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, wluch erst was irksome to me,
I will endure: and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompense.
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love.
And I in such a poverty of grace.
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken eai's after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me
ere while?

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft;
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds,
That the old carlot ' ') once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ;
'Tis but a peevish boy: — "*) yet he talks well;
But what care I for words? yet words do well.
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: — not very pretty: —
But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
^^) He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet it is well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip ;
A little riper and more lusty red
Than thatmix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
I have moi'e cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black;
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me;
I marvel, why I answer'd not again:
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter.
And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius?

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe. I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter Rosalind, Cklia, and Jaqubs.

Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better

acquainted with thee.

Act IV.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

203

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are
abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every
modern censure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which
is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical;
nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's,
which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is po-
litic; nor the lady's, which is nice; ') nor the lo-
ver's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of
mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted
from many objects: and, indeed, the sundry contem-
plation of my travels, in which ray often rumination
wraps me, is a most humorous sadness.^)

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great
reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your own
lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much,
and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor
hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Enter Orlando.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I had
rather have a fool to make me merry, than expe-
rience to make me sad; and to travel for it too.

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!

Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in
blank verse. [Exit.

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller; Look, you lisp,
and wear strange suits; disable ^) all the benefits
of your own country; be out of love with your
nativity, and ahnost chide God for making you that
countenance you are; or I will scarce think you
have swam in a gondola. — '•) Why, how now, Or-
lando! where have you been all this while? You a
lover? — An you serve me such another trick, ne-
ver come in my sight more.

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of
my promise.

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that
will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break
but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in
the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that
Cupid hath clap'd him o'the shoulder, but I warrant
him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in
my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.

Orl. Of a snail?

Ros. Ay; of a snail; for though he comes slowly,
he carries his house on his head; a better jointure,
1 think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he
brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What's thatt

Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to
be beholden to your w ives for : but he comes armed
in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is
virtuous.

Ros. And 1 am yoiur Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases hum to call you so; but he hath a
Rosalind of a better leer than you. *)

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a
holiday humour, and like enough to consent: —
What would you say to me now, an I were your
very very Rosalind?

Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke.

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when
you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might
take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when

they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking
(God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

Orl. How, if the kiss be denied?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there
begins new matter.

Orl. Who could be out, being before his belov'd
mistress ?

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mis-
tress: or I should think my honesty ranker than
my wit.

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your
suit. Am not I your Rosalind?

Orl. 1 take some joy to say you are, because I
would be talking of her.

Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have
you.

Orl. Then in mine own person, I die.

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world
is almost six thousand years old, and in all this
time there was not any man died in his own per-
son, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his
brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did
what he could to die before; and he is one of the
patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived
many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if
it had not been for a hot midsummer-night; for
good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the
Hellespont, and being taken with the cramp, was
drowned, and the foolish chroniclers of that age
found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all
lies; men have died from time to time, and worms
have eaten them, but not for love.

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this
mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on
disposition ; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays,
and all.

Orl. And wilt thou have me?

Ros. Ay, and twenty such.

Orl. What say'st thou?

Ros. Are you not good?

Orl. I hope so.

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a
good thing ? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest,
and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : —
What do you say, sister?

Orl. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot say the words.

Ros. You must begin, Will you, Orlando, —

Cel. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to wife

this Rosalind?

Orl. I will.

Ros. Ay, but when?

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

Ros. Then you must say, — / take thee, Rosa-
lind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, —
I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : There a
girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a woman's
thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged.

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her,
after you have possessed her.

Orl. For ever, and a day.

Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Or-
lando; men are April when they woo, December
when they wed: maids are May when they are
maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.

B.

204

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act IV.

I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-
pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot
against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more
giddy in my desires than a monkey : I will weep
for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, ^) and 1
will do that when you are disposed to be merry ;
I will laugh like a hyen, ') and that when thou art
inclined to sleep.

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?

Ros. By my life, she will do, as I do.

Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do
this: the wiser, the way warder: Make the doors")
upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case-
ment; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole;
stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the
chimney.

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he
might say, — Wit whither ivilt? ')

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you
met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

Ros. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there.
You shall never take her without her answer, un-
less you take her without her tongue. O, that
woman that cannot make her fault her husband's
occasion, ^^) let her never nurse her child herself,
for she will breed it like a fool.

Orl. B^or these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave
thee.

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two
o'clock I will be with thee again.

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; — I knew
what you would prove; my friends told me as much,
and I thought no less: — that flattering tongue of
yours won me: — 'tis but one cast away, and so, —
come death. — Two o'clock is your hour?

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Rus. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so
God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not
dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise,
or come one minute behind your houi-, I will think
you the most pathetical break-promise, ^') and the
most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her
you call: Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the
gross band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my
censure, and keep your promise.

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert in-
deed my Rosalind : So, adieu.

Ros. VVell, time is the old justice that examines
all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu!

[Exit Orla>bo.

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-
prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked
over your head, and show the world what the
bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that
thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in
love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath
an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or, rather, bottomless; that as fast as you
pour affection in, it runs out.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that
was begot of thought, *-) conceived of spleen, and
born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that ab-
uses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let
him be judge, how deep I am in love: — I'll tell
thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Or-
lando : I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.

Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another part of the Forest.

Enter Jaques anrf Lords, in the habit oyForesters.

Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?

1 Lord. Sir, it wa.s I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's
horns upon his head, for a branch of victory: —
Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?

2 Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so
it make noise enough.

Song.

1. What shall he have, that kill'd the deer?

2. His leather skin and horns to wear.

1. Then sing him home:
Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ; ( Tlie rest slmU

i^

,. i i/ i I «. bear this bur-

Jt was a crest ere thou wast born. | jen.

1. Thy father's father wore it:

2. And thy father bore it:

All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,

Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. ^^)

A Forest.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock?
And here much Orlando! '"*)

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is
gone forth — to sleep : — Look, who comes here.

Enter Silvius.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth —
My gentle Phebe bid me '*} give you this:

[Giving a letter.
I know not the contents; but as I guess,
By the stern brow, and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour: pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud; and, that she could not love me
Were man as rare as Phoenix; Od's my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? — Well, shepherd, well.
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe did write it.

Ros. Come, come, you are a fool,

And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
A freestone colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a huswife's hand: but that's no matter:
I say, she never did invent this letter:
This is a man's invention, and his hand.

Sil, Sure, it is hers.

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
A style for challengers; why, she defies me.
Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance — Will you hear the letter?

Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant writes.

Act IV.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

205

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads.
That a maiden's heart hath burn'df —

Can a woman rail thus?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart,

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me.
That could do no vengeance ' '-) to me. —
Meaning me a beast. —

If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect?
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers movef
He, that brings this love to thee,
Little knows this love in me:
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind ' ")
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make; '^)
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.

Sil. Call you this chiding?

Cel. Alas, poor shepherd !

Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. —
Wilt thou love such a woman? — What, to make
thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee !
not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to her,
(for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) ")
and say this to her; — That if she love me, I
charge her to love thee: if she will not, I Avill ne-
ver have her, unless thou entreat for her. — If you
be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here
comes more company. ^Exit Silvius.

Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know

Where, in the purlieus of this forest, -'*) stands
A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour
bottom.
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream.
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place:
But at this hour the house doth keep itself.
There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then I should know you by description ;
Such garments, and such years : The boy is fair.
Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe sister : but the woman low.
And broicner than her brother. Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.

Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin: ^') Are you he?

Ros. I am: What must we understand by this?
Oli. Some of my shame: if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkerchief was stain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise return again
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside.
And, mark, what object did present itself!
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age.
And high top bald with dry antiquity.

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,

Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck

A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself.

Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd

The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly

Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself.

And with indented glides did slip away

Into a bush : under which bush's shade

A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,

When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis

The royal disposition of that beast.

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead :

This seen, Orlando did approach the man.

And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother ;
And he did render --) him the most unnatural
That liv'd 'mongst men.

Oli. And well he might so do,

For well I know he was unnatural.

Ros. But, to Orlando; — Did he leave him there,
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so : —
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge.
And nature, stronger than his just occasion.
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling-^)
From miserable slumber I awak'd.

Cel. Are you his brother?

Ros. Was it you he rescu'd?

Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

Ros. But for the bloody napkin? —

Oli. By, and by.

When from the first to last, betwixt ns two.
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd.

As, how I came into that desert place;

In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,

Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment,

Committing me unto my brother's love;

Who led me instantly unto his cave.

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm

The lioness had torn some flesh away.

Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted,

And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind.

Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound;

And, after some small space, being strong at heart,

He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

To tell this story, that you might excuse

His broken promise, and to give this napkin,

Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth

That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Ganymede?

[RosALiKD faints.

Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

Cel. There is more in it : — Cousin — Ganymede ! - ^)

Oli. Look, he recovers.

Ros. I would, I were at home.

Cel. We'll lead you thither: —
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth: — You a man? —
You lack a man's heart.

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would
think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell
your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho !

Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great
testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion
of earnest.

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit
to be a man.

206

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act V.

Ros. So I do: but, i'faith I should have been a
■woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you,
draw homewards: — Good sir, go with us.

OH. That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you.
Commend my counterfeiting to him : — Will you go ?

\_Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter Touciistokb and Audrey.

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience,
gentle Audrey.

Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all
the old gentleman's saying.

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most
vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here
in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in
me ia the world: here comes the man you mean.

Enter William.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown :
By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to
answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

Will. Good even, Audrey.

Aud. God ye good even, William.

Will. And good even to you, sir.

Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head,
cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How
old are you, friend V

Will. Five and twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name William?

Will. William, sir.

Touch. A fair name: wast bom i'the forest here?

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God.

Touch. Thank God; — a good answer: Art rich?

Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so.

Touch. (So, so, is good, very good, very excellent
good: — and yet it is not; it is but so, so. Art
thou wise?

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remem-
ber a saying ; The fool doth think he is wise, but
the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The
heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a
grape, would open his lips when he put it into his
mouth ; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to
eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid?

Will. I do, sir.

Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned?

Will. No, sir.

Touch. Then learn this of me; To have, is to
have : For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being
poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one
doth empty the other: For all your writers do con-
sent, that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, for I
am he.

Will. Which he, sir?

Touch. He, sir, that ■ must marry this woman :
Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is in the
vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish
is company, — of this female, — which in the com-
mon is, — woman, which together is, abandon the
society of this female: or, clown, thou perishest;
or, to thy better understanding, diest; to wit, *) I
kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into
death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poi-

son with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will
bandy with thee in faction ; I will o'er-run thee with
policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways;
therefore tremble, and depart.

Aud. Do, good William.

Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit.

Enter Corin.

Cor. Our master and mistress seek you; come,
away, away.

Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; — I attend, I
attend. [Exeunt.

SCENE II,

The same.

Enter Orlando and Oliver.

Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you
should like her? that, but seeing, you should love
her? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should
grant? and will you persever to enjoy her?

on. Neither call the giddiness of it in question,
the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sud-
den wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say
with me, I love Aliena; say, with her, that she
loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy
each other; it shall be to your good; for my fa-
ther's house, and all the revenue that was old sir
Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and here live
and die a shepherd.

Enter Rosalind.

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be
to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke, and all
his contented followers : Go you, and prepare Aliena ;
for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.

Ros. God save you, brother.

OH. And you, fair sister. ^)

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to
see thee wear thy heart in a scarf.

Orl. It is my arm.

Ros. I thought, thy heart had been wounded with
the claws of a lion.

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited
to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief?

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that.

Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true :
there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight
of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of -^ I
came, saw, and overcame: For your brother and
my sister no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner
looked, but they loved ; no sooner loved, but they
sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked one ano-
ther the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but
they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have
they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they
will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before
marriage; they are in the very wrath of love, and
they will together; clubs cannot part them. ^)

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will
bid the duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a
thing it is to look into happiness through another
man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-mor-
row be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how
much I shall think my brother happy, in having
what he wishes for.

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your
turn for Rosalind?

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking.

Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle
talking. Know of me then (for now I speak to

Act V.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

207

some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman
of good conceit: I speak not this, that you should
bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I
say, I know you are; neither do I labour for a
greater esteem than may in some little measure draw
a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to
grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can
do strange things: I have, since I was three years
old, conversed with a magician, most profound in
this art, and not yet damnable. If you do love Ro-
salind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out,
when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry
her: — I know into what straits of fortune she is
driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear
not inconvenient to you, to set her before your
eyes to-morrow, human as she is, *) and without
any danger.

Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings?

B,o». By my life, I do; which I tender dearly,
though I say I am a magician: Therefore, put you
in your best array, bid your friends; *) for if you
will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to Ro-
salind, if you will.

Enter Silvids and Phbbe.

Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.

P/ie. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,
To show the letter that I writ to you.

Ro$. I care not, if I have: it is my study,
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
You are there foUow'd by a faithful shepherd;
Look upon him, love him; he worships you.

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; —
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.

Orl. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service; —
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe, And I for Ganymede.

Orl. And I for Rosalind.

Rog. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of phantasy.
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance.
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,
All purity, all trial, all observance; '')
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede.

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind.

Ros. And so am I for no woman.

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ?

[To ROSALIKD.

Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ?

[To Phebe.

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ?

Rot. Who do you speak to, why blame you me
to love you?

Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear.

Ro8. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the howl-
ing of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will help
you, [to SiLvms] if I can: — I would love you, [to
Phebe] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all toge-
ther. — I will marry you, [to Phebe] if ever I marry
woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: — I will
satisfy you, [to Oblando] if ever I satisfied man,
and you shall be married to-morrow: — I will con-
tent you, [to SiLvius] if what pleases you contents
you, and you shall be married to-morrow. — As you
[to OuANBo] love Rosalind, meet; — as you [to Sil-
viws] love Phebe, meet; And as I love no woman,

I'll meet. — So, fare you well} I have left you
commands.

Sil. I'll not faU, if I live.

Phe. Nor I.

Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The tame.

Enter Touchstone and Audret.

Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-
morrow will we be married.

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart : and I hope
it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman
of the world. ') Here comes two of the banished
duke's pages.

Enter two Pages.

1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman.

Touch. By my troth, well met : Come, sit, sit, and
a song.

2 Page. We are for you : sit i'the middle.

1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without
hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse ; which
are the only prologues to a bad voice ?

2 Page. I'faith, i'faith ; and both in a tune, like
two gypsies on a horse.

Sone.

It was a lover and his lass,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did past

In the spring time, the only pretty rank time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love tlie spring.

n.

Between the acres of the rye,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino.
These pretty country folks would lie.

In spring time, &c.

in.

Thit carol they began that hour.

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino.

How that a life was but a flower
In spring time, Ac.

IV.

And therefore take the present time.

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;

For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, &c.

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was
no greater matter in the ditty, yet the note was
very untuneable. *)

1 Page. You are deceived, sir; we kept time, we
lost not our time.

Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time lost
to hear such a foolish song. God be with you ; and
God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Another "part of the Forest.

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Jaqubs, Orlando,
Oliver, and Cblia.

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised?

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
As those that feeur they hope, and know they fear. ')

208

AS YOU LIKE IT.

Act V.

Enter Rosalind, Sicvius, and Phebe.

Rot. Patience once more, whiles our compact is
urg'd : —
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke.
You will bestow her on Orlando here?

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give
with her,

Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I
bring her? [To Orlando.

* Orl. That would I, Avere I of all kingdoms king.

Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?

[To Phebe.

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after.

Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me,
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

Phe. So is the bargain.

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

[To Sitvius.

iSiY. Though to have her and death were both one
thing.

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.
Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; —
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: —
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me;
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : —
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
If she refuse me: — and from hence I go.
To make these doubts all even.

[Esc'unt Rosalind and Gelia.

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,
Methought he was a brother to your daugj^filer:
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born;
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.

Enter Touchstone an<? Audrey.

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and
these couples are coming to the ark! Here comes a
pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues
are called fools.

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all!

Jaq, Good, my lord, bid him welcome ; This is the
motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met
in the forest : he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to
my purgation. I have trod a measure; "') I have
flattered a lady ; I have been politic with my friend,
smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tai-
lors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have
fought one.

Joq. And how was that ta'en up?

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was
upon the seventh cause.

Jaq. How seventh cause? — Good, my lord, like
this fellow.

Duke S. I like him very well.

Touch. God'ild you, sir; "•) I desire you of the
like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the
country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; ac-
cording as marriage binds, and blood breaks: — ' -)
A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but
mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that
that no man else will: Rich honesty dwells like a
miser, sir, in a poor-house; as your pearl, in your
foul oyster.

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such
dulcet diseases. ^^)

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find
the quarrel on the seventh cause?

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed: — Bear
your body more seeming, ' *) Audrey : — as thus, sir.
I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard;
he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut
well, he was in the mind it was: This is called the
Retort courteous. If I sent him word again, it was
not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to
please himself: this is called the Quip modest. If
again, it was not well cut, be disabled my judgment:
This is called the Reply churlish. If again, it was
not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true :
This is call'd the Reproof valiant. If again, it was
not well cut, he would say, I lie: This is call'd the
Countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the Lie cir-
cumstantial, and the Lie direct.

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not
well cut?

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circum-
stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct;
and so we measured swords, and parted.

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees
of the lie ?

Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book: ' ^)
as you have books for good manners: I will name
you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous ;
the second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply
churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth,
the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie
with circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All
these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you
may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when
seven justices could not take up a quarrel ; but when
the parties were met themselves, one of them thought
but of an If, as If you said so, then I said so;
And they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your
If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If.

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as
good at any thing, and yet a fool.

DukeS. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and
under the presentation of that, he shoots his Avit.

Enter Hymen, "*) leading Rosalind in woman's
clothes; and Cblia.

Still Music.
Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even

Atone together.
Good duke, receive thy daughter.
Hymen from heaven brought her.

Yea, brought her hither;
That thou might St Join her hand with his.
Whose heart within her bosom is.

Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Duke S.

To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando.

Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my

daughter.
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.
Phe. If sight and shape be true,
Why then, — my love, adieu !
Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he: —

[To Duke S.
I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — [To Orlando.
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [To Phebe.
Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
'Tis I must make conclusion

Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands,
To join in Hymen's bands.
If truth holds true contents. *^)

Act V.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

^09

You and you no cross shall part:

[To Orlando and Rosalikd.
You and you are heart in heart:

[To Oliver and Gelii.
You [to Phkbe] to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord : —
You and you are sure together,

[To ToucHSTONB and Addbey.
As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing.
Feed yourselves with questioning;
That reason wonder may diminish.
How thus we met, and these things finish.

Song.

Wedding is great Juno's crown;

O blessed bond of board and bed!
'Tt« Hymen peoples every town ;

High wedlock then be honoured:
Honour, high honour and renown.
To Hymen, god of every town !

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me ;
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.

Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine:
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. *^)

[To SlLVIUS.

Enter Jaqdes de Bois.

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two,
I am the second son of old sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly : —
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot.
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here, and put him to the sword :
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
Where, meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted
Both from his enterprize, and from the world:
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother.
And all their lands restor'd to them again
That were with him exll'd: This to be true,
I do engage my life.

Duke S. Welcome, young man;

Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun, and well begot:
And after, every of this happy number.
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
Accorduig to the measure of their states.
Meantime, foi^et this new-fall'n dignity,

And fall into our rustic revelry : —
Play, music; — and you brides and bridegrooms all.
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
Jaq. Sir, by your patience; if I heard you rightly,
The duke hath put on a religious life.
And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
Jaq. de B. He hath.

Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. —
You to your former honour I bequeath ; [To Duke S,
Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it : —
You [to Orlando] to a love, that yoiur true faith

doth merit: —
You [to Oliver] to your land, and love, and great

allies: —
You [to SiLvius] to a long and well deserved bed ; —
And you [to Touchstone] to wrangling: for thy lov-
ing voyage
Is but for two months victual'd : — So to your plea-
sures ;
I am for other than for dancing measures.
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.

Jaq. To see no pastime, 1: — *') what you would
have
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit.
Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these rites,
And we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

[A dance.

EPILOGUE.

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epi-
logue: but it is no more unhandsome, than to see
the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine
needs no bush, -^) 'tis true, that a good play needs
no epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good
bushes; and good plays prove the better by the
help of good epilogues. W'hat a case am I in then,
that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot in-
sinuate with you in the behalf of a good play ? I am
not furnished like a beggar, -■) therefore to beg
will not become me: my way is, to conjure you;
and I'll begin Avith the women. I charge you, O
women, for the love you bear to men, to like as
much of this play as please them: --) and so I
charge you, O men, for the love you bear to wo-
men, (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you
hate them,) that between you and the women, the
play may please. If I were a woman, ^^) 1 would
kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me,
complexions that liked me, -'*) and breaths that I
defied not; and, I am sure, as many as have good
beard§, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for
my kind offer, when I make curt'sy, bid me farewell.

iExeunt.

14

XI.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

PEBSOMS REPRESENTED.

Kins of France.
DuKK of Florence.
Bertram, Count of Rousillon.
Lafku, ^) an old Lord.
Parollbs, -) a Follower of Bertram.
Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber-
tram in the B'lorentine war.

Clown ' 1 '^^^^of'*'' to the Countess 0/ Rousillon.

A Page.

Countess of Rousit.lon, Mother to Bertram.
Helena, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess.
An old Widow of Florence.
Diana, Daughter to the Widow.
VioLENTA, 3) i Neighbours and Friends to the
Mariana, ( Widow.

Lords attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers, ^-c.
French and Florentine.

Scene — partly in France, and partly in Tuscany.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Rousillon. A Room in the
Countess's Palace.

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, He-
lena, and Lafeu, m mourning.

Countess.
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second
husband.

Ber. And T, in going, madam, weep o'er my fa-
ther's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's
command, to whom I am now in ward, ^) evermore
in subjection.

Laf You shall find of the king a husband, ma-
dam ; — you, sir, a father : He that so generally
is at all times good, must of necessity hold his vir-
tue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up
where it wanted, rather than lack it where there
is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend-
ment?

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam;
under whose practices he hath persecuted time with
hope; and finds no other advantage in the process
but only the losing of hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, (O,
that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was
almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
far, would have made nature immortal, and death
should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the
king's sake, he were living ! I think it would be the
death of the king's disease.

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam?

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and
it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king
very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourn-
ingly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if
knowledge could be set up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan-
guishes of?

Laf. A fistula, ray lord.

Ber. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would it were not notooous. — Was this
gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed to
my overlooking. I have those hopes of her gdod,
that her education promises; her dispositions she
inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where an
unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, *) there
commendations go with pity, they are virtues and
traitors too; in her they are the better for their
simpleness; ^) she derives her honesty, and achieves
her goodness.

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season
her praise in. The remembrance of her father never
approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sor-
rows takes all livelihood '') from her cheek. No
more of this, Helena, go to, no more; lest it be
rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.

Hel. I do affect a soreow, indeed, but I have it

too. 8)

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the
dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the
excess makes it soon mortal. ')

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

Laf. How understand we that?

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy
father
In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence.
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will.
That thee may furnish, ^'') and my prayers pluck down.
Fall on thy head ! Farewell. — My lord,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.

Laf. He cannot want the best

That shall attend his love.

Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram.

^Exit Gouutess.

XI.

Act J.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

211

■ 4)

Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your
thoughts, [to Helena] be servants to you ! Be com-
fortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much
of her.

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the
credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafec.

Hel. O, were that all ! — I think not on my father ; ' 0
And these great tears grace his remembrance more
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him: my imagination
Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's.
I am undone; there is no living, none.
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. '-)
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself;
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague.
To see him every hour: to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls.
In our heart's table; '^) heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?

Enter Paeollbs.
One that goes with hiin: I love him for his sake;
And yet I know him a notorious liar.
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him.
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft Ave see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. ' ")

Par. Save you, fair queen.

Hel. And you, monarch.

Par. No.

Hel. And no. *«)

Par. Are you meditating on virginity?

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you;
let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir-
ginity; how may we barricado it against him?

Par. Keep him out.

Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though va-
liant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some
warlike resistance.

Par. There is none ; man, sitting down before you,
will undermine you, and blow you up.

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers,
and blowers up ! — Is there no military policy how
virgins might blow up men?

Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quicklier
be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again,
with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city.
It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature, to
preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational in-
crease; and there was never virgin got, till vir-
ginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is
metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost,
may be ten times found ; by being ever kept, It is
ever lost : 'tis too cold a companion : away with it.

Hel, I will stand for't a little, though therefore I
die a virgin.

Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against
the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir-
ginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most
infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a
virgin: virginity murders itself; and should be bu-
ried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a
desperate otfendress against nature. Virginity breeds
mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the
very paring, and so dies with feeding his own

XI,

stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle,
made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin ' ')
In the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but
lose by't: Out with't: within ten years it will make
itself ten, which is a goodly increases and the
principal itself not much the worse : Away with't.

Hel. How might one doj sir, to lose it to her
own liking?

Par. Let me see : Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er
it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with't
while 'tis vendible: answer the time of request.
Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out
of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable; just like
the broach and toothpick, which wear not now;
Your date is better ^'^) in your pie and your por-
ridge, than in your cheek: And your \irglnity,
your old virginity, is like one of our French withered
pears; It looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a
withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet,
'tis a withered pear: Will you any thing with it?

Hel. Not my virginity yet.
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, ' ') captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, -") and a dear:
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring, concord, and his discord, dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of petty, fond, adoptions Christendoms, -')
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — —
I know not what he shall : — God send him well ! —
The court's a learning-place; — and be is one

Par. What one, i'faith?

Hel. That I wish well. — 'Tis pity

Par. What's pity?

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't.
Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes.
Might with effects of them follow our friends.
And show what we alone must think; --) which never
Returns us thanks.

Enter a Page.

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for yoUi

[Exit Page.

Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember
thee, I will think of thee at court.

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a
charitable star.

Par. Under Mars, I.

Hel. I especially think, under Mars.

Par. Why under Mars?

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that yoU
must needs be born under Mars.

Par. When he was predominant.

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather*

Par. Why think you so?

Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight.

Par. That's for advantage.

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the
safety: But the composition, that your valour and
fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, ami
I like the wear well.

Par. I am so full of business, I cannot answer
thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the
which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee,
so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, -^)
and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ;
else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine
ignorance makes thee aways farewell. When thou
hart leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none,

14*

212

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act I.

remember thy friends: get tliee a good husband,
and use hun as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exit.
Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it, which mounts my love so high;
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?-*)
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things. -^)
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose,
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove
To show her merit, that did miss her love?
The king's disease — my project may deceive me.
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the King of France,
with letters; Lords and others attending.

King. The Florentines and Senoys -^) are by
the ears;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.

1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir.

King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine Avill move ua
For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.

1 Lord. His love and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead

For amplest credence.

King. He hath arm'd our answer.

And Floi'ence is denied before he comes:
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand en either part.

2 Lord. It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick

For breathing and exploit.
King. What's he comes here?

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parollbs.

1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord.
Young Bertram.

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ;

BVank nature, rather curious than in haste.
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's mortal parts
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. I would I had that corporal soundness now.
As when thy father, and myself, in friendship
First try'd our soldiership! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
But on us both did haggish age steal on.
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me -^)
To talk of your good father: In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest.
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted.
Ere they can hide their levity in honour. ^8)
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were.
His equal has awak'd them; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time,

His tongue obey'd his hand: -') who were below him

He us'd as creatures of another place;

And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,

Making them proud of his humility,

In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man

Might be a copy to these younger times;

Which, folio w'd well, would demonstrate them now

But goers backward.

Ber. His good remembrance, sir,

Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb;
So in approof lives not his epitaph.
As in your royal speech. ^")

King. 'Would, I were with him! He would always
say,
(Methinks, I hear him now: his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them.

To grow there, and to beai-,) — Let me not live,

Thus his good melancholy oft began.
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime.
When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he,
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain; tvliose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments ; '• ^) whose constancies

Expire before their fashions : This he wish'd:

I, after him, do after him wish too.
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive.
To give some labourers room.

2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir:

They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.

King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't,
count.
Since the physician at your father's died?
He was much fam'd.

Ber. Some six months since, my lord.

King. If he were living, I would try him yet ; —
Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out
With several applications : — nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
My son's no dearer.

Ber, Thank your majesty.

[Exeunt. Flourish.

SCEIVE III.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess'* Palace.

Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. ^-)

Count. I will now hear: what say you of this
gentlewoman ?

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your
content, ^^) I wish might be found in the calendar
of my past endeavours: for then we wound our
modesty, and make foul the clearness of our de-
servings, when of ourselves we publish them.

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone,
sirrah : The complaints, I have heard of you, I do
not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not:
for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them,
and have ability enough to make such knaveries
yours. ^'*)

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a
poor fellow.

Count. Well, sir.

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor;
though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may
have your ladyship's good-w ill to go to the world, ^ *)
Isbel the woman and I will do as we may.

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case.

Count. In what case?

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no

SI.

Act I.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

213

heritage: ^'') and, I think, I shall never have the
blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for,
they say, beams are blessings.

Count. Tell ine thy reason why thou wilt many.

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am
driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that
the devil drives.

Count. Is this all your worship's reason?

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons,
such as they are.

Count. May the -world know them?

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as
you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do
marry, that I may repent.

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to
have friends for my >vife's sake.

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends ;
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I
am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, ^') spares
my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop : if I
be his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts
my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood;
he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my
flesh and blood ; he, that loves my flesh and blood,
is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my
friend. If men could be contented to be what they
are, there were no fear in marriage: for young
Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist,
hoAvsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their
heads are both one, they may joU horns together,
like any deer i'the herd.

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and ca-
lumnious knave?

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth
the next way: ^*)

For I the ballad will repeat.

Which men full true shall find;

Tour marriage comes by destiny.
Your cuckoo sings by kind.

Count. Get you gone, sir: I'll talk with yoa more

anon.

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid
Helen come to you; of her I am to speak.

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak
with her; Helen I mean.

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, ^^) quoth she.

Why the Grecians sacked Troyf
Fond done, done fond.

Was this king Priam's joy.
With that she sighed as she stood.
With that she sighed as she stood.

And gave this sentence then;
Among nine bad if one be good.
Among nine bad if one be good.

There's yet one good in ten.

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the
song, sirrah.

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is
a purifying o'the song: Would God would serve
the world so all the year! we'd find no faulC with
the tythe-woman, if I w ere the parson : One in ten,
quoth a'! an we might have a good woman bom
but every *<>) blazing star, or at an earthquake,
'twould mend the lottery well;^') a man may draw
his heart out, ere he pluck one.

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I
command you?

Clo. That man should be at woman's command.

and yet no hurt done! "*-) — Though honesty be
no puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the
surplice of humility over the black gown of a big
heart. — I am going, forsooth ; the business is for
Helen to come hither. [Exit Clowa.

Count. Well now.

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman
entirely.

Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to
me: and she herself, without other advantage, may
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds;
there is more owing her, than is paid; and more
shall be paid her, than she'll demand.

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than,
I think, she wished me : alone she was, and did
communicate to herself her own words to her own
ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched
not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved
your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that
had put such difference betwixt their two estates;
Love, no god, that would not extend his might,
only where qualities were level; Diana, no queen
of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be
surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or
ransome afterward: This she delivered in the most
bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin
exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to ac-
quaint you withal; sithence, "*^) in the loss that may
happen, it concerns you something to know it.

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep
it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
before, which hung so tottering in the balsuice, that
I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you,
leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank
you for your honest care: I will speak with you
further anon. [Exit Steward.

Enter Hbleka.

Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young:
If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong:

Our blood to us, this to our blood is bom;
It is the show and seal of nature's tmth,
W^here love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
By our remembrances *"*) of days foregone.
Such were our faults ; — or then we thoiight them none.
Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam?

Count. You know, Helen,

I am a mother to you.

Hel. Mine honourable mistress.

Count. Nay, a mother;

Why not a mother? When I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother.
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen.
Adoption strives with natiu°e; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan.
Yet I express to you a mother's care: —
God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood.
To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter.
That this distemper'd messenger of wet.
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? *^)
Why? that you are my daughter?

Hel. That I am not.

Count. I say, I am your mother.

Hel. Pardon, madam;

The count Rousillon cannot be ray brother:
I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
No note upon my parents, his all noble:
My master, my dear lord he is: and I

BI.

214

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act II.

His servant live, and will his vassal die:
He must not be my brother.

Count. Nor I your mother?

Hel. You are my mother, madam ; 'Would you were
(So that ray lord, your son, were not my brother,)
Indeed, my mother! — or were you both our mothers,
I care no more for, *'') than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister: Can't no other.
But, I your daughter, he must bjljmy brother?

Count. Yes, Helen, you might 'be my daughter-
in-law;
God shield, you mean it not ! daughter, and mother.
So strive *') upon your pulse: What, pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now, I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. *^) Now to all sense 'tis gross,
You love my son; invention is asham'd.
Against the proclamation of thy passion.
To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so : — for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the other: and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours,
That in their kind *') they speak it: only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail.
To tell me truly.

Hel. Good madam, pardon me I

Count. Do you love my son?

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress!

Count. Love you my son?

Hel. l3o not you love him, madam?

Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond.
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.

Hel. Then, I confess.

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son : —

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
Be not offended ; for it hurts not him.
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, *")
I still pour in the waters of my love.
And lack not to lose still: *') thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine honour, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
Let not your hate encounter with my love.
For loving where you do : but, if yourself.
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, ^-)
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking.
Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love; *^) O then, give pity

To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose

But lend and give, where she is sure to lose;

That seeks not to find that her search implies.

But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly,

To go to Paris?
Hel. Madam, I had.

Count. Wherefore? tell true,

Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear.

You know, my father left me some prescriptions

Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his readrng,

And manifest experience, had collected

For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfuUest reservation to bestow them.
As notes, whose faculties inclusive ^■*) were.
More than they were in note: amongst the rest.
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down.
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.

Count. This was your motive

For Paris, was it? speak.

Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this;
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king.
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply been absent then.

Count. But think you, Helen,

If you should tender your supposed aid.
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him.
They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowell'd ^'') of their doctrine, have left off
The danger to itself?

Hel. There's something hints,

More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified
By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your

honour
But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure.
By such a day, and hour.

Count. Dost thou believ't?

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly.

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave,
and love.
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home.
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.

lExeuKt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Paris. A Room in the King's
Palace.

Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords, taking

leave for the Florentine war; Bertram, Parollbs,

and Attendants.

King. Farewell, young lord, *) these warlike prin-
ciples

Do not throw from you: — and you, my lord, ^}
farewell: —

Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all.

The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,

And is enough for both.

1 Lord. It is our hope, sir,
After well enter'd soldiers, to return

And find your grace in health.
King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confess he owes the malady
That doth my life besiege. ^) Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy,) see, '*) that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your ma-

jesty !
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them;

KI.

Act II.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

215

They say, our French lack language to deny.
If they demand; beware of being captives,
Before you serve. ^)

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings.

King. Farewell. — Come hither to me.

[TAe KiKG retires to a couch.

1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be-

hind us!
Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark

2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars!
Par. Most admirable; I have seen those wars.
Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with,

Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early.

Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away
bravely.

Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry.
Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn,
But one to dance with ! '') By heaven, I'll steal away.

1 Lord. There's honour in the theft.

Par. Commit it, count.

2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell.
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured

body.

1 Lord. Farewell, captain.

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles!

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin.
Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: —
You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one
captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of
war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very
sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and ob-
serve his reports for me.

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain.

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt
Lords.] What will you do?

Ber. Stay : — the king [Seeing Aim rise.

Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble
lords; you have restrained yourself within the list
of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to
them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the
time, there, do muster true gait, ') eat, speak, and
move under the influence of the most received star;
and though the devil lead the measure, *) such are
to be followed: after them, and take a more di-
lated farewell.

Ber. And I will do so.

Par. Worthy fellows ; and , like to prove most
sinewy sword-men. [ExcutU Bebtkasi and Pabolles.

Enter Lafeu.

Laf. Pardon, my lord, [kneeling] for me and for
my tidings.

King. I'll fee thee to stand up.

Laf. Then here's a man

Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you
Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; and
That, at my bidding, you could so stand up.

King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
And ask'd thee mercy for't,

Laf. Goodfaith, across: ')

But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd
Of your infirmity?

King. No.

Laf. O, will you eat

No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will.
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
Could reach them: I have seen a medicine, ^°)
That's able to breathe life into a stone;
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary, *^)
With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay,

To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand,
And write to her a love-line.

King. What her is this?

Laf. Why, doctor she ; My lord, there's one arriv'd
If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honour.
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession, ^2)
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness: ' ^) Will you see her
(For that is her demand) and know her business?
That done, laugh well at me.

King. Now, good Lafeu,

Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine.
By wond'ring how thou took'st it.

Laf. Nay, I'll fit you.

And not be all day neither. [Exit Lafeu.

King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

Re-enter Lafku, with Helena.

Laf. Nay, come your ways.

King. This haste hath wings indeed.

Laf. Nay, come your ways;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him :
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, •"*)
That dare leave two together; fare you well. [Exit.

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was
My father; in what he did profess, well found.**)

King. I knew him.

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards
him;
Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death
Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one.
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice.
And of his old experience the only darling.
He bade me store up, as a triple eye,
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so:
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd
With that malignant cause wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
I come to tender it, and my appliance.
With all bound humbleness.

King. We thank you, maiden;

But may not be so credulous of cure, —
When our most learned doctors leave us; and
The congregated college have concluded
That labouring art can never ransome nature
From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope.
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To empirics; or to dissever so
Our great self and our credit, to esteem
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.

Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my palqs;
I will no more enforce mine office on you;
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful :
Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks I give.
As one near death to those that wish him live:
But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part;
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try,
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy:
He that of greatest works is finisher.
Oft does them by the weakest minister:
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown.
When judges have been babes. Great floods have

flown
From simple sources; and great seas have dried,

XI.

216

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act II.

When miracles have by the greatest been denied. ' ')
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.

King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind

maid ;
Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid:
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.

Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
It is not so with him that aril things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows:
But most it is presumption in us, when
The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavoux's give consent:
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor, that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim; ")
But know I think, and think I know most sure.
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.

King. Art thou so confident? Within what space
Hop'st thou my cure'?

Hel. The greatest grace lending grace.

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp ;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass;
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.

King. Upon thy certainty and confidence.
What dar'st thou venture?

Hel. Tax of impudence, —

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, —
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise; no worse of worst extended, ^^)
With vilest torture let my life be ended.

King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth
speak
His powerful sound, within an organ weak :
And what impossibility would slay
In common sense, sense saves another way. * ')
Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate; -")
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and prime -') can happy call:
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try ;
That ministers thine own death, if I die.

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property -^)
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ;
And well deserv'd : Not helping, death's my fee.
But, if I help, what do you promise me ?

King. Make thy demand.

Hel. But will you make it even?

King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven.

Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand.
What husband in thy power I will command:
Exempted be from me the arrogance
To choose from forth the royal blood of France;
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state: ^^)
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free lor me to ask, thee to bestow.

King, Here is my hand; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd;
So make the choice of thy own time; for I,
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must;
Though, more to know, could not be moi-e to trust;
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, — But rest
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. —

Give me some help here, ho! — -If thou proceed
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess'« Palace.

Enter Colntkss and Clown.

Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the
height of your breeding.

Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly
taught : I know my business is but to the court.

Count. To the court! why what place make you
special, when you put off that with such contempt?
But to the court!

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any
manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that
cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand,
and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor
cap ; and indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely,
were not for the court: but, for me, I have an
answer will serve all men.

Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits
all questions.

Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but-
tocks; the pin -buttock, the quatch - buttock, the
brawn-buttock," or any buttock.

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an
attorney, as your French crown for your taffata
punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a
pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-
day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his
horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave,
as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the
pudding to his skin.

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness
for all (juestions?

Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your
constable, it will fit any question.

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous
size, that must fit all demands.

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the
learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and
all that belongs to't: Ask me, if I am a courtier:
it shall do you no harm to learn.

Count. To be young again, -^) if we could; I
will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser
by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clo. O Lord, sir, - *) There's a simple put-
ting off; — more, more, a hundred of them.

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves
you.

Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me.

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this
homely meat.

Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

Clo. O Lord, sir, — Spare not me.

Count. Do you cry, O Lord, sir, at your whipping,
and spare not me? Indeed, your O Lord, sir, is
very sequent to your whipping ; your would answer
very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my —
O Lord, sir : I see, things may serve long, but not
serve ever.

Count. I play the noble housewife with the time,
to entertain it so merrily with a fool.

Clo. O Lord, sir, — why, there't serves well again.

Count. ^An end, sir, to your business: Give Helen
this,
And urge her to a present answer back:

KI.

Act 11.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

217

Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son;
This is not much.

Clo. Not much commendation to them.

Count. Not much employment for you: You un-
derstand me?

Clo. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs.

Count. Haste you again. \Exeunt severally.

SCENE m.

Paris. A Room in the King'* Palace.
Enter Bertram, Lafbc, and Parollbs.

Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have
our philosophical persons, to make modern -'') and
familiar things, supernatural and causeless. Hence
is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing
ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should
submit ourselves to an unknown fear. ^')

Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder,
that hath shot out in our latter times.

Ber. And so 'tis.

Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists,

Par. So I say: both of Galen and Paracelsus.

Liaf. Of all the learned authentic fellows, — -^)

Par. Right, so I say.

Laf. That gave him out incurable, —

Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too.

Laf. Not to be helped, —

Par. Right : as 'twere a man assured of an —

Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death.

Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said.

Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing,
you shall read it in What do you call there? —

Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly
actor.

Par. That's it I would have said; the very same.

Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: -') 'fore
me 1 speak in respect

Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is
the brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most
facinorous spirit, ^*') that will not acknowledge it
to be the

Laf. Very hand of heaven.

Par. Ay, so I say.

Laf. In a most weak

Par. And debile minister, great power, great trans-
cendence : which should, indeed, give us a further
use to be made, than alone the recovery of the
king, as to be

Laf. Generally thankful.

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants.

Par. I would have said it; you say well. Here
comes the king.

Laf. Lustic, ^ ' ) as the Dutchman says : I'll like a
maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head :
Why, he's able to lead her a coranto.

Par. Mort du Vinaigre! Is not this Helen?

Laf. 'Fore God, I think so.

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. —

[Exit an Attendant.
Sit, my presener, by thy patient's side;
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promis'd gift,
Which but attends thy naming.

Enter several Lords.

Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing.

O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice **)

I have to use: thy frank election make;

ThoJi hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

Hel, To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
B'all, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one! * ^)

Laf I'd give bay Curtal, ^ •*) and his furniture,
My mouth no more were broken ^ ^) than these boy8%
And writ as little beard.

King. Peruse them well: .

Not one of those, but had a noble father.

Hel. Gentlemen,
Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health.

All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest.

That, I protest, I simply am a maid :

Please it your majesty, I have done already;
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
We blush, that thou should st choose; but, berefus'd.
Let the white death ^'^) sit on thy cheek for ever ;
We'll ne'er come there again.

King. Make choice; and, see,

Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.

Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly;
And to imperial Love, that god most high.
Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit?

1 Lord. And grant it.

Hel. Thanks, sir ; all the rest is mute. ^ ')

Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw
ames-ace ^ ^) for my life.

Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes.
Before I speak, too threateningly replies :
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love !

2 Lord. No better, if you please.

Hel. My wish receive,

Which great love grant! and so I take my leave,

Laf. Do all they deny her? ^') An they were
sons of mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would
send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of.

Hel. Be not afraid [to a Lord] that I your hand
should take;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have
her: sure, they ai'e bastards to the English; the
French ne'er got them.

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good,
To make yourself a son out of my blood.

4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so.

Laf. There's one grape yet, — I am sure thy
father drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an ass,
I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee al-
ready.

Hel. I dare not say, I take you; [to BERTaAst]

but I give
Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
Into your guiding power. — This is the man.

King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's
thy wife.

Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your
highness.
In such a business give me leave to "use
The help of mine own eyes.

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram,

What she has done for me?

Ber. Yes, my good lord;

But never hope to know why I should marry her.

King. Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my
sickly bed.

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising? I know her well;
She had her breeding at my father's charge:

XI.

218

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act II.

A poor physician's daughter my wife! — Disdain
Rather corrupt ine ever!

King. 'Tis only title '*") thou disdain' st in her,
the which
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods.
Of colour, weight, and heat pour'd all together.
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty: If she be
All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell, '*') and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour : good alone
Is good, without a name; vileness is so: *-)
The property by what it is should go.
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
In these to nature she's immediate heir;
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born, '*^)
And is not like the sire: Honours best thrive, '*'*}
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers; the mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb.
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
I can create the rest: virtue, and she.
Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me.

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st
strive to choose.

Hel. That you are well restor'd,my lord, I am glad;
Let the rest go.

King. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power: Here, take her hand,
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift.
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
My love, and her desert; that canst not dream.
We, poizing us in her defective scale.
Shall weigh thee to the beam; *^) that wilt not

know,
It is in us to plant thine honour, where
We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt:
Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right.
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever.
Into the staggers, *') and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate.
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice.
Without all terms of pity : Speak ; thine answer.

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes; When I consider.
What great creation, and what dole of honour.
Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled.
Is, as 'twere, born so.

King. Take her by the hand.

And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise
A counterpoise; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.

Bert I take her hand.

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king.
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief.
And be perform'd to-night; *') the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space,

Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her.
Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

[Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords,
and Attendants.

Laf. Do you hear, monsieur V a word with you.

Par. Your pleasure, sir?

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his
recantation.

Par. Recantation?— My lord? — my master?

Laf. Ay; Is it not a language, I speak?

Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood
without bloody succeeding. My master?

Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon?

Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man.

Laf. To what is count's man: count's master is
of another style.

Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you
are too old.

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to
which title age cannot bring thee.

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, ^^) to
be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable
vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs
and the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dis-
suade me from believing thee a vessel of too great
a burden. I have now found thee ; when I lose thee
again, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing
but taking up;*') and that thou art scarce worth.

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity
upon thee,

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest
thou hasten thy trial; — which if — Lord have
mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of
lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not
open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand.

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy
of it.

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it.

Laf Yes, good faith, every dram of it: and I
will not bate thee a scruple.

Par. Well, I shall be wiser.

Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast
to pull at a smack o'the contrary. If ever thou
be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find
what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a
desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather
my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, *")
he is a man I know.

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vex-
ation.

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and
my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I
will by thee, in what motion age will give me
leave. ^ ' ) [Exit.

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace
off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! — Well, I
must be patient ; there is no fettering of authority.
I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with
any convenience, an he were double and double a
lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I
would have of — I'll beat him, an if 1 could but
meet him again.

Re-enter Lafbu.

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's
news for you; you have a new mistress.

Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to
make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my
good lord : whom I serve above, is my master.

Laf Who? God?

Par. Ay, sir.

XI.

Act IL

ALL'S WELL THAT EXDS WELL.

219

Laf. Tke devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost
thou garter up thy arras o'this fashion? dost make
hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou
vvert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands.
By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger,
I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence,
and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast
created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for
picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a
vagabond, and no true traveller : you are more saucy
with lords, and honourable personages, than the
heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you com-
mission. You are not worth another word, else I'd
call you knave. I leave you. [Exit.

Enter Bertram.

Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, very
good; let it be concealed awhile.

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

J'ar. What is the matter, sweet heart?

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,
I will not bed her.

Par. What? what, sweet heart?

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me : —
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
The tread of a man's foot : to the wars !

Ber. There's letters from iny mother; what the
import is,
I know not yet.

Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, my
boy, to the wars!
He wears his honour in a box unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy *-) here at home;
Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed: To other regions!
France is a stable; we, that dwell in't, jades;
Therefore, to the war!

Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house.
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
That which I durst not speak: His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields.
Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife
To the dark house, *^) and the detested wife.

Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure?

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
I'll send her straight away: To-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's no noise in
it. 'Tis hard;
A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd:
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis so.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. Another Room in the same.

Enter Helena and Clown.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly: Is she well?

Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health:
she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but
thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing
i'the world; but yet she is not well.

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that
she's not very well?

Clo. Truly, sl.e's very well, indeed, but for two
things.

Hel. What two things?

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God
send her quickly ! the other, that she's in earth,
from whence God send her quickly!

Enter Parolles.

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady!

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have
mine own good fortunes.

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on: and
to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave!
How does my old lady?

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her mo-
ney, I would she did as you say.

Par. Why, I say nothing.

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: To
say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and
to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title;
which is within a very little of nothing.

Par. Away, thou art a knave.

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave
thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a
knave: this had been truth, sir.

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found
thee.

Clo. Did you find me In yourself, sir ; or were you
taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;
and much fool may you find in you, even to the
world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.

Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. —
Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
A very serious business calls on hun.
The great prerogative and rite of love.
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge ;
But puts it off by *•*) a compell'd restraint;
Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with sweets.
Which they distil now in the curbed time.
To make the coming hour o'er-flow with joy.
And pleasure drown the brim.

Hel. What's his will else?

Par. That you will take your instant leave o'the
king.
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
May make it probable need. **)

Hel. What more commands he?

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure,

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.

Par. I shall report it so.

Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.
Another Room in the same.
Enter Lafbd and Bertram.

Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a
soldier.

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.

Laf You have it from his own deliverance.

Ber. And by other warranted testimony.

Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark
for a bunting. ^^)

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great
in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.

Laf I have then sinned against his experience,
and transgressed against his valour; and my state
that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in
my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you,
make us friends, I will pursue the amity.

KI.

220

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

Act hi.

Enter Parolles.

Par. These things shall be done, sir. [To Bertram.

Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor?

Par. Sir?

Laf. O, I know him well: Ay, sir: he, sir, is a
good workman, a very good tailor.

Ber. Is she gone to the king ? [Aside to Parolles.

Par. She is.

Ber. Will she away to-night?

Par. As you'll have her.

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure,
Given order for our horses; and to-night,
When I should take possession of the bride, —
And, ere 1 do begin,

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter
end of a dinner ; but one that lies three-thirds, and
uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings
with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. —
God save you, captain.

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and
you, monsieur?

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into
my lord's displeasure.

Laf You have made shift to run into't, boots
and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the
custard; *') and out of it you'll run again, rather
than sulfer question for your residence.

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord.

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at
his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe
this of me, There can be no kernel in this light
nut ; the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him
not in matter of heavy consequence ; I have kept
of them tame, and know their natures. — Farewell,
monsieur: I have spoken better of you than you
have or will deserve ^^} at my hand; but we must
do good against evil. [Exit.

Par. An idle lord, I swear.

Ber. I think so.

Par. Why, do you not know him?

Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

Enter Hei^ena.

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave
For present parting; only, he desires
Some private speech with you.

Ber. I shall obey his will.

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular: prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found
So much unsettled: This drives me to entreat you.
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, ^') than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need.
Greater than shows itself, at the first view.
To you that know them not. This to my mother:

[Giving a letter.
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say,

But that I am your most obedient servant.

Ber. Come, come, no more of that.

Hel. And ever shall

With true observance seek to eke out that,
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal ray great fortune.

Ber. Let that go :

My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home.

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber. Well, what would you say?

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe; <'°)
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. What would you have?

Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : — nothing,
indeed. —
I would not tell you what I would : my lord —

'faith, yes : —
Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss.

Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

Ber, Where are my other men, monsieur? — Fare-
well. [Exit Heleka.
Go thou toward home; where I will never come,
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum: —
Away, and for our flight.

Par. Bravely, coragio! [Exeunt.

ACT lU.

SCENE I. Florence. A Room in the Duke*s
Palace.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended;
two French Lords, and others.

Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you
heard
The fundamental reasons of this war;
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth.
And more thirsts after.

1 Lord. Holy seems tiie quarrel
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful

On the opposer.

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.

2 Lord. Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield, ')
But like a common and an outward man, -)
That the great figure of a council frames

By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
Say what I think of it: since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.

Duke. Be it his pleasure.

2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature,^)
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day.
Come here for physic.

Duke. Welcome shall they be;

And all the honours, that can fly from us,
Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
When better fall, for your avails they fell:
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace.

Enter Countess and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had
it, save, that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a
very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing;
mend the ruff, *) and sing; ask questions, and sing;
pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this
trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song.

KI.

Act III.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

221

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he
means to come. [Opening a letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court:
our old ling and our Isbeis o'the country are nothing
like your old ling and your Isbeis o'the court: the
brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and I begin to
love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here ?

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit.

Count. [Reads.] / have tent you a daughter-in-law :
she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I
have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to
make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run
away; know it, before the report conte. If there
be breadth enough in the world, I trill hold a
long distance. My duty to you.

Your unfortunate son,

Bertram.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king;
To pluck his indignation on thy head.
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, be-
tween two soldiers and my young lady.

Count. What is the matter?

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
comfort; your son will not be killed so soon aa I
thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear
he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the
loss of men, though it be the getting of children.
Here they come, will tell you more: for my part,
I only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown.

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.

1 Gen. Save you, good madam.

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

2 Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gentle-
men, —
I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief.
That the first face of neither, on the start.
Can woman me *) unto't: — Where is my son, I
pray you?
2 Gen. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of
Florence :
We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And after some despatch in hand at court.
Thither we bend again.
Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's my passport.
[Readg.] When thou canst get the ring upon my
finger, ') which neter shall come off, and show
me a child begotten of thy body, that I am
father to, then call me husband: but in such
a then / write a never.
This is a dreadful sentence.
Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

1 Gen. Ay, madam;
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.

Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, '')
Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ;
But I do wash his name out of my blood.
And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence is he?

2 Gen. Ay, madam.

Count. And to be a soldier?

2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose: and, believ't.
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.

Count. Return you thither?

1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

Hel. [Reads.] Till I hate no wife, I liave nothing
in France.
'Tis bitter.

Count. Find you that there?

Hel. Ay, madam.

1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply,
which
His heart was not consenting to.

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
There's nothing here, that is too good for him,
But only she; and she deserves a lord.
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon.
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him?

1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.

Count. Parolles, was't not?

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he.

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness-
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
W'ith his inducement.

1 Gen. Indeed, good lady.
The fellow has a deal of that, too much.
Which holds him much to have. ^)

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen,
I will entreat you, when you see my son.
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.

2 Gen. We serve you, madam.
In that and all your worthiest affairs.

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. ^)
Will you draw near? [Exeunt CovyrEsa and Gentlemen.

Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in Frcince, until he has no wile!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers.
That ride upon the violent speed of fire.
Fly with false aim; move the still-piecing air.
That sings with piercing, '") do not touch my lord!
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him hot, I am the cause
His death was so effected : better 'twere
I met the ravin lion ' ' ) when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries, which nature owes.
Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger w ins a scar, ' -)
As oft it loses all; I will be gone:
My being here it is, that holds thee hence :
ShaJl I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house.
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight.
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

[Exit.

SCENE ni.

Florence. Before the Duke'a Palace.

Flourish. Enter the Dukb of Florence, Bertram,

Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others.

Duke. The general of our horse thoa art; and we,

222

ALL'S WELL THAT EiNDS WELL.

Act III.

Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence,
Upon thy promising fortune.

Ber. Sir, it is

A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake,
To the extreme edge of hazard.

Duke. Then go thou forth;

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress!

Ber. This very day,

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Rousillon. A Boom in the Countess'* Palace.

Enter Countkss and Steward.

Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?

Might you not know, she would do as she has done.

By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Stew. / am St. Jaques's pilgrim, thither gone:

Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That hare -foot plod I the cold ground upon,

With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war,

My dearest master, your dear son may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,

His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive ;

I, his despiteful Juno, ' *) sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live.

Where death and danger dog the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair fur death and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest

Avords !

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice "*) so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
1 could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.

Stew. Pardon me, madam:

If I had given you this at over-night.
She might have been o'er-ta'en ; and yet she writes,
Pursuit would be but vain.

Count. What angel shall

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive.
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife:
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light : ^ ^) ray greatest grief.
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger : —
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
To make distinction: — Provide this messenger: —
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

[Exeunt,

SCENE V.
Without the Walls of Florence.
A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Flo-
rence, Diana, Violknta, Mabiana, and other
Citizens.
Wid. Nay, com6 ; for if they do approach the city,
we shall lose all the sight.

Dia. They say, the French count has done most
honourable service.

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest
commander; and that with his own hand he slew
the duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they
are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by
their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves
with the report of it. Weil, Diana, take heed of
this French earl: the honour of a maid is her
name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have
been solicited by a gentleman his companion.

Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ; one ParoUes :
a filthy officer he is in those suggestions "') for
the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana; their
promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these
engines of lust, are not the things they go under: ^ ')
many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the
misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the
wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade
succession, but that they are limed with the twigs
that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise
you further; but, I hope, your own grace will keep
you where you are, though there were no further
danger known, but the modesty which is so lost.

Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Enter Helena, in the dress of a Pilgrim.

Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim :

I know she will lie at my house : thither they send

one another; I'll question her. —

God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound?

Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.
Where do the palmers * ^) lodge, I do beseech you ?

Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.

Hel. Is this the way?

Wid. Ay, marry, is it. — Hark you !

[A march afar off.
They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pilgmn.
But till the troops come by,
I will conduct you where you will be lodg'd ;
The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess
As ample as myself.

Hel. Is it yourself?

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim.

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Wid. You came, I think, from France?

Hel. I did so.

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours.
That has done worthy service.

Hel. His name, I pray you.

Dia. The count Rousillon; Know you such a one?

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:
His face I know not.

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is.

He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As 'tis reported, for the king ' ') had married him
Against his liking: Think you it is so?

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; - ") 1 know his lady.

Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count,
Reports but coarsely of her.

Hel. What's his name?

Dia. Monsieur Parolles.

Hel. O, I believe with him,

In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examin'd. -^

Dia. Alas, poor lady!

'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.

KI.

Act hi.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

223

Wid. A right good creature : -^) wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. /

Hel. How do you mean?

May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.

Wid. He does, indeed;

And brokes ^^) with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.

Enter with drum and colours, a party o/f Ac Flo-
rentine Array, Bertram, and Parollks.

Mar. The gods forbid else!

JVid. So, now they come : —

That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
That, Escalus.

Hel. Which is the Frenchman?

Dia. He ;

That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow;
I would, he lov'd his wife: if he were honester.
He were much goodlier: — Is't not a handsome
gentleman ?

Hel. 1 like him well.

Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest: Yond's that same

knave.
That leads him to these places; were I his lady,
rd poison that vile rascal.

Hel. Which is he?

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he
melancholy?

Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle.

Par. Lose our drum! well.

Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something: Look,
he has spied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

[Exeunt Bertram, ParolIiBs, Officers,
and Soldiers.

Wid. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will
bring you
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound.
Already at my house.

Hel. I humbly thank you:

Please it this matron, and this gentle maid.
To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking.
Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin.
Worthy the note.

Both. We'll take your offer kindly.

[^Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Camp before Florence.

Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords.

1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; let him
have his way.

2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, -'*)
hold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.

Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him?

1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct
knowledge, Avithout any malice, but to speak of
him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward,
an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-
breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy
your lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing
too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might.

at some great and trusty business, in a main dan-
ger fail you.

Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action
to try him.

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his
drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake
to do.

1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
surprize him; such I will have, whom I am sure,
he knows not from the enemy : we will bind and
hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but
that he is carried into the leaguer - ^) of the adver-
saries, when we bring him to our tents: Be but
your lordship present at his examination; if he do
not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest
compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, an^
deliver all the intelligence in his power against you,
and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon
oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch
his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't,
and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will
be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter-
tainment, -'') your inclining cannot be remov'd.
Here he comes.

Enter Parolies.

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not
the humour of his design; let him fetch off his
drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely
in your disposition.

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.
Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so

lost ! — there w as an excellent command ! to charge
in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend
our own soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com-
mand of the service; it was a disaster of war that
CfEsar himself could not have prevented, if he had
been there to command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc-
cess; some dishonour we had in the loss of that
drum; but it is not to be recovered.

Par. It might have been recovered.

Ber. It might, but it is not now.

Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact
performer, I would have that drum or another, or
hie jacet. -'')

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur,
if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring
this instrument of honour again into his native
quarter, be magnanunous in the enterprize, and go
on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit:
if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak
of it, and extend to you what further becomes his
greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your
worthiness.

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.

Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will pre-
sently pen down my dilemmas, - •*) encourage myself
in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepar-
ration, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me.

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace you
are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my
lord; but the attempt I vow.

Ber. I know, thou art valiant; and, to the possibility
of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

Par. I love not many words. lExit.

XI.

224

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act IV.

1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — -^)
Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so con-
fidently seems to undertake this business, which he
knows is not be done; damns himself to do, and
dares better be damned than to do't.

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we
do : certain it is, that he will steal himself into a
man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal
of discoveries; but when you find him out, you
have him ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed
at all of this, that so seriously he does address
himself unto?

1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an
invention, and clap upon you two or three probable
lies; but we have almost en\boss'd him, ^") you
shall see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not
for your lordship's respect.

2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox,
ere we case him. ^^) He was first smoked by the
old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted,
tell me what a sprat you shall find him; which you
shall see this very night.

1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.
Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me.

1 Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll leave you.

[Exit.
Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
The lass I spoke of.

2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest.
Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once.

And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her.
By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind, ^ *)
Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature;
Will you go see her?

2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord.

[Exeunt,

SCENE VII.

Florence. A Room in the Widow'* House.

Enter Hklena and Widow.

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further.
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. ^^)

Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born.
Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.

Hel. Nor would I wish you.

First, give me trust, the count he is my husband;
And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken,
Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot,
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Err in bestowing it.

Wid. I should believe you;

For you have show'd me that, which well approves
You are great in fortune.

Hel. Take this purse of gold,

And let me buy your friendly help thus far.
Which I will over-pay, and pay again,
When I have found it. The count he wooes your

daughter,
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty.
Resolves, to carry her; let her, in fine, consent,
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it,
Now his important ^'*) blood will nought deny
That she'll demand: A ring the county wears, ^5)
That downward hath succeeded in his house.
From son to son, some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it: this ring holds
In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,

To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.

Wid. Now I see

The bottom of your purpose.

Hel. You see it lawful then : It is no more.
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won.
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
Herself most chastely absent; after this.
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.

Wid. I have yielded:

Instruct my daughter how she shall pers^ver.
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful.
May prove coherent. Kvery night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthlness : It nothing steads us.
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel. Why then, to-night

Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed.
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed.
And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
But let's about it. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Without the Florentine Camp.

Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in
ambuslu

1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this
hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak
what terrible language you will; though you un-
derstand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must
not seem to understand him ; unless some one among
us, whom we must produce for an interpreter.

1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he
not thy voice?

1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.

1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak
to us again?

1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me.

1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers
i'the adversary's entertainment. ') Now he hath a
smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we
must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to
know what we speak to one another; so we seem
to know, is to know straight our purpose: -) chough's
language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for
you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But
couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in
a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he
forges.

Enter Pabolles.

Par. Ten o'clock; within these three hours 'twill
be time enough to go home. What shall I say I
have done? It must be a very plausive invention
that carries it: They begin to smoke me: and dis-
graces have of late knocked too often at my door.
I find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart
hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his crea-
tures, not daring the reports of my tongue.

1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own
tongue was guilty of. [Aside.

Par. What the devil should move me to undertake
the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant of
the impossibility, and knowing I had no such pur-
pose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I

XI.

Act IV.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

225

got them in exploit : Yet slight ones will not
carry it: They will say, Came you off with so
little? and great ones I dare not give. Where-
fore? what's the instance? ^) Tongue, I must put
you into a butter - woman's mouth, and buy an-
other of Bajazet's mule, *) if you prattle me into
these perils.

1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he
i.s. and be that he is? \^A»ide.

Par. I would the cutting of my garments would
ser>e the turn ; or the breaking of my Spanish
sword.

1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Atide.

Par. Or the baring of my beard; *) and to say,
it was in stratagem.

1 Lord. 'Twould not do. [Aside.

Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was
stripped.

1 Lord. Hardly serve. [Atide.

Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window
of the citadel

1 Lord. How deep? [Aside.

Par. Thirty fathom.

1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that
be believed. [Aside.

Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's; I
would swear, I recovered it.

1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Aside.

Par. A drum now of the enemy's ! [Alarum within.

1 Lord. Tkroca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.

Par. O! ransom, ransom: — Do not hide mine
eyes. [Thnj seize him and blindfold him.

1 Sold. Boskot thromuldo boskos.

Par. I know you are "the Muskos' regiment.
And I shall lose my life for want of language :
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me,
I will discover that which shall undo
The Florentine.

1 Sold. Boskos vauvado:

I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue:

Kerelybonto : Sir,

Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards
Are at thy bosom.

Par. Oh!

1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray.

Manka revania dulche.

1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorca.

1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet;
And, hood->vink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from tbee: haply thou may'st inform
Something to save thy life.

Par. O, let me live,

And all the secrets of our camp I'll show.
Their force, their purposes: nay, I'll speak that
Which you will wonder at.

1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully?

Par. If I do not, damn me.

1 Sol. Acordo lint a.

Come on, thou art granted space.

[Exit, with P.4ROLLE9 guarded.

1 Lord. Go, tell the comit Rousillon, and my

brother,
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him

muffled.
Till we do hear from them.

2 Sold. Captain, I will.

1 Lord. He will betray us all vuUo ourselves; —
Inform 'em that.

2 Sold. So I will, sir.

1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely
lock'd. [Exeunt.

SCENE n.

Florence. A Room in the Widow'« House.
Enter Bertram and Dlina.

Ber. They told me, that your name was FontibelL

Dia. No, my good lord, Diana.

Ber. Titled goddess;

And worth it with addition; But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality?
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
You are no maiden, but a munuinent :
When you are dead, you should be such a one
As you are now, for you are cold and stem;
And now you should be as your mother was.
When your sweet self was got.

Dia. She then was honest.

Ber. So should you be.

Dia. No:

My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
As you owe to your wife.

Ber. No more of that !

I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows:
I was corapell'd to her; but I love thee
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.

Dia. Ay, so you serve us.

Till we serve you: but when you have our roses.
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.

Ber. How have I sworn?

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth;
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
What is not holy, that we swear not by, '')
But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you,

tell me, .

If I should swear by Jove's great attributes,
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths.
When I did love you ill? this has no holding,
To swear by him whom I protest to love.
That I will work against him : Therefore, your oaths
Are words, and poor conditions ; but unseal'd ;
At least in my opinion.

Ber. Change it, change it;

Be not so holy cruel; love is holy;
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts.
That you do charge men with: Stand no more off.
But give thyself unto my sick desires.
Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so persever.

Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs, ")
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
To give it from me.

Dia. Will you not, my lord?

Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house.
Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose.

Dia. Mine honour's such a ring:

My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Bequeathed down from many ancestoi^s;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose: Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion honour on my part.
Against your vain assault.

Ber. , Here, take my ring:

My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.

Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-
window ;
I'll order take, my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth.

HI.

15

226

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act IV.

When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
Remam there but an hour, nor speak to me:
My reasons are most strong ; and you shall know them.
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd:
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put
Another ring; that what in time proceeds.
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu, till then: then, fail not: You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing
thee. [Exit.

Dian. For which live long to thank both heaven
and me!

You may so in the end. •

My mother told me just how he would woo.
As if she sat in his heart; she says, all men
Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me,
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him,
When I ain buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, ^)
Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid:
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win. \_Exit.

SCENE III.
The Florentine Camp.

Enter the two French Lords, and two or three

Soldiers.

1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter?

2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since : there
is something in't that stings his nature ; for, on the
reading it, he changed almost into another man.

1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him
for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady.

2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his
bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a
thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and
I am the grave of it,

2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman
herein Florence, of a roost chaste renown; and this
night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour:
he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks
himself made in the unchaste composition.

1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we are
ourselves, what things are we !

2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the
common course of all treasons, we still see them re-
veal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred
ends; so he, that in this action contrives against
his own nobility, in his proper stream o'eiflows
himself. ')

1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, ' °) to be
trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not
then have his company to-night?

2 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted
to his hour.

1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly
have him see his company * ■ ) anatomized ; that he
might take a measure of his judgments, wherein so
curiously he had set this counterieit.

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come ;
for his presence must be the whip of the other.

1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these
wars?

2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace.

1 Lord. Nay, I assure you a peace concluded.

2 Lord. What will count llousillon do then ? will
he travel higher, or return again into France?

1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not
altogether of his council.

2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a
great deal of his act.

1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled
from his house : her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint
Jaques le grand ; which holy undertaking, with most
austere sanctimony, she accomplished : and, there re-
siding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey
to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath,
and now she sings in heaven.

2 Lord. How is this justified?

1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own let-
ters ; which makes her story true, even to the point
of her death: her death itself, which could not be
her office to say, is come, was faithfully contirmed
by the rector of the place.

2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ?

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point
from point, to the full arming of the verity.

2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this.

1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us
comforts of our losses ^

2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we
drown our gain in tears! The great dignity, that
his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home
be encountered with a shame as ample.

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled
yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be
proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our
crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by
our virtues. —

Enter a Servant.
How now, where's your master?

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom
he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will next
morning for France. The duke hath offered him
letters of commendations to the king.

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there,
if they were more than they can commend.

Enter Bertram.

1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's
tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my
lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses,
a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success :
I have conge'd with the duke, done my adieu with
his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ
to my lady mother, I am returning; entertained my
convoy ; and, between these main parcels of despatch,
effected many nicer deeds ; the last was the greatest,
but that I have not ended yet.

2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and
this morning your departure hence, it requires haste
of your lordship.

Ber. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing
to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this dia-
logue between the fool and the soldier? Come,

bring forth this counterfeit module; ^^) he has de-
ceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

2 Lord. Bring him forth : [exeunt Soldiers] he has
sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave.

Ber. No matter: his heels have deserved it, in
usurping his spuis so long. ^^) How does he carry
himself?

1 Lord. I have told your lordship already; the
stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would
be understood; he weeps like a wench that had
shed her milk : he hath confessed himself to Morgan,
whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of
his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of his
setting i'the stocks: And what think you he hath
confessed ?

RI.

Act IV.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

227

Ber. Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be
read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I
believe you are, you must have the patience to
hear it.

Re-enter Soldiers, with Parollks.

Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say no-
thing of me ; hush ; hush !

1 Lord. Hoodman comes! — Porto tartarossa.

1 Sold. He calls for the tortures: What will you
say without 'em?

Par. I will confess what I know without constraint;
if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no move.

1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho.

2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco.

1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our ge-
neral bids you answer to what I shall ask you out
of a note.

Par. And truly, as I hope to live.

1 Sold. First demand of him how many hone the
duke is strong. What say you to that?

Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and
unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the
commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation
and credit, and as I hope to live.

1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so?

Par, Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and
which way you will.

Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave
is this!

1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord; this is mon-
sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his
own phrase.) that had the whole theoric'*) of war
in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the
chape of his dagger.

2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep-
ing his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every
thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly.

1 Sold. Well, that's set down.

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will
say true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll
speak truth.

1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this.

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, ^^) in the
nature he delivers it.

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

1 Sold. Well, that's set down.

Par. I humbly thank you, sir; a truth's a truth,
the rogues are marvellous poor.

1 Sold. Demand of him, of what strength they
are a-foot. What say you to that?

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this pre-
sent hour, ^^) I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio
a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many; Corambus
so many, Jacques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodo-
wick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each: mine own
company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred
and fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and
sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thou-
sand poll ; half of which dare not shake the snow
from off their cassocks, ^ ') lest they shake themselves
to pieces.

Ber. What shall be done to him?

1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De-
mand of him my conditions, ^^) and what credit I
have with the duke.

1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand
of him, whether one captain Dumain be i' the
camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with
the duke, what his valour, honesty, and expert-
ness in wars; or whether he thinks, it were not
possible^ with well-weighing sum* of gold, to cor-

KI

rupt him to a revolt. What say you to this? what
do you know of it?

Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particu-
lar of the intergatories : ^^) Demand them singly.

1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain?

Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in
Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the
sheriff's fool with child: a dumb innocent, that
could not say him, nay.

[Dumain liftt up his hand in anger.

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though
I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that
falls. ^")

1 Sold. Well, is this captfdn in the duke of Flo-
rence's camp?

Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear
of your lordship anon.

1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke?

Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor
officer of mine; and writ to me this other day, to
turn him out o'the band: I think, I have his letter
in my pocket.

1 Sold. Marry, we'll search.

Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either it is
there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other
letters, in my tent.

1 Sold. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read it
to you ?

Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no.

Ber. Our interpreter does it well.

1 Lord. Excellently.

1 Sold. Dian. The counts a fool, and full of
gold, —

Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count
Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very
ruttish; I pray you, sir, put it up again.

1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest
in the behalf of the maid : for I knew the young
count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy; who
is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry
it finds.

Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue!

1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold,

and take it;
After he scores, he never pays the score:
Half won, is match well made; match, and well
make it; - ')
He ne'er pays after debts, take it before;
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this.
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it.
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,

Parollks.
Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with
this rhyme in his forehead.

2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the many-
fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier.

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat,
and now he's a cat to me.

1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we
shall be fain to hang you.

Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am
afraid to die; but that my offences being many, I
would repent out the remainder of nature: let me
live, sir, in a dimgeon, i'the stocks, or any where,
so I may live.

1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you con-
fess freely; therefore, once more to this captain Du-

15*

228

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act IV.

main: You have answered to his reputation with

the duke, and to his valour: What is his honesty?

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; - -)

for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He

professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them,

he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with

such volubility, that you would think truth were a

fool : drunkenness is his best virtue : for he will be

swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm,

save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know

his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but

little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he has every

thing that an honest man should not have; what an

honest man should have, he has nothing.

1 Lord. I begin to love him for this.

Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A pox

upon him for me, he is more and more a cat.

1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war?

Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the

English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, —

and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in

that country, he had the honour to be the officer

at a place thei'e call'd Mile-end, to instruct for the

doubling of files: I would do the man what honour

I can, but of this I am not certain.

1 Lord. He hath out-villained villainy so far, that
the rarity redeems him.
Ber. A pox on him! he's a cat still.
1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I
need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt*
Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu ^^) he will sell the
fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and
cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
succession for it perpetually.

1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Du-
main?

2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me? ^'*)
1 Sold. What's he?

Par. E'en a crow of the same nest : not altogether
so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great
deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward,
yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is:
In a retreat he out-runs any lackey: marry, in coming
on he has the cramp.

1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake
to betray the Florentine?

Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou-
sillon.

1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know
his pleasure.

Par. I'll no more drumming: a plague of all
drums ! Only to seem to deserve vs ell, and to be-
guile the supposition -^) of that lascivious young
boy the count, have I run into this danger: Yet,
who would have suspected an ambush where I was
taken? [Jside.

1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must
die: the general says, you, that have so traitor-
ously discovered the secrets of your army, and
made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly
held, can serve the world for no honest use; there-
fore you must die. Come, headsmen, off with his
head.

Par. O Lord, sir: let me live, or let me see my
death !

1 Sold. That shall you, and' take your leave of
all your friends. [Unmufjling him.
So, look about you; Know you any here?

Ber. Good morrow, noble captain.

2 Lord. God bless you, captain ParoUes.

1 Lord. God save you, noble captain.

2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my
lord Lal'eu? 1 am for France.

1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy
of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the
count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'd
compel it of you; but fare you well.

[Exeunt Bertram, Lords, &.c.

1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your scarf,
that has a knot on't yet.

Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

1 Sold. If you could find out a country where but
women were that had received so much shame, you
might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir;
I am for France too; we shall speak of you there.

[Exit.

Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
'Twould burst at this: Captain, I'll be no more;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
As captain shall, simply the thing I am
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass.
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live )
Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! |
There's place, and means, for every man alive, j
I'll after them. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Florence. A Room in the Widow'* Route.

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.

Hel. That you may well perceive I have not
wrong'd you,
One of the greatest in the Christian world
Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful,
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
Time was, I did him a desired office.
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth.
And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd.
His grace is at Marseilles; to which place
We have convenient convoy. You must know,
I am supposed dead: the army breaking.
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
And by the leave of my good lord the king,
We'll be, before our welcome.

Wid. Gentle madam.

You never had a servant, to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.

Hel. Nor you, mistress,

Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
To recompence your love; doubt not, but heaven
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower.
As it hath fated her to be my motive-')
And helper to a husband. But O strange men!
That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
When saucy -'') trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play
With what it loaths, for that which is away:

But more of this hereafter: You, Diana,

Under my poor instnictions yet must suffer
Sometliing in my behalf.

Dia. Let death and honesty - ^)

Go with your impositions, -') I am yours
Upon your will to suffer.

Hel. Yet, I pray you,

But with the word, the time will bring on summer,
When briars shall have leaves as well as thox'ns.
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ;
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us: ^°)
AlVs well that ends well: ^') still the fine's the

crown; ^-)
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

[Exeunt.

XI.

Act V.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

229

SCENE V.

Rousillon. A Room in the Countess'* Palace.

Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.

Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-
taffata fellow there; whose villainous saffron ^^)
would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth
of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had
been alive at this hour; and your son here at home,
more advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed
humble-bee I speak of.

Count. I would, I had not known him! it was the
death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever
nature had praise for creating : if she had partaken
of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mo-
ther, I could not have owed her a more rooted love.

Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we
may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such
another herb.

Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-majorum of the
salad, •r, rather the herb of grace.

Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they
are nose-herbs.

Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have
not much skill in grass.

Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave
or a fool?

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave
at a man's.

Laf. Your distinction?

Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do
his service.

Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed.

Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir,
to do her service.

Laf. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave
and fool.

Clo. At your service.

Laf. No, no, no.

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve
as great a prince as you are,

Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman?

Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name; but his
phisnomy is more hotter in France, than tliere.

Laf. VVhat prince is that?

Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of
darkness; alias, the devil.

Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not
this to suggest ^'') thee from thy master thou talkest
of; serve him still.

Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, ^^) that always
loved a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever
keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of
the world, let his nobility remain in his court. I am
for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to
be too little for pomp to enter: some, that humble
themselves, may; but the many will be too chill and
tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, that
leads to the broad gate, and the great fire.

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee ;
and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall
out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be
well looked to, without any tricks.

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall
be jades' tricks : which are their own right by the
law of nature. [Ej;it.

Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. ^^)

Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made him-
self much sport out of him ; by his authority he re-
mains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauci-
ness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where
he will.

Laf I like him well; 'tis not amiss: and I was
about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady's
death, and that my lord your son was upon his re-
turn home, I moved the king my master, to speak
in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority
of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious
remembrance, did first propose : his highness hath
promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displeasure
he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter
matter. How does your ladyship like it?

Count. With very much content, my lord, and I
wish it happily effected.

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of
as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will
be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that
in such intelligence hath seldom failed.

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him
ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here
to-night: I shall beseech your lordship, to remain
with me till they meet together.

Laf. Madam, 1 was thinking, with what manners
I might safely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honourable pri-
vilege.

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter;
but, I thank my God, it holds yet.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a
patch of velvet on's face; whether there be a scar
under it, or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly
patch of velvet; his left cheek is a cheek of two
pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good
livery of honour; so, belike, is that.

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed^^) face.

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long
to talk with the young noble soldier.

Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate
fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow
the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Marseilles. A Street.

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, icith two

Attendants.

Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night.
Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it;
But, since you have made the days and nights as one,
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs.
Be bold, you do so grow in my requital.
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;

Enter a gentle Astringer. ^)
This man may help me to his majesty's ear.
If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir.

Gent. And you.

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

Ge7it. I have been sometimes there.

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
From the report that goes upon your goodness;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions.
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.

Gent. W^hat's your will?

Hel. That it will please you
To give this poor petition to the king;
And aid me with that store of power you have.
To come into his presence.

an.

230

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act V.

Gent. The king's not here.

Hel. Not here, sir?

Gent. Not, indeed:

He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains!

Hel. All's well that ends well; yet;
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. —
I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
Whither I am going.

Hel. I do beseech you, sir,

Since you are like to see the king before me.
Commend the paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame.
But rather make you thank your pains for it:
I will come after you, with what good speed
Our means will make us means. ^)

Gent. This I'll do for you.

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
Whate'er falls more. — We must to horse again ; —
Go, go, provide. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rousillon. The inner Court of the Countess's
Palace.

Enter Clown and Parolles.

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, ^) give my lord La-
feu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better
known to you, when I have held familiarity with
fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in for-
tune's moat, '*) and smell somewhat strong of her
strong displeasure.

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if
it smell so strong as thou speakest of : I will hence-
forth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee,
allow the wind. *)

Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir ; I spake
but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will
stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor.
Pr'ythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from
fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look,
here he comes himself.

Enter Lafbu.
Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the
unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says,
is muddied withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as
you may; for he looks like a poor decayed, inge-
nious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress
in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your
lordship. [Exit Clown.

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath
cruelly scratched.

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis
too late to pare her nails now. Where have you
played the knave with fortune, that she should
scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and
would not have knaves thrive long under her?
There's a quart d'ecu for you: Let the justices
make you and fortune friends; I am for other
business.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single
word.

Liaf. You beg a single penny more, come, you
shall ha't; save your word. '')

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than one word then. — Cox'
my passion ! give me your hand : — How does your
drum?

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that
found me.

Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that
lost thee.

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some
grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon
me at once both the office of God and the devil?
one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee
out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know
by his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me;
I had talk of you last night, though you are a fool
and a knave, you shall eat; ') go to, follow.

Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. A Room in the Covntess^ s Palace.

Flourish. Enter Ki^g, Countess, Lafeu, Lords,
Gentlemen, Guards, ^c.

King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem ^)
Was made much poorer by it: but your son.
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home. ')

Count. 'Tis past, my liege;

And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.

King. My honour'd lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all;
Though my revenges were high bent upon him.
And watch'd the time to shoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord

Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady.

Offence of mighty note; but to himself

The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife.

Whose beauty did astonish the survey

Of richest eyes; *") whose words all ears took

captive;
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve.
Humbly call'd mistress.

King. Praising what is lost.

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him

hither;

We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill

All repetition: — *') Let him not ask our pardon;

The nature of his great offence is dead.

And deeper than oblivion do we bury

The incensing relics of it: let him approach,

A stranger, no offender; and inform him,

So 'tis our will he should.

Gent. I shall, my liege.

[Exit Gentleman.

King. What says he to your daughter? have you
spoke ?

Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness.

King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters
sent me.
That set him high in fame.

Enter Bertram.

Laf. He looks well on't.

King. I am not a day of season, '-)
For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail
In me at once: But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth.
The time is fair again.

BI.

Act V.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

231

Ber. My high-repented blames, ' ^)

Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

King. All is whole;

Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let's take the instant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them: You remember
The daughter of this lord?

Ber. Admiringly, my liege; at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue:
Where the Impression of mine eye infixing.
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me.
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n;
Extended or contracted all proportions.
To a most hideous object: Thence it came,
That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

King. Well excus'd;

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt: But love that comes too late.
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried.
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone: our rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have.
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves mijust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust:
Our own love waking cries to see what's done.
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven,
bless !
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature cease !

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
Must be digested, give a favour from you.
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter.
That she may quickly come. — By my old beard.
And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead.
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this.
The last that e'er I took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.

Ber. Hers it was not.

King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye,
W hile I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. —
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I w ould relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her
Of what should stead her most?

Ber. My gracious sovereign,

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so.
The ring was never hers.

Count. Son, on my life,

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
At her life's rate.

Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, ^^)
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood ingaged: »5) but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd.
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.

King. Plutus himself.

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, '*)
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,
Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself.
Confess 'twas hers, ' ') and by what rough enforcement
Yon got it from her : she call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger.
Unless she gave It to yourself in bed,
(Where you have never come,) or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.

Ber. She never saw it.

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine ho-
nour:
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me.
Which I would fain shut out: If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so ; —
And yet I know not : — thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe.
More than to see this ring. — Take him away. —

[Guards seize Bektkam.
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall.
Shall tax my fears of little vanity.
Having vainly fear'd too little. — ' *) Away with

him; —
We'll sift this matter further.

Ber. If you shall prove

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was. [Exit Bertram, guarded.

Enter a Gentleman.

King. I am wrapped in dismal thinkings.

Gent. Gracious sovereign.

Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not;
Here's a petition from a Florentine,
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short ")
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
Is here attending: her business looks in her
With an important visage; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.

King. [Reads.] Upon hi» many protegtations to
marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to
say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon
a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my
honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence,
taking no leave, and I follow him to his country
for justice: Grant it me, O king, in you it best
lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor
maid is undone. Diana Capulbt.

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and
toll him: -°) for this, I'll none of him.

King. The heavens have thought well on thee,
Lafeu,
To bring forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors : —
Go, speedily, and bring again the count.

\Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants.
I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatchM.

Count. Now, JTietice on the doers!

Enter Bkrtram, guarded.
King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to

you*
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship.
Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that?

232

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Act V.

Re-enter Gentleman, mth Widow, and Diana.

Dia. I a in, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capulet;
My suit, as I do understand, you know.
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring.
And both shall cease, -') without your remedy.

King. Come hither, count; Do you know these
women ?

Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny
But that I know them: Do they charge me further?

Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.

Dia. If you shall marry.

You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For 1 by vow am so embodied yours.
That she, which marries you, must marry me,
Either both or none.

Laf. Your reputation [to Bertram] comes too short
for my daughter, you are no husband for her.

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with : let your highness
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour.
Than for to think that I would sink it here.

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to
friend.
Till your deeds gain them : Fairer prove your honour.
Than in my thought it lies!

Dia. Good my lord,

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.

King. What say'st thou to her?

Ber, She's impudent, my lord,

And was a common gamester to the camp.

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price :
Do not believe him: O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect, and rich validity, --)
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o'the camp.
If I be one.

Count. He blushes, and 'tis it:

Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue.
Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife:
That ring's a thousand proofs.

King. Methought, you said, ^^)

You saw one here in court could witness it.

Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.

Laf. I saw the man to day, if man he be.

King. Find him, and bring him hither.

Ber. What of him?

He's quoted ^^) for a most perfidious slave.
With all the spots o'the world tax'd and debosh'd!
Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth: ^^)
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing?

King. She hath that ring of yours.

Ber. I think, she has: certain it is, I lik'd her.
And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,

Madding my eagerness with her restraint,

As all impediments in fancy's course ^^)

Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,

Her insuit coming with her modern grace,

Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring;

And I had that, which any inferior might

At market-price have bought.

Dia. I must be patient;

You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife,
May justly diet me. -') I pray you yet,
(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,)
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
And give me mine again.

Ber. I have it not.

King. What ring was yours, I pray you?

Dia. Sir, much like

The same upon your finger.

King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.

King. The story then goes false, you threw it him
Out of a casement.

Dia. I have spoke the truth.

Enter Parolt,es.

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts

you.

Is this the man you speak of?

Dia. Ay, my lord.

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
(Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,)
By him, and by this woman here, what know you ?

Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been
an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him,
which gentlemen have.

King. Come, come to the purpose: Did he love
this wonmn?

Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how?

King. How, I pray you?

Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves
a woman.

King. How IS that?

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

King. As thou art a knave, and no knave: —
What an equivocal companion -^) is this?

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's
command.

Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty
orator.

Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage?

Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak.

King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st?

Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go be-
tween them, as I said ; but more than that, he loved
her — for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked
of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know
not what: yet I was in that credit with them at
that time, that I knew of their going to bed; and
of other motions, as promising her marriage, and
things that would derive me ill-will to speak of^
therefore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thoH
canst say they are married : But thou art too fiaie ^ ')
in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. —
This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia. Ay, my good loi'd.

King. Whex'e did you buy it? or who gave it you?

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

King. Who lent it you?

Dia. It was not lent me neither.

King. Where did you find it then?

Dia. I found it not.

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways.
How could you give it him?

Dia. I never gave it him.

Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she
goes off and on at pleasure.

King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.

Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know.

KI.

Act V.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

233

King. Take her away, I do not like her nowj
To prison with her : and away with him. —
Unless thou tell'st ine where thou had'st this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.

Dia. I'll never tell you.

King. Take her away.

Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege.

King. I think thee now some common customer. ^ ")

Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.

King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd hiin all this
w hile ?

Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty;
He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't:
I'll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
1 am either maid, or else this old man's wife.

[Pointing to Lafed.

King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her.

Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal sir;

[Exit Widow.
The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for.
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
\Vho hath abus'd me, as he knows himself.
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd; ")
And at that time he got his wife with child :
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick;
And now behold the meaning.

Re-enter Widow, with Helena.

King. Is there no exorcist

Beguiles the truer office of uune eyes ?
Is't real, that I see ?

Hel. No, my good lord:

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see.
The name and not the thing.

,3)

Ber. Both, both: O, pardon!

Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring.
And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says.
When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by me with child, &c. — This is done :
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you! —
O, my dear mother, do I see you living ?

Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon;
— Good Tom Drum, [to Parolles] lend me a hand-
kerchief: So, I thank thee; wait on me home, I'll
make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone,
they are scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow: —
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [To Diana.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
For I can guess, that by thy honest aid.
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. —
Of that, and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
All yet seems well; and, if it end so meet.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. '

[Flouri$h.

(^Advancing.')

The king's a beggar, now the play it done:
All is well ended, if this suit be won.
That yon express content; which we will pay,
With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; ^^)
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

[Exeunt.

m

XII.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

A Lord.

Christopher Sly, a drunken Tinker, j Persons
Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and \ in the In-
other Servants attending on the Lord, j duction.
Baptista, a rich Gentleman of Padua.
ViNCENTio, an old Gentleman of Pisa.
LrcENTio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca.
Pbtruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to
Katharina.

HORTENSIO,^*"*'^^*'''^^^"^-^

Bio^^mLo,} ^''''""'*' '" Lucentlo.
Grumio, I s^^^^jffg f^ Petruchio.

i^URTIS, )

Pedant, an old Fellow set up to personate Vin-
centio.
Katharina, the Shrew : I r» ? ^ * t> x- ^
Bianca, her Sister, \ Daughters to Baptista.

Widow.

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on
Baptista and Petruchio.

Scene — sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio'* House in the Country.

INDUCTION.

SCENE I.

Before an Alehouse on a Heath.

Enter Hostess and Sly.

Sly.
I'lt. pheese you, ') in faith.

Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues: -)
Look in the chxonicles, we came in with Richard
Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; ^) let the
world slide: Sessa!

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have
burst V *)

Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, says Jeronimy; —
Go to thy cold bed and warm thee. *)

Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the
thirdborough. '')

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer
him by law; I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him
come, and kindly.

\Liea down on the ground, and falls asleep.

Wind Horns. Enter a 1, or i from hunting, with
Huntsmen and Servants.

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my
hounds :
Brach Merriman, — the poor cur is emboss'd, ')
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault?
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
He cried upon it at the merest loss.
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem hiin worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all;
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

dead, or drunk? See,

1 Hun. I will, my lord.
Lord. What's here? one

doth he breathe?

2 Hun. He breathes, my lord: Were he not warm'd

with ale.
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies !
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed.
And brave attendants near him when he wakes.
Would not the beggar then forget himself?

1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he

wak'd.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy.
Then take him up, and manage well the jest. —
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber.
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures :
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me music ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight.
And, with a low submissive reverence.
Say, — What is it your honour will command?
Let one attend him with a silver bason.
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper.
And say, — Will't please your lordship cool your hands ?
Some one be ready with a costly suit.
And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease:
Persuade him, that he hath been lunatic;
And, when he says he is — , say, that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do, and do it kindly, *) gentle sirs:
It will be psistiine passing excellent.
If it be husbanded with modesty. ')

Hn.

IXDUCT.

TAMING OF THE SHREW

235

1 Hunt. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, [
As he shall think, by our true diligence, ,

He is no less than what we say he is. •

Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him; j
And each one to his office when he wakes. — j

[Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. '
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: —

[Exit Servant.
Belike, some noble gentleman: that means.
Travelling some journey, to repose hiin here. —

Re-enter a Servant.
How now? who is it?

Serv. An it please your honour.

Players that offer service to your lordship.

Lord. Bid them come near: —

Enter Players.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.

1 Play. We thank your honour.

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. ' ")
Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I remember.

Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son; —

Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:
I have forgot your name; but sure, that part
Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd.

1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means.

Lord. 'Tis very true; — thou did'st it excellent. —
Well, you are come to me in happy time;
The rather for I have some sport in hand.
Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
But I am doubtful of your modesties:
Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behaviour,
(For yet his honour never heard a play,)
You break into some merry passion.
And so oifend him; for I tell you, sirs.
If you should smile, he grows impatient.

1 Play. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain ourselves,
Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, *•)
And give them friendly welcome every one :
Let them want nothing that my house affords. —

[Exeunt Servant and Players.
Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page,

[To a Servant.
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber.
And call him — madam, do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,)
He bear himself with honourable action.
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
Such duty to the drunkard let him do.
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy;
And say, — What is't your honour will command.
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife.
May show her duty, and make known her love?
And then — with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosom, —
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd
To see her noble lord restor'd to health.
Who, for twice seven '^} years, hath esteem'd him
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift,
To rain a shower of commanded tears.
An onion ^^) will do well for such a shift;
Which in a napkin being close convey'd,
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst;

Anon I'll give thee more instructions.

\Exit Servant.

I know, the boy will well usurp the grace,

V'oice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman:

I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband;

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter,

When they do homage to this simple peasant.

I'll in to counsel them; haply, my presence.

May well abate the over-merry spleen.

Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [Exeunt.

SCENE n.

A Bedchamber in the Lord's House.

Sly is discovered in a rich night-gown, with At-
tendants; some with apparel, others with bason,
ewer, and other appurtenances. Knter Lord,
dressed like a Servant.

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup

of sack?

2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these

conserves ?

3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day ?
Sly. 1 am Christophero Sly ; call not me — honour,

nor lordship: I never drank sack in my life; and
if you give me any conserves, give me conserves
of beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear: for
I have no more doublets than backs, no more stock-
ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay,
sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as
my toes look through the overleather.

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour !
O, that a mighty man, of such descent.
Of such possessions, and so high esteem.
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I
Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; **)
by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by
transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present pro-
fession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-
wife of Wincot, if she know me not : if she say I
am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale,
score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom.
What, I am not bestraught: *^) Here's

1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.

2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop.
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your

house.
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth;
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment.
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams;
Look how thy servants do attend on thee.
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays. [Mutic.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch.
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say, thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:
Or vdlt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd.
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them.
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are

as swift
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch

thee straight
Adonis, painted by a running brook:
And Cytherea ail in sedges hid;

Kn.

236

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act I.

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was, a maid;
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd.
As lively painted as the deed was done.

2 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood;
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds:
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age.

1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed

for thee,
Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face.
She was the fairest creature in the world;
And yet she is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?
I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things: —
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed;
And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. —
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And onc^ again, a pot o'the smallest ale.

2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your

hands ?

[Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin.
O, how we joy to see your wit restoi-'d!
O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.

Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?

1 Serv. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words: —
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber.
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hostess of the house;
And say, you would present her at the leet, "')
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts:
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such

maid;
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, —
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell;
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for ray good amends!

All. Amen.

Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Enter the Page, a» a Lady, with Attendants.

Page. How fares my noble lord?

Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife?

Page. Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her?

Sly. Are you my Avife, and will not call me —
husband;
My men should call me — lord; I am your goodman.

Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and
husband ;
I am your wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well : — What must I call her?

Lord. Madam.

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing else ; so lords call ladies.

Sly, Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd,
and slept
Above some fifteen year and more.

Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me;
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much; Servants, leave me and her

alone. "^

Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.

Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you.
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not so, until the sun be set:
For your physicians have expressly charg'd.
In peril to incur your former malady.
That I should yet absent mp from your bed:
I hope, this reason stands for my excuse.

Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so
long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams
again; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh
and the blood.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment.
Are come to play a pleasant comedy.
For so your doctors hold it very meet;
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy ;
Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play,
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment.
Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life.

Sly. Marry, I will; let them play it: Is not a com-
monly a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-trick ? •'')

Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.

Sly. What, household stuff?

Page. It is a kind of history.

Sly. Well, we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit by
my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be
younger. [They sit down.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Padua. A public Place.
Enter Lucentio and Tranio.

Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, —
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy ;
And by my father's love and leave, am arm'd
With his good will, and thy good company,
Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all;
Here let us breathe, and happily institute
A course of learning, and ingenious ') studies.
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens.
Gave me my being, and my father first,
A merchant of great traffic through the world,
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii.
Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence,
It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, ^)
To deck his foitune with his virtuous deeds:
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
Virtue, and that part of philosophy
Will I apply, that treats of happiness
By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd.
Tell me thy mind: for I have Pisa left.
And am to Padua come ; as he that leaves
A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep,
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.

Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine,
I am in all affected as yourself;
Glad that you thus continue your resolve.
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral discipline.
Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray;
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, ^)
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd:

»II.

Act I.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

237

Talk logic with acquaintance that you have.

And practice rhetoric in your common talk;

Music and poesy use to quicken you, **)

The mathematics, and the metaphysics.

Fall to them, as you find your stomach series you :

No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en; —

In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou adnise.
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,
We could at once put us in readiness;
And take a lodging, fit to entertain
Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget.
But stay awhile: What company is this?

Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town.

Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Grkmio, and

HoRTKNsio. LucENTio oud Tranio Stand aside.

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further,
For how I firmly am resolv'd you know;
That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter,
Before I have a husband for the elder:
If either of you both love Katharina,
Because I know you well, and love you well,
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.

Gre. To cart her rather: She's too rough for me: —
There, there Hortensio, will you any wife?

Kath. I pray you, sir, [to Bap.] is it your will
To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

Hor. Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates
for you.
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;
1 wis, it is not half way to her heart:
But, if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool.
And paint your face, and use you like a fool.

Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us !

Kath. And me too, good Lord!

Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime to-
ward :
J'hat wench is stark mad, or wonderful forward.

Luc. But in the other's silence I do see
Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
Peace, Tranio.

Tra. W^ell said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.

Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
What I have said, — Bianca, get you in :
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca;
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.

Kath. A pretty peat! ^) 'tis best
Put finger in the eye, — au she knew why.

Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. —
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:
^ly books, and instruments, shall be my company;
Oil them to look, and practise by myself.

Luc. Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva
speak. [Aside.

Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? *)
Sorry am I, that our good will effects
Bianca's grief.

Gre. ^^ hy? will yoQ raew her up,

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell.
And make her bear the penance of her tongue?

Bap. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd: —
Go in, Bianca. [Exit Bianca.

And for I know, she taketh most delight
In music, instruments, and poetry,
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house.
Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio,
Or signior Gremio, you, — know any such,

Prefer them hither; for to cunning men ')

I will be very kind, and liberal

To mine own children in good bringing up;

And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay;

For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Exit.

Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too; May I not?
What, shall 1 be appointed hours; as though, belike,
I knew not what to take, and what to leave? Ha!

[Exit.

Gre. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts *)
are so good, here is none will hold you. Their
love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow
our nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake's
dough on both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the
love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means
light on a fit man, to teach her that wherein she
delights, I will wish him to her father. ')

Hor. So will J, signior Gremio: But a word, I
pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never
brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, ' °) it toucheth
us both, — that we may yet again have access to
our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's
love, — to labour and effect one thing 'specially.

Gre. What's that, I pray?

Hor. INlarry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.

Crre. A husband! a devil.

Hor. I say, a husband.

Gre. I say, a devil: Think'st thou, Hortensio,
though her father be very rich, any man is so very
a fool to be married to hell?

Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience
and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man,
there be good fellows in the world, an a man could
light on them, would take her with all faults, and
money enough.

Gre. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her
dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the
high-cross every morning.

Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in
rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law
makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly
maintained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daugh-
ter to a husband, we set his youngest free for a hus-
band, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca! —
Happy man be his dole! ^^) He that runs fastest,
gets the ring. How say you, signior Gremio?

Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I had given him the
best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that would
thoroughly woo her, Aved her, and bed her, and rid
the house of her. Come on.

[Exeunt Gkemio and Hortensio.

Tra. [Advancing.'l I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold?

Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
I never thought it possible or likely;
But see! while idle I stood looking on,
I found the effect of love in idleness:
And now in plainness do confess to thee, —
That art to me as secret, and as dear,
As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, —
Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,
If I achieve not this young modest girl:
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now :
Affection is not rated *-) from the heart:
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, —
Redime te captum quam queas minimo. ^ ')

Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward: this contents;
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.

Tra. Master, you look'd so longly ■•*) on the maid.
Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.

Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face.
Such as the daughter of Agenor ^^) had,
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand.
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.

XII.

238

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act I.

Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not, how
her sister
Began to scold; and raise up such a storin,
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?

Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,
And with her breath she did pex'fume the air;
Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her.

Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his trance.
I pray, awake, sir; If you love the maid,
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it

stands: —
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd,
That, till the father rid his hands of her.
Master, your love must live a maid at home;
Au'd therefore has he closely mew'd her up.
Because she shall not be annoy'd with suitors.

Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!
But art thou not advis'd, he took some care
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?

Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted.

Luc. I have it, Tranio.

Tra. Master, for my hand,

Both our inventions meet and jump in one.

Luc. Tell me thine first.

Tra. You will be schoolmaster,

And undertake the teaching of the maid:
That's your device.

Luc. It is: May it be done?

Tra. Not possible : For who shall bear your part.
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son?
Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends;
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them?

Luc. Basta;^') content thee; for I have it full. *')
We have not yet been seen in any house;
Nor can we be distinguished by our faces.
For man, or master: then it follows thus; —
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, '
Keep house, and port, "*) and servants, as I should:
I will some other be; some Florentine,
Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. ^')
'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so: — Tranio, at once
Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak:
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.

Tra. So had you need. [They exchange habits.

In brief then, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
And I am tied to be obedient;
(For so your father charg'd me at our parting;
Be ierviceable to my son, quoth he.
Although, I think, 'twas in another sense,)
I am content to be Lucentio,
Because so well I love Lucentio.

Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves:
And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid
Whose sudden sight hath thrail'd my wounded eye.

Enter Biondello.
Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you
been ?

Bion. Where have I been? Nay, how now, where

are you?
Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes?
Or you stol'n his? or both? pray, what's the news?

Luc. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest,
And therefore frame your manners to the time.
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
Puts my apparel and my countenance on.
And I for my escape have put on his;
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore,
I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried.
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes.
While I make way from hence to save ray life:
You understand me?

Bion. I, sir? ne'er a whit.

Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth;
Trnnio is chang'd into Lucentio.
Bion. The better for him; 'Would I were so too!
Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next wish
after, —
That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.
But, sirrah, — not for my sake, but your master's, —

I advise
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of

companies :
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
But in all places else, your master Lucentio.
Luc. Tranio, let's go: —
One thing more rests, that thyself execute;
To make one among these wooers: If thou ask me

why, —
Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. - '•)

[Exeunt.

1 Serv. Mif lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.

Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do L A good matter, surety;
Comes there any more of it ?

Page. My lord, 'tig but begun.

Sly. 'T*s a very excellent piece of work, madam lady;
Would' t were done!

SCENE II.

The same. Before Hortensio's House.

J^nter Pbtruchio and Gruhio.

Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave,
To see «iy friends in Padua; but, of all.
My best beloved and approved friend,
Hortensio; and, I trow, this is his house: —
Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say.

Gru. Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there
any man has rebused your worship?

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.

Gru. Knock you here, sir? why, sir, what am I,
sir, that I should knock you here, sir?

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.

Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome: I should
knock you first.
And then I know after who comes by the worst.

Pet. Will it not be?
'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it ;-' )
I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.

[We wrings Grumio bij the ears.

Gru. Help, masters, help! my master is mad.

Pet. Now, knock when I bid you: sirrah! villain!

Enter Hortensio.

Hor. How now ? what's the matter ? — My old friend
Grumio! and My good friend Petruchiol —
How do you all at Verona?

Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say.

Hor. Alia nostra casa bene venuto,
Molto onorato signor mio Pelruchio.
Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel.

Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges in Latin. — ^ -)
If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service. —
Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, and rap him
soundly, sir: Well, was it fit for a servant to use
his master so ; being, perhaps, (for aught I see,) two
and thirty, — a pip out?

Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first,
Then had not Grumio come by the worst.

Pet. A senseless villain! — Good Hortensio,
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate.
And could not get him for my heart to do it.

KII.

Act L

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

239

Gru. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens !
Spake you not these words plain, — Sirrah, knock

me here,
Kap me here, knock me well, and knock me

toundly? -^)
And come you now with — knocking at the gate?

Fet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.

Hor. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge:
Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and you;
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale
Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona V

Pet. Such wind as scatters young mea through
the world.
To seek their fortunes further than at home.
Where small experience grows. But in a few, **)
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: —
Antonio, my father is deceas'd;
And I have thrust myself into this maze.
Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may:
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,
And so am come abroad to see the world.

Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee.
And wish thee to a shrewd ill favour'd wife?
Thoud'st thank me but a little for my counsel:
And jet I'll promise thee she shall be rich.
And very rich : — but thou'rt too much my friend,
And I'll not wish thee to her.

Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we,
Few words suffice: and, therefore, if thou know
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,
(As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance,) -*)
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, ^^)
As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd
As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse,
She moves me not, or not removes, at least.
Affection's edge in me; were she as rough
As are the swelling Adriatic seas:
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what
his mind is: Why, give him gold enough and marry
hiiu to a puppet, or an aglet-baby; ^") or an old
trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have
as many diseases as two and fifty horses ; why, no-
thing comes amiss, as money comes withal.

Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far in,
I will continue that I broach'd in jest.
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous;
Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman:
Her only fault (and that is faults enough),
Is, — that she is intolerably curst,
Audshrew'd, -^) and froward; so beyond all measure.
That, were my state far worser than it is,
I would not wed her for a mine of gold.

Pet. Hortensio, peace; thou know'st not gold's
effect: —
Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough;
For I will board her, though she chide as loud
As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack.

Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola,
An affable and courteous gentleman:
Her name li Katharina Minola,
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.

Pet. I know her father, though I know not her:
And he knew my deceased father well: —
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;
And therefore, let me be thus bold with you.
To give you over at this first encounter.
Unless you will accompany me thither.

Chru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour
lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I

do, she would think scolding would do little good
upon him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score
knaves, or so : why, that's nothing ; an he begin
once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. -') I'll tell you
what, sir, — an she stand ^**) him but a little, he
will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her
with it, that she shall have no more eyes to see
withal than a cat: ^') You know him not, sir.

Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee;
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is:
He hath the jewel of my life in hold.
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca:
And her withholds from me, and other more
Suitors to her, and rivals in my love:
Supposing it a thing impossible,
(For those defects 1 have before rehears'd,)
That ever Katharina will be woo'd,
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, ^*)
That none shall have access unto Bianca,
Till Katharine the curst have got a husband.

Gru. Katharine the curst!
A title for a maid, of all titles the worst.

Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace;
And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes.
To old Baptista aa a schoolmaster
Well seen in music, ^^) to instruct Bianca:
That so I may by this device, at least.
Have leave and leisure to make love to her.
And, unsuspected, court her by herself.

Enter Gsbmio; with him Ldcbktio disguised, with
books under his arm.

Gru. Here's no knavery! See; to beguile the old
folks, how the young folks lay their heads toge-
ther! Master, master, look about you: Who goes
there? ha!

Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : —
Petruchio, stand by a while.

Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous ! [They retire.

Crre. O, very well; I have perus'd the note.
Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound:
All books of love, see that at any hand; ^■')
And see you read no other lectures to her:
You understand me: — Over and beside
Signior Baptista's liberality,

I'll mend it with a largess : — Take your papers too.
And let me have them very well perfum'd;
For she is sweeter than perfume itself.
To whom they go. What will you read to her?

Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you.
As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,)
As firmly as yourself were still in place:
Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.

Crre. O this learning! what a thing it is!

Gru. O this woodcock! what an ass it is!

Pet. Peace, sirrah.

Hor. Grumio, mum! — God save you, signior
Gremio !

Gre. And you're well met, signior Hortensio. Trow
you.
Whither I am going? — To Baptista Rlinola.
I promis'd to enquire carefully
About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca:
And, by good fortune, I have lighted well
On this young man; for learning, and behaviour.
Fit for her turn; well read in poetry
And other books, — good ones, I warrant you.

Hor. 'Tis well: and I have met a gentleman,
Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
A fine musician to instruct our mistress;
So shall I no whit be behind in duty
To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me.

KU.

240

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act II.

Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds shall prove.

Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Jaide.

Hor. Greftiio, 'tis now no time to vent our love:
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair,
I'll tell you news indiirerent good for either.
Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met,
Upon agreement from us to his liking.
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine;
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.

Gre. So said, so done, is well: —
Horteusio, have you told him all her faults?

Pet. I know, she is an irksome brawling scold;
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.

Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?

Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son:
My father dead, my fortune lives for me;
And I do hope good days, and long, to see.

Gre. O, sir, such a life, Avith such a v\ife, Avere
strange :
But if you have a stomach, to't o'God's name;
You shall have me assisting you in all.
But, will you woo this wild cat?

Pet. Will I live?

Gru. Will he woo her ? ay, or I'll hang her. [Atide.

Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent?
Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds.
Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang ?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue;
That gives not half so great a blow to the ear,
As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire?
Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. ^^)

Gru. For he fears none, [jiaide.

Gre. Hortensio, hark!
This gentleman is happily arriv'd.
My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours.

Hor. I promis'd, we would be contributors,
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.

Gre. And so Ave Avill; provided, that he Avin her.

Gru, I Avould, I \>ere as sure of a good dinner.

^jdside.

Enter Tranio, bravely apparelVd; and Biondello.

Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may be bold.
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?

3'] Gre. He that has the two fair daughters: —
is't [aside to Tranio] he you mean ?

Tra. Even he. Biondello !

Gre. Hark you, sir; You mean not her to

Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir; What have you
to do?

Pet. Not her that chides^ sir, at any hand, I pray.

Tra. I love no chlders, sir: — Biondello, let's aAvay.

Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside.

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go; —
Afe you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no?

Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any olfence?

Gre. No; if, without more words, you will get
you hence.

Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
For me, as for you?

Gre. But so is not she.

Tra. For Avhat reason, I beseech you?

Gre. For this reason, if you'll know,

Timt she's the choice love of signior Gremio.

Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio.

Tra. Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen,

Do me this right, — hear me with patience.
Baptista is a noble gentleman.
To Avhom my father is not all unknown ;
And, were his daughter fairer than she is,
She may more suitors have, and me for one.
BVir Leda's daughter had a thousand Avooers;
Then well one more may fair Bianca have :
And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one.
Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone.

Gre. What! this gentleman aaiII out-talk us all.

Luc. Sir, giye him head ; I knoAv, he'll prove a jade.

Pet. Hortensio, to Avhat end are all these Avords?

Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you.
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?

Tra. No, sir; but hear I do, that he hath two;
The one as famous for a scolding tongue.
As is the other for beauteous modesty.

Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me ; let her go by.

Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules;
And let it be more than Alcides' tAvelve.

Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, insooth; —
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
Her father keeps from all access of suitors;
And will not promise her to any man,
Until the elder sister first be Aved :
The younger then is free, and not before.

Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
Must stead us all, and me among the rest;
An if you break the ice, and do this feat, —
Achieve the elder, set the younger free
For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her,
Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate.

Hor. Sir, you say Avell, and Avell you do conceive;
And since you do profess to be a suitor,
You must, as vse do, gratify this gentleman.
To Avhom Ave all rest generally beholden.

Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof,
Please ye A\'e may contriAe this afternoon, ^^)
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health;
And do as adA'ersaries do in law, — ^^)
StriA'e mightily, but eat and drink as friends.

Gru. Bion. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be-
gone. 3')

Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so; —
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The

game. A Room in Baptista'*
House.

Enter Katharina and Bianca.

Bian. Good sister, Avrong me not, nor Avrong yourself,
To make a bondmaid and a siaAe of me:
That I disdain; but for these other gawds.
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
Or, what you will connuand me, Avill I do,
So Avell I know my duty to my elders.

Katk. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell
Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not.

Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive,
I never yet beheld that special face.
Which I could fancy more than any other.

Kath. Minion, thou liest; Is't not Hortensio?

Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear,
I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him.

Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more:
You Avill have Gremio to keep you fair.

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so?
Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive,
BU.

Act IL

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

241

You have but jested with me all this while:
I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
Kaib. If that be jest, then all the rest was so.

[Strikes ber.

Enter Baptista.

Bap, Why, how now, dame! whence grows this

insolence ?

Bianca stand aside; — poor girl! she weeps: —
Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. —
For shame, thou hilding ') of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd.

\Fliea after BIA^CA.

Bap. What, in my sight? — Bianca, get thee in.

[Exit BiAKCA.

Kath. Will you not sufi'er me? Nay, now I see.
She is your treasure, she must have a husband;
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day.
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. -)
Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep.
Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Kathabina.

Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I?
But who comes here?

Enter Ghbmio, with Ldcbntio in the liabit of a
mean man; Pktruchio, with Hoktensio as a mu-
sician; and Tranio, with Biondbllo bearing
a lute and books.

Ore. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista.

Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio: God save
you, gentlemen!

Fet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a

daughter
Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous?

Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina.

Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly.

Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio; give me
leave. —
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir.
That, — hearing of her beauty, and her wit,
Her affability, and bashful modesty.
Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour, —
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine,

[Presenting Hobtemsio.
Cunning in music, and the mathematics,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant:
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong;
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

Bap. You're welcome, sir; and he for your good
sake:
But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her;
Or else you like not of my company.

Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?

Pet. Petruchio is my name: Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.

Bap. I know him well; you are welcome for his sake.

Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray.
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too:
Baccare! ^) you are marvellous forward.

Pet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio; I would fain
be doing.

Cfre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your
•wooing.

Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure
of it. To express the like kindness myself, that
have been more kindly beholden to you than any,
I freely give unto you this young scholar, [presenting
Ldcbktio] that hath been long studying at Rheims;
as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages,
as the other in music and mathematics: his name is
Cambio; pray accept his service.

Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio : welcome,
good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [to Tkanio] me-
thinks, you walk like a stranger; May I be so bold
to know the cause of your coming?

Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own;
That, being a stranger in this city here.
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter.
Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
In the preferment of the eldest sister:
This liberty is all that I request, —
That upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo.
And free access and favour as the rest.
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow a simple instrument.
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books : *)
If you accept them, then their worth is great.

Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I pray?

Tra. Of Pisa, sir: son to Vincentio.

Bap. A mighty man of Pisa: by report
I know him well : you are very welcome, sir. —
Take you [to Hok.] the lute, and you [to Ldc] the

set of books.
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!

Enter a Servant.
Sirrah, lead
These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them

both
These are their tutors; bid them use them well.

[Exit Servant, with Hoktensio, Lucektio, and

BlONDELLO.

We will go walk a little in the orchard.
And then to dinner; you are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste.
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well; and in him, me.
Left solely heir to all his lemds and goods.
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd:
Then tell me, — If I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands:
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.

Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her widowhood, — be it that she survive me, —
In all my lands and leases whatsoever:
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us.
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd.
This is, — her love; for that is all in all.

Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
Though little fire grows great with little wind.
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:
So I to her, and so she yields to me;
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds.
That shake not, though they blow perpetually.

xn.

16

242

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Acr JJ.

Enter Hortbnsio, with his head broken.

Bap. How now, my friend? why dost thou look
so pale?

Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu-
sician? .

Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier;
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the
lute?

Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her, she mistook her frets, *)
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit.
Frets, call you these ? quoth she : I'll fume with them :
And, with that word, she struck me on the head.
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute;
While she did call me, — rascal fiddler,
And — twangling Jack; ') with twenty such vile

terms.
As she had studied to misuse me so.

Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did:
O, how I long to have some chat with her!

Bap. Well, go with me, and be not discomfited:
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. —
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ;
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

Pet. I pray you do; I will attend her here, —

[JExeunt Bapti8ta,Gremio,Tranio, and HoBTENsio,
And woo her with some spirit when sKe comes.
Say, that she rails; Why, then I'll tell her plain.
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale:
Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks.
As though she bid me stay by her a week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married : —
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter Katharina.

Good-morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.

Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard
of hearing;
They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me.

Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super- dainty Kate,
For dainties are all cates; and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; —
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
(Yet not 80 deeply as to thee belongs,)
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.

Kath. Mov'd! in good time: let him that mov'd
you hither.
Remove you hence: I knew you at the first,
You were a moveable.

Pet. Why, what's a moveable?

Kath. Pl joint-stool. ')

Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you.

Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean.

Pet. Alas, good Kate! I will not burden thee:
For, knowing thee to be but young and light, —

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

Pet. Should be? should buz.

Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take
thee ?

Kath. Ay, for a turtle; as he takes a buzzard.

Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i'faith, you are too
angry.

Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out.

Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear
his sting?
In his tail.

Kath. In his tongue.

Pet. Whose tongue?

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell.

Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail? nay,
come again.
Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

Kath. That I'll try. [Striking him.

Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.

Kath. So may you lose your arms :
If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms.

Pet. A herald. Kale? O, put me in thy books.

Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb?

Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven. ^)

Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look
so sour,

Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.

Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not
sour.

Kath. There is, there is.

Pet. Then show it me.

Kath. Had I a glass, I would.

Pet. What, you mean my face?

Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one.

Pet. Now, by saint George, I am too young for you.

Kath. Yet you are wither'd.

Pet. 'Tis with cares.

Kath. I care not.

Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape
not so.

Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.

Pet. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous;
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will;
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers.
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp?
O slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazle-twig,
Is straight, and slender; and as brown in hue,
As hazle-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove.
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!

Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech?

Pet. It b extempore, from my mother-wit.

Kath. A witty mother! witness else her son.

Pet. Am I not wise?

HH.

Act JI.

tAMIXG OF THE SHREW.

243

Kath. Yes; keep you warm.

Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed:
And therefore, setting all this chat aside.
Thus in plain terms: — Your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
(Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,)
Thou must be married to no man but me :
For I am he, am born to tame you Kate;
And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate ')
Conformable, as other household Kates.
Here comes your father; never make denial,
1 must and will have Katharine to my wife.

Enter Baptists, Grbhio, and Trakio.

Bap. Now,
Sigiuor Petruchio : How speed you with
Mv daughter y

Pet. How but well, sir? how but well?

It were impossible, I should speed amiss.

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your
dumps ?

Kath. Call you me, daughter? now I promise you,
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half lunatic;
A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

Pet. Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her 4
If she be curst, it is for policy ;
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
For patience she will prove a second Grisselj
A Roman Lucrece for her chastity:
And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.

Gre. Hark, Petruchio ! she says, she'll see thee
hang'd first.

Tra. Is this your speeding? 1 nay, then, good night
our part!

Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for myself;
If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone.
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! —
She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss
She vied so fast, ' ") protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me td her love.
O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see, ")
How tame, when men and women are alone,
A meacock wretch * -) can make the curstest shrew. —
Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day: —
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
I will be sure, my Katharine shall be tine.

Bap. 1 know not what to say: but give me your
hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.

Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adien:

I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace:

We will have rings, and things, and line array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday.
[Exennt Pstbuchio and KATHABI^B, teverally.

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?

Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.

Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in the match.

Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter; —
Now is the day we long have looked for;
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.

Gre. Youngling! thou canst not love so dear as I.

Tra. Grey-beard! thy love doth freeze.

Gre. But thine doth fry.

Skipper, stand back; 'tis age, that nourisheth.

Tra. But youth, in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

Bap. Content you, gentlemen; I'll compound this
strife :
'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he, of both.
That can assure my daughter greatest dower.
Shall have Bianca's love. —
Say, signior Gremio, what can ^ou assure her?

Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold ;
Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands:
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry:
In ivory coffers I have stufTd my crowns;
In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints, ' ^)
Costly apparel, tents and canopies.
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl.
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work.
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
To house, or house-keeping: then, at my farm
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls.
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must confess;
And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers :
If. whilst I live, she will be only mine.

Tra. That, only, came well in Sir, list to me,

I am my father's heir, and only son:

If I may have your daughter to my wife,

I'll leave her houses three or four as good.

Within rich Pisa's walls, as any one

Old signior Gremio has in Padua;

Besides two thousand ducats by the year.

Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. —

What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio?

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land!
My land amounts not to so much in all:
That she shall have; besides an argosy.
That now is Ijing in INIarseilles' road : —
What, have I chok'd you with an argosy?

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less
Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses, '*)
And twelve tight gallies: these I will assure her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next,

Chre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more;
And she can have no more than all I have; —
If you like me, she shall have me and mine.

Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world.
By your firm promise; Gremio is out- vied. '*)

Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best;
And, let your father make her the assurance.
She is your own; else, you must pardon me:
If you should die before him, where's her dower?

TVa. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young.

Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old?
Bap. Well, gentlemen,

I am thus resolv'd : — On Sunday next you know,
My daughter Katharine is to be married:
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride of you, if you make this assurance;
If not, to signior Gremio:
And 80 I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit.

Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. — Now I fear thee not;
Sirrah, young gamester, * *) your father were a fool

244

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act in.

To give thee all, and, in his waning age,

Set foot under thy table: Tut! a toy!

An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit.

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. *')
'Tis in my head to do my master good: —
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio
Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio;
And that's a wonder; fathers, commonly.
Do get their children; but in this case of wooing,
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.

[Exit.

ACT m.

SCENE I. A Room in Baptista's House.
Enter Lucbntio, Hortgnsio, and Bianca.

Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal?

Hor. But,, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony:
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in music we have spent an hour.
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far
To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
Was it not, to refresh the mind of man,
After his studies, or his usual painV
Then give me leave to read philosophy,
And, while 1 pause, serve in your harmony.

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong.
To strive for that which resteth in my choice:
I am no breeching scholar ') in the schools;
I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times,
But learn my lessons as I please myself.
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down: —
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles;
His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd.

Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
[To Bianca. — Hortensio retires.

Luc. That will be never ; — tune your instrument.

Bian. Where left we last?

Luc. Here, madam :

Hac ibat Simois; hie est Sigeia tellus;
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis.

Bian. Construe them.

Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, — Simois,
I am Lucentio, — hie est, sou unto Vincentio of
Pisa, — Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your
love; — Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes
a wooing, — Priami, Is my man Tranio, — regia,
bearing my port, — celsa senis, that we might be-
guile the old pantaloon. ^)

Hor. Madam, my Instrument's in tune. [RetumiTig.

Bian. Let's hear; — [Hortensio plays.

O fye! the treble jars.

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe It: Hac
ibat Simois, I know you not: — hie est Sigeia
tellus, I trust you not; — Hie steterat Priami,
take heed he hear us not; — r«^»a, presume not: —
celsa senis, despair not.

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc. All but the base.

Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Pedascule, ^) I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, ^acldes
Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather.

Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt.
But let it rest. — Noav, LIcio, to you: —
Good masters, take It not unkindly, pray.
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

Hor. You may go walk, [to Lucektio] and give me

leave awhile;
My lessons make no music In three parts.

Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, 1 must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be decelv'd, •*)
Our fine musician groweth amorous. [A^ide.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual.
Than hath been taught by any of my trade:
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

Bian. [Reads^ Gamut /am, the ground of all accord,
A re, to plead Hortensio's passion ;
B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C faut, that loves with all affection :
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I;
E la mi, show pity, or I die.
Call you this — gamut? tut! I like it not:
Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,
To change true rules for odd inventions.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your
books,
And help to dress your sister's chamber up;
You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day.
Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be
gone. [Exeunt Biakca and Servant.

Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to
stay. [Exit.

Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
Methlnks he looks as though he were In love: —
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble.
To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale.
Seize thee, that list: If once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The same. Before Baptista's House.

Enter Baptista, Grkmio, Tranio, Katharina,
Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants.

Bap. SIgnlor Lucentio, [toTBAKio] this Is the 'pointed
day
That Katharine and Petnichio should be married,
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law:
What will be said? what mockery will it be,
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart.
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen; *)
Who woo'd In haste, and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool.
Hiding his bitter jests In blunt behaviour:
And, to be noted for a merry man.
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage.
Make friends. Invite, yes, ') and proclaim the baiuis;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.

Kn.

Act hi.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

245

Now must the world point at poor Katharine,
And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchio's teifey
If it tcould plea$e him come and marry her.

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well.
Whatever fortune stays him from his word:
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though!
[Exit, weeping, followed by Bi.4>'C.4, and others.

Bap. Gro, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;
For such an injury would vex a saint, ')
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

Enter Biondbllo.

Bion. Master, master! news, old news, and such
news as you never heard of!

Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be?

Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's
coming?

Bap. Is he come?

Bion. W^hy, no, sir.

Bap. What then?

Bion. He is coming.

Bap. When will he be here?

Bion. When he stands w here I am, and sees you there.

Tra. But, say, what: — To thine old news.

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat,
and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice
turned ; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases,
one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en
out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, and
chapeless; with two broken points: ^) His horse
hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrnps of
no kindred : besides, possessed with the glanders,
and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the
lampass, infected with the fashions, ') full of wind-
galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows,
past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the stag-
gers, begnawn with the *bots ; swayed in the back,
and shoulder-shotten; ne'er-legged before, '") and
with a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's
leather; which, being restrained to keep him from
stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired
with knots: one girt six times pieced, and a woman's
crupper of velure, ' ') which hath two letters for
her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and
there pieced with pack-thread.

Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capa-
risoned like the horse; with a linen stock'-) on one
leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered
with a red and blue list; an old hat, and The hu-
mour of forty fancies pricked in't for a feather: '^)
a monster, a very monster in apparel ; and not like
a christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey.

Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this

fashion

Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.

Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes.

Hion. Why, sir, he comes not.

Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes? ,

Bion. Who? that Petruchio came?

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.

BioH. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him
(Ml his back.

Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy, I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many.

Enter Pktruchio and Gruhio.
Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at home?
Bap. You are welcome, sir.

Pet. And yet I come not well.

Bap. And yet you halt not.

Tra. Not so well apparell'd

As I wish you were.

Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? where is ray lovely bride? —
How does my father? — Gentles, methinks you frown:
And wherefore gaze this goodly company;
As if they saw some wondrous monument.
Some comet, or unusual prodigy?

Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding-day:
First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fye! doff this habit, shame to your estate.
An eye-sore to our solemn festival.

Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife.
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear:
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word.
Though in some part enforced to digress; '*)
Which at more leisure, I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But, where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.

Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.

Pet. Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her.

Bap. But thus, I trust, yon will not marry her.

Pet. Good sooth, even thus: therefore have done
with words;
To me she's married, not unto my clothes:
Could I repair what she will wear in me.
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself.
But what a fool am I, to chat with you.
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride.
And seal the title with a lovely kiss?

[Exeunt Petruchio, Gruxio, and Biondei.i.0.

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire:
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.

Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. [Exit.

Tra. But, sir, to her love concemeth us to add
Her father's liking: Which to bring to pass.
As I before imparted to your worship,
I am to get a man, — whate'er he be,
It skills not much; we'll fit hijn to our turn, —
And he shall be V'incentio of Pisa;
And make assurance, here in Padua,
Of greater sums than I have promised.
So shall you quietly enjOy your hope.
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.

Liuc. Were it not that my fellow schoohnaster
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform'd, let all the world say — no,
I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world.

Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into.
And watch our 'vantage in this business:
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
The narrow-prying father, Minola:,
The quaint musician, amorous Licio^"—
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. —

Enter Grbmio.
Signior Gremio! came you from the church?

Gre. As >villingly as e'er I came from school.

3Va. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?"

Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom, indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

KQ.

246

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act IV.

Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.

Gre. Tut! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him.
I'll tell you, sir Lucentio ; When the priest
Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife,
^y, hy gogs-tvouns, quoth he; and swore so loud
'I'liat, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book:
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up,
The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff,
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest;
Now take them up, quoth he, if any list.

Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again?

Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd
and swore.
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. -
But after many ceremonies done.
He calls for wine; — A health, quoth he; as If
He had been abroad, carousing to his mates
After a storm: — Quatf'd off the muscadel, ^^)
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face:
Having no other reason, —
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly.
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck;
And kiss'd her lips ^ <*) with such a clamorous smack.
That, at the parting, all the church did echo.
"): I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;
And after me, I know, the rout is coming:
Such a mad marriage never was before;
Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music

Enter Pbtruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista,
HoRTKNsio, Grumio, and Train.

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your
pains :
I know, you think to dine with me to-day.
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer;
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence.
And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night V

Fet. I must away to-day, before night come: —
Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,
You would entreat me rather go than stay.
And, honest company, I thank you all.
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife:
Dine with my father, drink a health to me;
For I must hence, and farewell to you all.

Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.

Pet. It may not be.

Gre. Let me entreat you.

Pet. It cannot be.

Kath. Let me entreat you.

Pet. I am content.

Kath. Are you content to stay?

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay;
But yet not stay, entreat me bow you can.

Kath. Mow, if you love me, stay.

Pet. Grumio, my horses. ' ^)

Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten
the horses.

Kath. In ay, then.
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
No, nor to-morrow, nor till J please myself.
The door is open, sir, there lies your way,
You may be' jogging, while your boots are green;
P'or me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself:
'Tts like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom,
That take it on you at the first so roundly.

Pet. O, Kate, content thee; pr'ythee be not angry.

Kath. I will be angry; Wliat hast thou to doV —
Father, be quiet: he shall stay my leisure.

Gre. Ay, marry, sir: now it begins to work.

Kath. Gentlemen, forvyard to the bridal dinner: —

I see, a woman may be made a fool,
If she had not a spirit to resist.

Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com-
mand:

Obey the bride, you that attend on her:
Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,

Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves;

But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.

Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;

I will be master of what is mine own:

She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house.

My household-stuff, my field, my barn,

My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing;

And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;

I'll bring my action on the proudest he

That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,

Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset with thieves;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : —
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate ;
I'll buckler thee against a million.

[Exeunt PETRrcHio, Kathakina, and Grumio.

Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.

Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with
laughing.

Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like!

)jyc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?

Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.

Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and
bridegroom wants
For to supply the places at the table.
You know, there wants no junkets at the feast; —
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place:
And let Bianca take her sister's room.

Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

Ba}). She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen,
let's go. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I. A Hall in Petruchio'« Country House.

Enter Grumio.

Grn. Fye, fye, on all tired jades ! on all mad mas-
ters! and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten?
was ever man so rayed V ' ) was ever man so weary ?
I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming
after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot,
and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth,
my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my
belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me: —
But, I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself;
for, considering the weather, a taller man than I
will take cold. Holla, hoa! Curtis!

Enter Curtis.

Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly?

Gru. Apiece of ice: If thou doubt it, thou raay'st
slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater a
run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis.

Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore, fire, fire;
cast on no water.

Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?

Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but,
thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and beast;
for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mis-
tress, and myself, fellow Curtis.

Curt. Away, you three inch fool! I am no beast.

Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a

399

Act IV.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

247

foot; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou
make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mis-
tress, whose hand (she being now at band,) thou
shall soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow
in thy hot office?

Curt. I pr'ythee, good Gnunio, tell me. How goes
the world?

Cfru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but
thine; and, therefore, fire: Do thy duty, and have
thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost
frozen to death.

Curt. There's fire ready; And, therefore, good
Grumio, the news?

Gru. Why, Jack boy! ho boy! -) and as much
news as thou wilt.

Curt. Come, you are so full of cony catching: —

Gru. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caugbt ex-
treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, the
house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the
8er\Tng-men in their new fustian, their white stock-
ings, and every officer his wedding-garment on?
Be the jacks fair within, the jills tair without, ^)
the carpets laid, "*) and every thing in order?

Curt. All ready: And, therefore, I pray thee, news?

Gru. First, know, my horse is tired; my master
and mistress fallen out.

Curt. How?

Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt; And
thereby hangs a tale.

Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio.

Gru. Lend thine ear.

Curt. Here.

Gru. There. [Striking him.

Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale : and
this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech
listening. Now I begin: Imprimit, we came down
a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress: —

Curt. Both on one horse?

Gru. What's that to thee?

Curt. Why, a horse.

Gru. Tell thou the tale : — — But hadst thou
not crossed me, thou should'st have heard how her
horse fell, and she under her horse ; thou should'st
have heard, in how miry a place: how she was be-
moiled; ^) how he left her with the horse upon her;
how he beat me because her horse stumbled ; how
she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me;
how he swore : how she prayed — that never pray'd
before ; how I cried ; how the horses ran away ;
how her bridle was burst; ') how I lost my crupper;
with many things of worthy memory; which now
shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced
to thy grave.

Curt. Bv this reckoning, he is more shrew than
she. ')

Gru. Ay; and that, thou and the proudest of you
all shall find, when he comes home. But what talk
I of this? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas,
Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their
heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, *)
and their garters of an indifferent knit: ') let them
curtsey with their left legs; and not presume to
touch a hair of my master's horse-tail till they kiss
their hands. Are they all ready?
Curt. They are.

Gru. Call them forth.

Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my mas-
ter, to countenance my mistress.
Gru. Why she hath a face of her own.

Curt. Who knows not that?

Gru. Thou, it seems; that callest for company to

countenemce her.

Curt. I call them forth to credit her.

Chru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

Enter several Servants.

Nath. Welcome home, Grumio.

Phil. How now, Grumio?

Jos. What, Grumio!

Nich. Fellow Grumio!

Nath. How now, old lad?

Gru. Welcome, you; — how now, you; — what,
you ; — fellow, you ; — and thus much for greeting.
Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all
things neat?

Nalh. All things is ready: How near is our master?

Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and therefore

be not, Cock's passion, silence! I hear

my master.

Enter Pbtbdchto and Kathabina.

Pet. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door.
To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse!
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?

All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir.

Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! —
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms !
What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? —
Where is the foolish knave 1 sent before?

Gru. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.

Pet. You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse

drudge!
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park.
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?

Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made.
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i'the heel;
There was no link '") to colour Peter's hat.
And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing:
There were none tine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory ;
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.

Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. —
[Exeunt tome of the Senrants.
Where it the life that late I led — ") [Sing*.

Where are those sit down, Kate, and w elcome.

Soud, soud, soud, soud! ■-)

Re-enter Servants, vith supper.
Why, when, I say ? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains; When?

It teas the friar of orders grey, ")
As he forth walked on his way: —

Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot a\vry:
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. —

[Striket him.
Be merry, Kate: some water, here; what, ho! —
Where's my spaniel Troilus ? — Sirrah, get you hence.
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:

[Exit Servaat.
One, Kate, that yon must kiss, and be acquainted

with. —

Where are my slippers? — Shall I have some water?

[A boMon i« preaented to him.

Come, Kate, and wash, '*) and welcome heartily : —

[Servant lets the ewer fall.

Y'ou whoreson villain! will you let it fall?

[Strike* him.
Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.
Pet. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I?
What is this? mutton?
1 ^erv. Ay.

Ptt. W'ho brought it?

xn.

248

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act IV.

1 Serv. I.

Vet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat:
What dogs are these? — Where is the rascal cook?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all:

[Throws the meat, kc. about the etage.
Yon heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves!
What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.

Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;
The meat was well, if you were so contented.

Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away :
And I expressly am forbid to touch it.
For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
And better 'twere that both of us did fast, —
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, —
Than feed it with such over- roasted flesh.
Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended.
And, for this night, we'll fast for company: —
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.

[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Curtis.

NatJi. [Advancing.] Peter, didst ever see the like?

Peter. He kills her in her own humour.

Re-enter Curtis.

CrTU. Where is he?

Curt. In her chamber,
Making a sermon of contlnency to her:
And rails, and swears, and rates; that she, poor soul,
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak;
And sits as one new-risen from a dream.
Away, away! for he is coming hither. [Exeunt.

Re-enter Pktruchio.
Pet. Thus have I politically begun my reign,
And 'tis my hope to end successfully:
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty:
And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd,
For then she never looks upon her lure. '*)
Another way I have to man my haggard, "')
To make her come, and know her keeper's call,
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites,
That bate, »') and beat, and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;
As with the meat, some undeserved fault
I'll find about the making of the bed;
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster.
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : —
Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend, * ^)
That all is done in reverend care of her;
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:
And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail, and brawl.
And with the clamour keep her still awake.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness;
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour : —
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Padua. Before Baptista'« House.
Enter Tranio, and Hortbnsio.

Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca *')
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.

Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said.
Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching.

[They stand aside.

Enter Bianca and Lucbntio.
Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
Bian. What, master, read you? first resolve me that.

Lnc. I read that I profess, the art to love.

Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your arti

Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my
heart. [They retire.

Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, I pray.
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca
Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.

Tra. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! —
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.

Hor. Mistake no more: I am not Licio,
Nor a musician, as I seem to be ;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise,
For such a one as leaves a gentleman.
And makes a god of such a cullion: 2**)
Know, sir, that I am call'd — Hortensio.

Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire affection to Bianca;
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
I will with you, — if you be so contented, —
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.

Hor. See, how they kiss and court! Signior

Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow —
Never to woo her more; but do forswear her.
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,
Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat :
Fye on her! see, how beastly she doth court him.

Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite for-
sworn !
For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealthy widow.
Ere three days pass; which hath as long lov'd me,
As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard:
And so farewell, signior Lucentio. —
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks.
Shall win my love: — and so I take my leave,
In resolution as I swore before.

[Exit Hortensio. — Lucentio and Bianca advajtce.

Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace,
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love;
And have forsworn you, with Hortensio.

Bian. Tranio, you jest; But have you both for-
sworn me?

Tra. Mistress, we have.

Luc. Then we are rid of Licio.

Tra. I'faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.

Bian. God give him joy!

Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her.

Bian. He says so, Tranio.

Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the tamlng-school.

Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a
place?

Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master;
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, —
To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue.

Enter Biondbt.lo, running.

Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so long
That I'm dog-weary; but at last I spied
An ancient angel ^ * ) coming down the hill.
Will serve the turn.

Tra. What is he, Biondello?

Bion. Master, a mercatant^ -^) or a pedant,
I know not what; but formal in apparel.
In gait and countenance surely like a father.

Luc. And what of him, Tranio?

Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale,
I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio;
And give assurance to Baptista Minola,

Kn.

Act IV.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

249

As if he were the riglit Vincentio.

Take in your love, and then let me alone.

[Exeunt Lucentio and Bukca.

Enter a Pedant.

Ped. God Rare you, sir!

Tra. And you, sir! you are Mrelcome.

Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest?

Pei. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two;
But then up further; and as far as Rome;
And 80 to Tripoly, if God lend me life.

Tra. What countryman, I pray?

Ped. Of Mantua.

Tra. Of Mantua, sir? — marry, God forbid!
And come to Padua, careless of your life?

Ped. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard.

Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua
To come to Padua; Know you not the cause?
Your ships are staid at Venice; and the duke
(For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,)
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:
'Tis mar\'el; but that you're but newly come.
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.

Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so;
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence, and must here deliver them.

2Va. Well, sir, to do you courtesy.
This will I do, and this will I advise you :
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?

Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been;
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens.

Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio?

Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him.
A merchant of incomparable wealth.

Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say.
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and
all one. [Atide.

Tra. To save your life in this extremity.
This favour will I do you for his sake;
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes,
That you are like to sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd; —
Look, that you take upon you as you should;
You understand me, sir; — so shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city:
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

Ped. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.

Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand ;
My father is here look'd for every day.
To pass assurance *^) of a dower in marriage
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here:
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you;
Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you.-"*)

[Exeunt.

SCENE m.

A Room in Petruchio'* House.

Enter Katharina and Grumio.

Gru. No, no; forsooth, I dare not, for my life.

Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite

appears ;
What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door.
Upon entreaty, have a present alms:
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
But I, — who never knew how to entreat, —
Ain starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;

With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed:

And that which spites me more than all these wants.

He does it under name of perfect love:

As who should say, — if I should sleep, or eat,

'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death. —

I pr'jthee go, and get me some repast;

I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

Gru. What say you to a neat's foot?

Kath. 'Tis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me hare it.

Cfru. I fear, it is too choleric a meat ; —
How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd?

Kath. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.

Gru. I cannot tell; I fear, 'tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard?

Kath. A dish that 1 do love to feed upon.

Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest

Gru. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the
mustard.
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.

Crru. Why, then the mustard without the beef.

Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,

[Beats him.
That feed'st me with the very name of meat:
Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you.
That triumph thus upon my misery!
Go, get thee gone, I say.

Enter Petrcchio witJi a di$h of meat; and

HORTBNSIO.

Pet. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all
amort? -*)

Hor. Mistress, what cheer?

Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be.

Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me.
Here, love; thou see'st how diligent I am.
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:

[Seta the dish on a table.
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
What, not a word? Nay then, thou lov'st it not;

And all my pains is sorted to no proof: -*)

Here, take away this dish.

Kath. 'Pray you, let it stand.

Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.

Kath. I thank you, sir.

Hor. Signior Petruchio, fye! you are to blame!
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.

Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me. —

[Jtide.
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
Kate, eat apace: — And now, ray honey love.
Will we return unto thy father's house;
And revel it as bravely as the best.
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,
With ruffs, and cufifs, and farthingales, and things;
With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery.
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.
What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure.
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. ^')

Enter Tailor.
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments; '^)

Enter Haberdasher.
Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir?

Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.

Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
A velvet dish; — fye, fye! 'tis lewd and tilthy;
Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap:
Away witli it, come, let me have a bigger.

xn.

250

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act IV.

Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.

Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.

ffor. That will not be in haste. [Aside.

Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak;
And speak I will; I am no child, no babe:
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind;
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart;
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break;
And, rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.

Pet. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-coffin,*') a bauble, a silken pie:
I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not.

Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap;
And it-*! will have, or I will have none.

Pel. Thy gown? why, ay; — Come, tailor, let us
see't.

0 mercy, God! what masking stuff is here?
What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon:
What! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart?
Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash.
Like to a censer ^") in a barber's shop: —
Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?

Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor
gown. [Jiiide.

Tat. You bid me make It orderly and well.
According to the fashion, and the time.
Pet. Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd,

1 did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,

For you shall hop without my custom, sir:
I'll none of it; hence, make your best of it.

Kath. I never saw a better fashion'd gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable:
Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me.

Pet. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of
thee.

Tat. She says, your worship means to make a
puppet of her.

Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou liest, thou
thread.
Thou thimble,^')

Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail.
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou : —
Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread!
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant;
Or I shall so be-mete ^-) thee with thy yard,
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st!
I tell thee, I, that thou hast inarr'd her gown.

Tffli*. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made
Just as my master had direction :
Gruinio gave order how it should be done.

Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff.

Tai. But how did you desire it should be made?

Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.

Tai. But did you not request to have it cut?

Grir. Thou hast faced many things. ^^)

Tai. I have.

Gru. Face not me: thou hast braved many men, ^'')
brave not me; I will neither be faced nor braved.
I say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the
gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo,
thou liest.

Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.

Pet. Read it.

Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say I said so.

Tai. Imprimin, a loose-bodied gown :

Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew
me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with
a bottom of brown thread: I said, a gown.

Pet. Proceed.

Tai. With a small compassed cape; '*)

Gru. I confess the cape.

Tai. IVith a trunk sleeve;

Gru. ] confess two sleeves.

Tai. The sleeves curiously cut.

Pet. Ay, there's the villainy.

Gru. Error i'the bill, sir; error i'the bill. I com-
manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed
up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy
little finger be armed in a thimble.

Tai. This is true, that I say: an I had thee in
place where, thou should'st know it.

Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill,
give me thy mete-yard, ^'') and spare not me.

Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have
no odds.

Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.

Gru. You are i'the right, sir; 'tis for my mistress.

Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use.

Gru. Villain, not for thy life: Take up my mis-
tress' gown for thy master's use!

Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?

Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for:
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
O, fye, fye, fye!

Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid : -

[Jtide.
Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.

Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow.
Take no unkindness of his hasty words :
Away, I say; commend me to thy master.

[Exit Tailor,

Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto your fa-
ther's.
Even in these honest mean habiliments;
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel.
Because his painted skin contents the eye?
O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture, and mean array.
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me :
And therefore, frolic; we will hence forthwith,
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. —
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him;
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end.
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. —
Let's see; I think, 'tis now some seven o'clock,
And well we may come there by dinner-time.

Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two;
And 'twill be supper-time, ere you come there.

Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse:
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do,
You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let't alone:
I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
rt shall be what o'clock I say it is.

Hor. Why, so! this gallant will command the sun!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Padua. Before Baptista'« House.
Enter Tbanio and the Pedant dressed like

ViNCKNTlO.

Tra. Sir, this is the house; Please it you, that I

call?
Ped. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, ^')
Signior Baptista may remember me.

xn.

Act IV.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

251

Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where
We were lodgers at the Pegasus.

Tra. 'Tis well;

And hold your own, in any case, with »uch
Austerity as 'longeth to a father.

Enter Biokdbllo.

Ped. I warrant you : But, sir, here coines your boy :
"I'were good, he were school'd.

Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondcllo,
Now do your duty thoroughly, I advise you;
Imagine 'twere the right \ incentio.

Bion. Tut ! fear not me.

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?

Jiion. I told him, that your father was at Venice;
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.

Tra. Thou'rt a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.
Here comes Baptista; — set your countenance, sir.

Enter Baptista and Lcckntio.
Signlor Baptista, you are happily met: —
Sir, [To the Pedant.

This is the gentleman I told you of:
I pray you, stand good father to me now.
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.

Ped. Soft, son!
Sir, by your leave; having come to Padua
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
Of love between your daughter and himself:
And, — for the good report I hear of you;
And for the love he beareth to your daughter.
And she to him, — to stay him not too long,
1 am content, in a good father's care.
To have him match'd; and, — if you please to like
No worse than J, sir, — upon some agreement.
Me shall you find most ready and most willing^'}
With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
For curious I cannot be with you, ^')
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.

Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say; —
Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well.
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him.
Or both dissemble deeply their affections :
And, therefore, if you say no more than this.
That like a father you will deal with him.
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, •*")
i he match is fully made, and ail is done: •*')
Your son shall have my daughter with consent.

Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know

best.
We be affied; *-) and such assurance ta'en,
\s shall with either part's agreement stand?

Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know,
Pitciiers have ears, and I have many servants:
Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still;
And, happily, *^) we might be interrupted.

Tra. 'I'ben at my lodging, an it like you, sir:
'Ihere doth my father lie; and there, this night.
We'll pass the business privately and well:
Send ior your daughter by your servant here.
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
Tlie worst is this, — that, at so slender warning
You';-e like to have a thin and slender pittance.

Bap. It likes me well: — Cambio, hie you home.
And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened: —
Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.

Jjur. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart!

Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way ?

Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer:
Come, sir; we'll better it in Pisa.

Bap. I follow you.

\Exeunt T»ajcio, Pedant, and Baptista.

Bion. Cambio. —

Ijuc. What say'st thou, Biondello?

Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?

Luc. Biondello, what of thatV

Bion. 'Faith nothing; but he has left me here be-
hind, to expound the meaning or moral "**) of his
signs and tokens.

Luc. I pray thee, moralize them.

Bion. I'hen thus. Baptista is safe, talking with
the deceiving father of a deceitful son.

Luc. And what of him?

Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to
the supper.

Luc. And then? —

Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at
your command at all hours.

Luc. And what of all this?

Bion. 1 cannot tell ; except " ^} they are busied
about a counterfeit assurance: Take you assurance
of her, cum pricilegio ad imprimendum solum:*''}
to the churcn; ■*") — take the priest, clerk, and
some sufficient honest witnesses:
If this be not that you look, for, I have no more to say.
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. [Going.

Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello?

Bion. I cannot tarrj : I knew a wench married in
an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley
to stuff a rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so adieu,
sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint
Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against
you come with your appendix. [Exit.

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented :
She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt?
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her;
It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit.

SCENE V.

A public Road.

Enter Petrpchio, Katharina, and Hobtensio.

Pet. Come on, o'God's name; once more toward

our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

Kath. The moon ! the sun ; it is not moonlight now.

Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright.

Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright.

Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself,
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list.
Or ere I journey to your father's house; —
Go on. and fetch our horses back again. —
Evermore cross'd, and cross'd: nothing but cross'd!

JJor. Say as he says, or we shall never go.

Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far.
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please:
And if you please to call it a rush candle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

Pet. 1 say, it is the moon.

Kath. ' I know it is. * 8}

Pet. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.

Kath. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun:
But snn it is not, when you say it is not;
And the moon changes, even as your mind.
What you will have it nam'd, even that it is;
And so it shall be so, for Katharine.

Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.

Pet. Well, forw ard, forw ard : thus the bowl should run.
And not unluckily against the bias. —
But soft; what company is coming here?

sntT.

252

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

Act V.

Enter Vincbntio, «« a travelling dre»$.
Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ? —

[To ViNCBKTIO.

Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too.
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty.
As those two eyes become that heavenly face! —
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee: —
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.

Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman
of him.

Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and
sweet.
Whither away; or where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a child;
Happier the man, whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow!

Pet. Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not
mad:
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd;
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is.

Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes.
That have been so bedazzled with the sun,
That every thing I look on seemeth green: *')
Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father;
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and, withal, make
known
Which way thou travell'st: if along with us.
We shall be joyful- of thy company.

Vin. Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress, —
That with your strange encounter much ainaz'd me :
My name is call'd— Vincentio: my dwelling — Pisa;
And bound I am to Padua; there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.

Pet. What is his name?

Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir.

Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee — my loving father:
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath married: Wonder not.
Nor be not griev'd: she is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio;
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure.
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?

Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is.

Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.

[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Vincentio.

Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart.
Have to my widow; and if she be forward.
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

[Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Padua. Before Lucentio'« House.

Enter on one tide Biondbllo, Lucbntio, and
Bianca: Grbmio walking on the other side.

Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is
ready.

Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance to need
thee at home, therefore leave us.

Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o'your back;
and then come back to my master as soon as I can.
[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondeilo.
Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not ail this while.

Enter Petruciuo, Katharina, Vincentio, and
Attendants.

Pet, Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house.
My father's bears more toward the market-place;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

Fia. You shall not choose but drink before you go:
I think, I shall command your welcome here.
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. [XnocA«.

Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock
louder.

Enter Pedant above, at a window.

Ped. What's he, that knocks as he would beat
down the gate?

Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir?

Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.

Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pounds
or two, to make merry withal?

Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he
shall need none, so long as I live.

Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in
Padua. — Do you hear, sir? — to leave frivolous
circumstances, — I pray you, tell signior Lucentio,
that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at
the door to speak with him.

Ped. Thou liest; his father is come from Pisa, and
here looking out at the window.

Vin. Art thou his father?

Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may be-
lieve her.

Pet. Why, how now, gentleman! [to Vincentio]
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another
man's name.

Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; T believe, 'a means
to cozen somebody in the city under my countenance.

Re-enter BioNDEtto.

Bion. I have seen them in the church together;
God send 'em good shipping! — But who is here?
mine old master, Vincentio? now we are undone,
and brought to nothing.

Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing Biondbllo.

Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir.

Vin. Come hither, you rogue; What, have you
forgot me?

Bion. Forgot you? no, sir: I could not forget
you, for I never saw you before in all my life.

Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never
see thy master's father, Vincentio?

Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? yes,
marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window.

Vin. Is't so, indeed? [JSeata Biondello.

Bion. Help, help, help ! here's a madman will mur-
der me. [Exit.

Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista!

[Exit, from the window.

Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the
end of this controversy. [They retire.

Re-enter Pedant below; Baptista, Thanio, and
Servants.

Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant?

Vin. What am J, sir? nay, what are you, sir? —
O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet!
a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain
hat! — ') O, I am undone! I am undone! while I
play the good husband at home, my son and my
servant spend all at the university.

KU.

Act V.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

253

Tra. How now I what's the matter?

Bap. What, is the man lunaticV

Tra. Sir, jou seem a sober ancient gentleman by
your habit, but your words show you a madman :
VVhy, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl
and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to
maintain it.

Vin. Thy father? O, villain! he is a sail-maker
in Bergamo.

Bap. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir: Pray,
what do you think is his name?

Vin. His name? as if I knew not his name: I have
brought him up ever since he was three years old,
and his name is — Tranio.

Fed. Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio,
and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of
me, signior Vincentio.

Vin. Lucentio I O, he hath murdered his master ! —
Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's
name : — O, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou vil-
lain, where is my son Lucentio?

Tra. Call forth an officer : [Enter one with an Officer.]
carry this mad knave to the gaol: — Father Bap-
tista, I charge you see, that he be forthcoming.

Vin. Carry me to the gaol!

Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison.

Bap. Talk not, signior Greiuio ; 1 say, he shall go
to piison.

Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be coney-
catched - ) in this business ; I dare sw ear this is the
right Vincentio.

Ped. Swear, if thou darest.

Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it.

Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lu-
centio.

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio.

Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with him.

Viii. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd: —
O monstrous villain!

Re-enter Biondbllo, with Luckntio, and Bianca.

Bion. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is;
deny hhn, forswear hiin, or else we are all undone.

Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling.

Vin. Lives my sweetest son?

[BioKDELLO, TsAKio, and Pedant run out

Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling.

Bap. How hast thou offended? —

Where is Lucentio?

Luc. Here's Lucentio,

Right son unto the right Vincentio :
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine.
While counterfeit supposes bleeir'd thine eyne. ^)

Gre. Here's packing, *) with a witness, to deceive
us all!

Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio,
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so?

Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?

Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.

Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town;
And happily I have arriv'd at last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss: —
What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.

Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have
sent me to the gaol.

Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucestio.] Have
you married my daughter without asking my good-
will?

Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to:
But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy. [Exit.

Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.

[Exit.

Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not

frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian.

Cfre. My cake is dough: *) But I'll in among the

rest;

Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast.

[Exit.

Pbtruciiio and Kathakina advance.

KatJi. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado.

Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.

Kath. What, in the midst of the street?

Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me?

Kath. No, sir ; God forbid : — but ashamed to kiss.

Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come, sirrah,

let's away.
Kath. Nay, 1 will give thee a kiss: now pray

thee, love, stay.
Pet. Is not this well? — Come, my sweet Kate;
Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in Lucentio'« House.

A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio,
Grkhio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petru-
cHio, Katharina, Hortknsio, and Widow. Tra-
nio, Biondbllo, Grumio, and others, attending.

Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree :
And time it is, when raging war is done.
To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. —
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine: —
Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, —
And thou, Hoitensio, with thy loving widow, —
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house;
My banquet '') is to close our stomachs up.
After our great good cheer: Pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat, as well as eat.

[They tit at table.

Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.

Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were
true.

Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. ')

Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard.

Pet. You are sensible, ^} and yet you miss my sense;
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.

Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns
round.

Pet. Roundly replied.

Kath. Mistress, how mean you that?

Wid. Thus I conceive by him.

Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio that? —

Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.

Pet. Very well mended: Kiss him for that, good
widow.

Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns

round:

I pray you, tell me what you meant \>y that.

Wid. if our husband, being troubled with a shrew.
Measures my husband's sorrow by liis woe:
And now you know my meaning.

Kath. A very mean meaning.

Wid. Right, I mean you.

Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.

Pet. To her, Kate!

Hor. To her, widow!

Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

Hor. That's my office.

254

TAMIxXG OF THE SHREW.

Act V.

Pet. Spoke like an officer: — Ha' to thee, lad.

[^Drinks to Hobtensio.

Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks V

Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well.

Bian. Head, and butt? an hasty-witted body
Would say, your head and butt were head and horn.

Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you?

Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep
again.

Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two.

Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush.
And then pursue me as you draw your bow: —
You are welcome all.

[Exeunt BIA^CA, Katuabina, and Widow.

Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signior
Tranio,
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;
Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd.

Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound.
Which runs himself, and catches for his master.

Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish.

Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself;
'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay.

Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.

Luc. I thank thee for that gird, ^) good Tranio.

Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here?

Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess :
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.

Pet. Well, I say — no ; and therefore, for assurance,
Let's each one send unto his wife;
And he, whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he doth send for her.
Shall win the wager which we will propose.

Hor. Content: What is the wager?

Luc. Twenty crowns.

Pet. Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.

Luc. A hundred then.

Hor. Content.

Pet. A match; 'tis done.

Hor. Who shall begin?

Luc. That will I. Go,

Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

Bion. I go. [Exit.

Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes.

Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.

Re-enter Biomdbllo.
How now! what news?

Bi&n. Sir, my mistress sends you word

That she is busy, and she cannot come.

Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come!
Is that an answer?

Chre. Ay, and a kind one too:

Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

Pet. I hope, better.

Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Biondello.

Pet. O, ho! entreat her!

Nay, then she must needs come.

Hor. I am afraid, sir.

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.

Re-enter Biondello.
Now, Where's my wife?

Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand ;
She will not come: she bids you come to her.

Pet. Worse and worse: she will not come! O vile.

Intolerable, not to be endur'd !

Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ;

Sav, I command her come to me. [Exit Gbomio.

Hor. I know her answer.

Pet. What?

Hor. She will not come. "*)

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

Enter Katharina.

Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina!

Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me?

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?

Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.

Pet. Go, fetch them hither ; if they deny to come,
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands:
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

[Exit KATHARIIf A.

Lue. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.

Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes.

Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
An awful rule, and right supremacy ;
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy.

Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns!
Another dowry to another daughter.
For she is chang'd, as she had never been.

Pet. Nay, I win my wager better yet;
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.

Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow.
See, where she comes : and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. —
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not;
Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.

[Katharina -pulls off her cap, and throws it down.

Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh.
Till I be brought to such a silly pass!

Bian. Fye! what a foolish duty call you this?

Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too:
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me an hundred ci'owns since supper-time.

Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty.

Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong
women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.

Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have
no telling.

Pet. Come on, 1 say; and first begin with her.

Wid. She shall not.

Pet. I say, she shall; — and first begin with her.

Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow;
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads; ")
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds;
And in no sense is meet or aii.iable.
A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper.
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee.
And for thy maintenance: commits his body
To painful labour, both by sea and land ;
To wAtch the night in storms, the day in cold.
While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craveis no other tribute at thy hands.
But love, fair looks, and true obedience; -^
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such, a woman oweth to her husband:

Bn.

Act V.

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

255

And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour.

And, not obedient to his honest will.

What is she, but a foul contending rebel.

And graceless traitor to her loving lordV —

I am asham'd, that women are so simple

To offer war, where they should kneel for peace;

Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway.

When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.

Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth.

Unapt to toil and trouble in the world;

But that our soft conditions, '-) and our hearts,

Should well agree with our external parts?

Come, come, you froward and unable worms!

My mind hath been as big as one of yours.

My heart as great; my reason, haply, more.

To bandy word for word, and frown for frown;

But now, I see our lances are but straws;

Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, —

That seeming to be most, which we least are. ^^)

Then vail your stomachs, '*) for it is no boot;
And place your hands below your husband's foot :
In token of which duty, if he please.
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.

Pet. Why, there's a wench! — Come on, and kiss
me, Kate.

Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad : for thou shall ha't.

Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward.

Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward.

Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to-bed:

We three are married, but you two are sped. **)
'TwasI won the wager, though you hit the white; **•)

[To LllCEKTIO.

And, being a winner, God give you good night!

[Exeunt Petruchio and Kathabina.
Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst

shrew.
Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be
tam'd so. [Extant,

Kn.

XIII.

WINTER'S TALE

PEBSONS BSPBBSENTBD.

Lbontes, King of Sicilia:

Mahillius, his Son.

Camillo, \

Antigonus, f sj^j,j^„ ^^^^^

Cleombnes, (

Dion, *

Another Sicilian Lord.

RoGERo, a Sicilian Gentleman.

An Attendant on the young Prince Mamillius.

Officers of a Court of Judicature.

PoLixENEs, King of JJoheinia:

Florizel, hi» Son.

Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord.

A Mariner.

Gaoler.

An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdlta:

Clown, his Son.

Servant to the old Shepherd.

AuTOLYcus, a Rogue.

Time, as Ciiorus.

Hermione. Queen to Leontes.

Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione.

Paulina, Wife to Antigonus.

Emilia, a Lady,

Two other Ladies,

MoPSA,

Dorcas,

attending tlie Queen.
Shepherdesses.

Lords, Ladies, «m(f Attendants; Satyrs ybr a dance;
Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, ^c.

Scene — sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia.

SCENE I.

ACT I.

Sicilia. An Antechamber in
Leontes' Palace,

Enter Camillo and Archidamus.
Archidamus.
If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
the like occasion whereon my services are now on
foot, you shall see, as I have said, great diilerence
betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia.

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of
Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which
he justly owes him.

Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us,
we will be justified in our loves; ') for indeed, —

Cam. 'Beseech you,

Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my
knowledge : we cannot with such magnificence — in

so rare — I know not what to say. We will

give you sleepy drinks; that your senses, unintel-
ligent of our insufticience, may, though they cannot
praise us, as little accuse us.

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's
given freely.

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding
instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utter-
ance.

Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bo-
hemia. They were trained together in their child-
hoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such
an affection, which cannot choose but branch now.
Since their more mature dignities, and royal neces-
sities, made separation of their society, their en-
counters, though not personal, have been royally
attornied, -) with interchange of gifts, letters, lov-
ing embassies; that they have seemed to be toge-
ther, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast;

and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds. 3) The heavens continue their loves!

Arch. I think, there is not in the world either
malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un-
speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius;
it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever
came into my note.

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of
him : It is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, physics
the subject, *) makes old hearts fresh; they, that
went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their
life, to see him a man.

Arch. Would they else be content to die?

Cam. Yes ; if there were no other excuse why they
should desire to live.

Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire
to live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius,
Camillo and Attendants.

Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne
Without a burden: time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should, for perpetuity.
Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cipher.
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply.
With one we-thank-you, many thousands more
That go before it.

Leon. Stay your thanks awhile;

And pay them when you part.

Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow.

I am question'd by my fears, of y,\hi\t may chance,
Or breed upon our absence: That may blow

Kill.

Act 1.

W I N T E R'S TALE

257

No sneaping winds *) at home, to make us say,
This is put forth too truly! ') Besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.

Leon. We are tougher, brother.

Than you can put us to't.

Fol. No longer stay.

Leon. One seven-night longer.

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow.

Leon. We'll part the time between's then: and in that
I'll no gain-sajiiig.

Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so;

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'the world,
So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful 1 denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder,
Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay.
To you a charge, and trouble: to save both.
Farewell, our brother.

Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you.

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir.
Charge him too coldly: Tell hun, you are Sure,
All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction^)
The by-gone day proclaim'd; say this to him.
He's beat from his best ward.

Leon. Well said, Hermione.

Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong :
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. —
Yet of your royal presence \to Polixkses] I'll ad-
venture
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission.
To let him there a month, behind the gest **)
Prefix'd for his parting : yet, good-deed, ') Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o'the clock "^) behind
What lady she her lord. — You'll stay?

Pol. No, madam.

Her. Nay, but you will?

Pol. I may not verily.

Her. Verily!
You put me ofiF with limber vows : But I,
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with

oaths.
Should yet say. Sir, no going. Verily,
You shall not go; a lady's verily is
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner.
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees.
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.

Pol. Your guest then, madam:

To be your prisoner, should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit.
Than you to punish.

Her. Not your gaoler then.

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys ;
You were pretty lordlings then.

Pol. We were, fair queen.

Two lads, that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to-morrow as to day,
And to be boy eternal.

Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o'the two ?

Pol. We were as twinn'd Iambs, that did frisk
i'the sun.
And bleat the one at the other: What we chang'd
Was innocence for innocence: we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd * ^)
That any did: Had we pursued that life.

And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly, A'ot guilty; the imposition clear'd,
Hereditary ours. *-)

Her. By this we gather.

You have tripp'd since.

Pol. O my most sacred lady.

Temptations have since then been bom to us: for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.

Her. Grace to boot! ■^)

Of this make no conclusion; lest you say.
Your queen and I are devils: Yet, go on;
The offences we have made you do, we'll answer;
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that yon slipp'd not
With any but with us.

Leon. Is he won yet?

Her. He'll stay, my lord.

Leon. At my request, he would not.

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.

Her. Never ?

Leon. Never, but once.

Her. What? have I twice said well? when was't
before ?
I pr'ythee, tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us
As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongueless.
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon thaL
Our praises are our wages: You may ride us,
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to the gaol; —
My last good was, to entreat his stay;
What was my first? it has an elder sister.
Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace:
But once before I spoke to the purpose: When?
Nay, let me hav't; I long.

Leon. Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death.
Ere I coidd make thee open thy white hand.
And clap thyself my love; *■*) then did'st thou utter,
/ am yourt for ever.

Her. It is Grace, indeed. —

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
The other, for some while a friend.

[Gii^in^ her hand to Polixekes.

Leon. Too hot, too hot : [Aiide.

To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis on me: — my heart dances;
But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertainment
May a free face put on; derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom.
And well become the agent: it may, I grant:
But to be' paddling pahns, and pinching fingers.
As now they are; and making practis'd smiles.
As in a looking-glass; — and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o'the deer; '^) O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamilliua,
Art thou my boy?

Mam. Ay, my good lord,

Leon. Tfecks? '«)

Why, that's my bawcock, *") What, has smutch'd

thy nose? —
They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain.
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf.
Are all call'd, neat. — Still virginalllng ' *)

[Obterving Polise>es and Hekxiok^
Upon his palm? — How now, you wanton calf.
Art thou my calf?

Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord.

Kin.

17

258

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act J.

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots
that I have, ")

To be full like me: — yet, they say we are

Almost as like as eggs; women say so.

That will say any thing: But were they false
As o'er-died blacks,'"*) as wind, as waters; false
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes

No bourn '') 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page.

Look on me with your welkin eye: --) Sweet villain!

Most dear'st ! my collop! — -^) Can thy dam? —

may't be?
Affection! thy intention stabs the center:-'*)
Thou dost make possible, things not so held,
Communicat'st with dreams; — (How can this be?) —
With what's unreal thou coactive art.
And fellow'st nothing: Then, 'tis very credent,^*)
Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost;
(And that beyond commission; and I find it,)
And that to the infection of my brains,
And hardening of my brows.

Pol. What means Sicilia?

Her. He something seems unsettled.

Pol. How, my lord ?

What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

Her. You look.

As if you held a brow of much distraction:
Are you raov'd, my lord?

Leon. No, in good earnest, —

How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, niethoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled.
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel.
This squash,- '') this gentleman : — Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money? 2')

Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight.

Leon. You will ? why, happy man be his dole ! - ^) —
My brother.
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we
Do seem to be of ours?

Pol. If at home, sir.

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
He makes a July's day short as December;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.

Leon. So stands this squire

Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my lord.
And leave you to your graver steps. — Henuione,
How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap :
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's
Apparent^') to my heart.

Her. If you would seek us,

We are your's i'the garden: Shall's attend you there?

Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll be
found.

Be you beneath the sky: — I am angling now.

Though you perceive me not how I give line.

Go to, go to!

[Aside. Observing Polixenes, and Hermione.

How she holds up the neb, ^ ") the bill to him !

And arms her with the boldness of a wife

To her allowing husband!^') Gone already;

Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd
one. ^•)
[Exeunt Polixbres, Hebhioke, and Attendant?.

Go, play, boy, play; — thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour
Will be my knell. — Go, play, boy, play; — There

have been.
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm.
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his absence.
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men have gates; and those gates open'd.
As mine, against their will: Should all despair.
That 1 ave revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it.
From east, west, north, and south: Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly; know it;
It will let in and out the enemy.
With bag and baggage: many a thousand of us
Have the disease, and feel't not. — How now, boy?

Mam. I am like you, they say.

Leon. Why, that's some comfort. —

What! Camillo there?

Ca?n. Ay, my good lord.

Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man. —

[Exit Mamillius.
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold:
When you cast out, it still came home. ^^)

Leon. Didst note it?

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made
His business more material. ^'*)

Leon. Didst perceive it? —

They're here with me already; whispering, round-
ing, 3 5)
Sicilia is a so-forth: 'Tis far gone.
When I shall gust it ^ '') last. — How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay?

Cam. At the good queen's entreaty.

Leon. At the queen's, be't: good, should be per-
tinent ;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks: — Not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals.
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes, ^')
Perchance, are to this business purblind: say.

Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.

Leon. Ha ?

Cam. Stays here longer.

Leon. Ay, but why?

Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.

Leon. Satisfy

The entreaties of your mistress? satisfy? —

Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils: wherein, priest-like, thou
Hast cleans'd my bosom: I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
In that which seems so.

Cam. Be it forbid, my lord!

Leon. To bide upon't : — Thou art not honest : or.
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a cov^ard:

Which boxes honesty behind, ^^) restraining
From course requir'd : Or else thou must be counted
A servant, grafted in my serious trust.
And therein negligent: or else a fool,

Kin.

Act L

W I N T E R'S TALE

259

That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,

And tak'st it all for jest.
Cam. My gracious lord,

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;

In every one of these no man is free.
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth: In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence.
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, ^') 'twas a fear
Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord.
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me: let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.

Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo,

(But that's past doubt: you have; or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard,
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation
Resides not in that man, that does not think it,)
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
(Or else be impudently negative.
To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say,
My wife's a hobbyhorse; deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it.

Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken: 'Shrew my heart.
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate, were sin
As deep as that, though true.

Leon. Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty:) horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes blind
With the pin and web, '*'^) but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing ;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.

Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.

Leon. Say, it be; 'tis true.

Cam. No, no my lord.

Leon. It is; you lie, you lie:

I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave;
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil.
Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.

Cam. Who does infect her?

Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, ^*)
hanging
About his neck, Bohemia: Who — if I
Had servants true about me: that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits.
Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that
Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou.

His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st see
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven.
How I am galled, — might'st bespice a cup.
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.

Cam. Sir, my lord,

t could do this; and that with no rash potion.
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work
Maliciously like poison : But I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have lov'd thee,

Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot! **)

Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled,
To appoint myself in this vexation? sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets.
Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps?
Give scandal to the blood o'the prince my son,
Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine;
Without ripe moving to't? — would I do this?
Could man so blench; '*^)

Cam. I must believe you, sir;

I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't:
Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness
Will take again your queen, as yours at first;
Even for your son's sake; and, thereby, for sealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.

Leon. Thou dost advise me.

Even so as I mine own course have set down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.

Cam. My lord.
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your queen: I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholesome beverage.
Account me not your servant.

Leon. This is all:

Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thy own.

Cam. I'll do't, my lord.

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me.

[Exit.

Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me.
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes: and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one,
Who, in rebellion with hiinself, will have
All that are his, so too. — To do this deed.
Promotion follows: If I could find example
Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings.
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one.
Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now !
Here comes Bohemia.

Enter Polixbnes.

Pol. This is strange! methinks.

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ?

Good-day, Camillo.

Cam. Hail, most royal sir!

Pol. What is the news i'the court?

Cam. None rare, my lord.

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance.
As he had lost some province, and a region,
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment; when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; and

Km.

17

260

W I N T E R'S TALE

Act II.

So leaves me, to consider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.

Cam. I dare not know, my lord.

Pol. How! dare not? do not. Do you know, and
dare not
Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must;
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,
Which shows me mine chang'd too: for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with it.

Cam. There is a sickness

Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.

Pol. How! caught of me?

Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better

By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,

As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto

Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns

Our gentry, than our parents' noble names.

In whose success we are gentle — ^^) I beseech you,

If you know aught which does behove my knowledge

Thereof to be inforni'd, imprison it not

In ignorant concealment.

Cam. I may not answer.

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear, Camillo,
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man.
Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.

Cam. Sir, I'll tell you;

Since I'm charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable: Therefore, mark my counsel;
Which must be even as swiftly foUow'd, as
I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me
Cry, lost, and so good night.

Pol. On, good Camillo.

Cam. I am appointed Him to murder you. ^^)

Pol. By whom, Camillo?

Cam. By the king.

Pol. For what?

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen't, or been an instrument
To vice ■* ') you to't, — that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.

Pol. O, then my best blood turn

To an infected jelly; and my name
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best! '*')
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour, that may strike tha dullest nostril
Where I arrive; and my approach be shunn'd.
Nay, hated too, Avorse than the great'st infection
That e'er w as heard, or read !

Cam. Swear his thought over

By each particular star in heaven, and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon,
As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake
The fabric of his folly; whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith, '*^) and will continue
The standing of his body.

Pol. How should this grow?

Cam. I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, —
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you

Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night.

Your followers I will whisper to the business;

And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns,

Clear them o'the city: For myself, I'll put

My fortunes to your service, which are here

By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;

For, by the honour of my parents, I

Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,

I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer

Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon

His execution sworn.

Pol. I do believe thee;

I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine : My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. — This jealousy
Is for a precious creature: as she's rare.
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent: and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me:
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father; if
Thou bear'st my life off hence: Let us avoid.

Cam. It is in mine authority, to command
The keys of all the posterns : Please your highness
To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away. [ExeunU

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same.
Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies.

Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.

1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord.

Shall I be your play-fellow?

Mam. No, I'll none of you.

1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord?

Mam. You'll kiss me hard; and speak to me as if
I were a baby still. — I love you better.

2 Lady. And why so, my good lord? *)

Mam. Not for because

Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle,
Or half-moon made with a pen.

2 Lady. Who taught you this ?

Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray now
What colour are your eye-brows?

1 Lady. Blue, my lord.
Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose

That has been blue, but not her eye-brows.

2 Lady. Hark ye :
The queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall
Present our services to a fine new prince.

One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us,
If we would have you.

1 Lady. She is spread of late

Into a goodly bulk: Good time encounter her!

Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir,
now
I am for you again: Pray you, sit by us.
And tell's a tale.

Mam. Merry or sad, shall't be?

Her. As merry as you will.

Mam. A sad tale's best for winter;

I have one of sprites and goblins.

xni.

Act II.

W I N T E R'S TALE

261

Her. Let's have that, sir. ^}

Come on, sit down : — Come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites : you're powerful at it.

Mam. There was a man,

Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on.

Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard ; — I will tell it softly ;
Yon crickets shall not hear it.

Her. Come on then,

And give't me in mine ear.

Enter Lkontbs, Antigonus, Lords, and others.

Leon. Was he met there ? his train ? Camillo with
him?

1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them : nerer
Saw I men scour so ou their way: I ey'd them
Even to their ships.

Leon. How bless'd am I

In my just censure? in my true opinion? — ^)
Alack, for lesser knowledge! — '*) How accurs'd.
In being so blest ! — There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd *) and one may drink; depart.
And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge
Is not infected : but if one present
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts: — '') I have drank, and seen

the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander : — •
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true that is mistrusted : — that false \'illain,
Whom I employed, was pre-employ'd by him:
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing; ') yea, a very trick
For them to play at will : — How came the posterns
So easily open?

1 Lord. By his great authority;

Which often hath no less prevail'd than so,
On your command.

Leon. I know't too well.

Give me the boy; I am glad, you did not nurse him:
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.

Her. What is this? sport?

Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not come about
her;
Away with him: — and let her sport herself
With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.

Her. But I'd say, he had not.

And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to the nayward.

Leon. You, my lords.

Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say, she it a goodly lady, and
The justice of your hearts wWi thereto add,
'Tii pity, she's not honest, honourable :
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
(Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and

straight
The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands,
That calumny doth use : — O, I am out.
That mercy does ; for calumny will sear ^)
Virtue itself: — these shrugs, these hums, and ha's.
When you have said, she's goodly, come between.
Ere you can say she's honest: But be it known.
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be.
She's an adultress.

Her. Should a villain say so.

The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain: you, my lord.
Do but mistake.

Leon. You have mistook, my lady,

Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing.

Which I'll not call a creature of thy place.

Lest barbarism, making me the precedent.

Should a like language use to all degrees,

And mannerly distinguishment leave out

Betwixt the prince and beggar! — I have said,

She's an adultress; I have said, with whom:

More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is

A federary ') with her: and one that knows

What she should shame to know herself,

But with her most vile principal, *") that she's

A bed-swerver, even as bad as those

That vulgars give bold titles; **} ay, and privy

To this their late escape.

Her. No, by my life.

Privy to none of this: How will this grieve you.
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me? Gentle my lord.
You scarce can right me thoroughly then, to say
You did mistake.

Leon. No, no; if I mistake

In those foundations which I build upon.
The center is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison :
He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty.
But that he speaks. * -)

Her. There's some ill planet reigns :

I must be patient, till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable. — Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew.
Perchance, shall dry your pities; but I have
That honourable grief lodg'd here, which bums
Worse than tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my lords.
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me: — and so
The king's will be perform'd!

Leon. Shall I be heard?

[To the Guards.

Her. Who is't, that goes with me ? — 'Beseech your
highness.
My women may be with me; for, you see.
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
There is no cause; when you shall know, your mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears.
As I come out : this action, I now go on.
Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord;
I never wish'd to see you sorry: now,
I trust, I shall. My women, come; you have leave.

Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence.

[Exeuitt QvEEN and Ladies.

1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen again.

Ant. Be certain what you do, sir; lest your justice
Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer.
Yourself, your queen, your son.

1 Lord. For her, my lord, —

I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir:
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
I'the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean, ,

In this which you accuse her.

Ant. If it prove

She's otherwise, Fll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife; ^^) I'll go in couples with her;
' '*) Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false,
If she be.

Leon. Hold your peaces.

1 Lord. Good my lord, —

Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, '*)
That will be damn'd for't; 'would I knew the villain,
I would land-damn him: ' ') Be she honour-flaw'd, —
I have three daughters; the eldest is deven;

Km.

262

WINTER'S TALE.

Act IL

The second, and the third, nine, and some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for't : by mine honour,
I'll geld them all: fourteen they shall not see.
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;
And I had rather glib myself, than they
Should not produce fair issue.

Leon. Cease; no more.

You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose: I see't, and feel't, .
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel. ^')

Ant. If it be so,

We need no grave to bury honesty;
There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.

Leon. What! lack I credit?

1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord.
Upon this ground : and more it would content me
To have her honour true, than your suspicion;
Be blam'd for't how you might.

Leon. Why, what need we

Commune with you of this? but rather follow
Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative
Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness
Imparts this : which, — if you (or stupified,
Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not,
Relish as truth, ' ^) like us; inform yourselves.
We need no more of your advice: the matter.
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
Properly ours.

Ant. And I wish, my liege,

You had only in your silent judgment tried it.
Without more overture.

Leon. How could that be?

Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight.
Added to their familiarity,

(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture.
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation,^')
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding :
Yet, for a greater confirmation,
(For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post.
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know,
Of stufPd sufficiency: ^°) Now, from the oracle
They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well?

1 Lord. Well done, my lord.

Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to the minds of others; such as he.
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to the truth : So have we thought it good.
From our free person she should be confin'd;
Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence,
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;

We are to speak in public: for this business

Will raise us alL
Ant. [Aside.] To laughter, as I take it,

If the good truth ''*vere known. [Exeuiu.

SCENE II.

TJie same. The outer Room of a Prison.

Enter Paulina and Attendants.

Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him;

[Exit an Attendant.
Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady !
No court in Europe is too good for thee.
What dost thou then in prison? — Now, good sir.

Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper.

You know me, do you not?

Keep. For a worthy lady.

And one whom much I honour.

Paul. Pray you then,

Conduct me to the queen.

Keep. I may not, madam; to the contrary
I have express commandment.

Paul. Here's ado.

To lock up honesty and honour from

The access of gentle visitors! Is it lawful,

Pray you, to see her women? any of them?
Emilia ?

Keep. So please you, madam, to put
Apart these your attendants, I shall bring
Emilia forth.

Paul. 1 pray now, call her.

Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend.

Keep. And, madam,

I must be present at your conference.

Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Keeper.

Hete's such ado to make no stain a stain,
As passes colouring.

Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia.

Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady?

Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn.
May hold together: on her frights, and griefs,
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater,)
She is, something before her time, deliver'd-

Paul. A boy?

Emil. A daughter; and a goodly babe,

Lusty, and like to live; the queen receives
Much comfort in't; says, My poor prisoner,
I am innocent as you.

Paul. ' I dare be sworn :

These dangerous unsafe lunes o'the king ! - ^) beshrew

them!
He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me;
If I prove honey- mouth'd, let my tongue blister;
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more: — Pray you, Euiilia,
Commend my best obedience to the queen;
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loudest: We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o' the child; .
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades, when speaking fails.

Emil. Most worthy madam.

Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident,
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue; there is no lady living.
So meet for this great errand : Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;
Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design;
But durst not tempt a minister of honour.
Lest she should be denied.

Paul. Tell her, Emilia,

I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it.
As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted
I shall do good.

Emil. Now be you blest for it!

I'll to the queen : Please you, come something nearer.

Keep. Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incur, to pass it,
Having no warrant.

Paul. You need not fear it, sir:

The child was prisoner to the womb; and is,

By law and process of great nature, thence

xni.

Act II.

W I N T E R'S TALE.

263

Free'd and enfranchis'd : not a party to
The anger of the king; nor guilty of,
If any be, the trespass of the queen.

Keep. I do believe it.

Paul. Do not you fear: upon

Mine bonoui*, I will stand 'twixt you and danger.

[Exeuta.

SCENE III.

The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Lbontbs, Antigonus, Lords, and other
Attendants.

Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but
weakness
To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if
The cause were not in being; — part o'the cause,
She, the adultress; — for the harlot king
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she
I can hook to me: Say that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there?

1 Atten. My lord?

\jidvancing.

Leon. How does the boy?

1 Atten. He took good rest to-night;

'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd.

Leon. To see,

His nobleness 1

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother.
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply;
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep.
And dow nright languish'd. — Leave me solely : — - -) go.
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fye, fye, no

thought of him ;
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty:
And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be.
Until a time may serve: for present vengeance.
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:
They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nor
Shall she, within my power.

Enter Paulina, with a Child.

1 Lord. You must not enter,

Paul. Nay, rather, good mj lords, be second to me :
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul;
iMore free, than he is jealous.

Ant. That's enough.

1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; com-
manded
None should come at him.

Paul. Not so hot, good sir;

I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, —
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavlngs, — such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
Do come with words as med'cinal as true;
Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour,
That presses him from sleep,

Leon. What noise there, ho?

Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference,
About some gossips for your highness.

Leon. How?

Away with that audacious lady: Antigonus,

I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me;

I knew, she would.

Ant. I told her so, my lord.

On your displeasure's peril, and on mine.
She should not visit you.

Leon. What, canst not rule her?

Paul. From all dishonesty, he can: in this,
(Unless he take the course that you have done.
Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it.
He shall not rule me.

Ant. Lo you now; you hear!

When she will take the rein, I let her run;
But she'll not stumble.

Paul. Good my liege, I come, —

And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess -^)
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare
Less appear so, in comforting your evils, -*)
Than such as most seem yours: — I say, I come
From your good queen.

Leon. Good queen!

Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say,
good queen.
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you. -*)

Leon. Force her hence.

Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes,
First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll off;
But, first, I'll do my errand. — The good queen.
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.

[Laying down the child.

Leon. Out!

A mankind witch! -') Hence with her, out o'door:
A most intelligencing bawd!

Paul. Not so:

I am as ignorant in that, as you
In so entitling me: and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.

Leon. Traitors !

Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard: —
Thou dotard, [to Asticosus] thou art woman-tir'd, ^ ')

unroosted
By thy dame Partlet here, — take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. -^)

Paul. For ever

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness *')
Which he has put upon't!

Leon. He dreads his wife.

Paul. So, I would, you did; then 'twere past all
doubt.
You'd call your children yours.

Leon. A nest of traitors!

Ant. I am none, by this good light.

Paul. Nor I; nor any,

But one, that's here; and that's himself: for he
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's.
His hopeful son's, his babe's betrays to slander.
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not
(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten,
As ever oak, or stone, was sound.

Leon. A callat.

Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her husband,
And now baits me! — This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes:
Hence with it; and, together with the dam.
Commit them to the fiie.

Paul. It is yours;

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords.
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip.

xm.

264

AV I N T E R'S TALE

Act hi.

The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley.
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his smiles;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: —
And, thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't; ^") lest she suspect, as he does.
Her children not her husband's!

Leon. A gross hag! — .

And, lozel, ^') thou art worthy to be hang'd.
That wilt not stay her tongue.
^nt. Hang all the husbands,

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
Leon. Once more, take her hence.

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
Leon. I'll have thee burn'd.

Paul. I care not:

It is an heretic, that makes the fire.
Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant;
But this most cruel usage of your queen
(Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something sa-
vours
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.

Leon. On your allegiance.

Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant.
Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her.

Paul. I pray you do not push me; I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove send her
A better guiding spirit! — What need these hands? —
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
Will never do bim good, not one of you.
So, so: — Farewell; we are gone. - [Exit.

LeoH. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. —
My child? away with't — even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence.
And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
Even thou, and none but thou. Take It up straight :
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
(And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life.
With what thou else call'st thine: If thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ;
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out Go, tJike it to the fire;
For thou sett'st on thy wife.

Ant. I did not, sir:

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.

1 Lord. We can; my royal liege,

He is not guilty of her coming hither.
Leon. You are liars all.

iLord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better credit;
We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech
So to esteem of us: And on our knees we beg,
(As lecompense of our dear services,
Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose;
Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue: We all kneel,
Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows: —
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel
And call me father? Better burn it now,
Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live:
It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither;

[To Aktigonds.
You that have been so tenderly officious
With lady Margery, your midwife, there,
To save this bastard's life: for 'tis a bastard.
So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you adventure
To save this brat's life?

j4nt. Any thing, my lord,

That my ability may undergo.
And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ;
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left,
To save the innocent: any thing possible.

Leon. It shall be possible: Swear by this sword, ^*)
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant. I will, my lord.

Leon. Mark, and perform it; (seest thou?) for the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself, but to thy lew'd-tongu'd wife;
Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee.
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to its own protection.
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, —
On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, —
That thou commend it strangely to some place, ^*)
Where chance may nurse, or end it; Take it up.

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe:
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens,
To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say.
Casting their savageness aside, have done
Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed doth require! and blessing.
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side.
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss ! [Exit with the Child.

Leon. No, I'll not rear

Another's issue.

1 Atten. Please your highness, posts.

From those you sent to the oracle, are come
An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to the court.

1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed

Hath been beyond account.

Leon. Twenty-three days

They have been absent: 'Tis good speed; foretels,
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady: for, as she hath
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives.
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me:
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same. A Street in some Town.
Enter Cleomenes and Dion.

Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most sweet;
Fertile the isle; the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.

Dion. I shall report,

For most it caught me, the celestial habits,
(Methinks, I so should term them,) and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly
It was i'the offering!

Cleo. But, of all, the burst

And the ear-deafening voice o'the oracle.
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense.
That I was nothing,

Dion. If the event o'the journey

Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be't so ! —

Kill.

Act III.

W I N T E R'S TALE.

265

As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy.
The tiine is worth the use on't. 0

Cleo. Great Apollo,

Turn all to the best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hemiione,
I little like.

Dion. The violent carriage of it

Will clear, or end, the business: When the oracle,
(Thus by Apollo's great dirine seal'd up,)
Shall the contents discover, something rare.

Even then will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh

horses; —
And gracious be the issue! [Exeuat.

SCEXE II.

The tame. A Court of Justice.

Lbontbs, Lords, and Officers, appear
properly seated.

Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro-
nounce,)
Even pushes 'gainst our heart: The party tried.
The daughter of a king; our wife; and one
Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice; which shall have due course.

Even to the guilt, or the purgation. -)

Produce the prisoner.

Ofji. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen
Appear in person here in court. — Silence !

Hbrmionb m brought in, guarded^ Paulina and
Ladies attending.
Leon. Read the indictment.

OfJi. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king
of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of
high treason, in committing adultery with Po-
lixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with
Camiilo to take away the life of our sovereign
lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence ^)
whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,
thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegi-
ance of a true subject, didit counsel and aid them,
for their better safety, to fly away by night.

Her. Since what 1 am to say, must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation; and
The testimony on my part, no other
But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me
To say, Aof guilty; mine integrity.
Being counted falsehood, *) shall, as I express it.
Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers ^vine
Behold our human actions, (as they do,)
I doubt not then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know,
(Who least will seem to do so,) my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true.
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history' can pattern, though devis'd.
And plaj'd, to take spectators: For behold me, —
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety oi the throne, a great king's daughter.
The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing.
To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore
W ho please to come and hear. For life, I prize it *)
As I weigh grief, which I w ould spare : for honour,
"Tis a derivative from me to mine, ')
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace.
How merited to be so; since he came.
With what encounter so uncurrent I

Have strain'd, to appear thus: if one jot beyond
The bound of honour; or, in act, or ^vill.
That way inclining; harden'd be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, Fye upon my grave!
Leon. I ne'er heard yet,

That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did.
Than to perform it first. ')
Her. That's true enough;

Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
Leon. You will not own it.

Her. More than mistress of.

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
(Wich whom I am accus'd,) I do confess,
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd;
With such a kind of love, as might become
A lady like me; with a love, even such.
So, and no other, as yourself commanded:
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude.
To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had spoke
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd
For me to try how: all I know of it.
Is, that Camiilo was an honest man;
And, why he left your court, the gods themselves,
W^otting no more than I, are ignorant.
Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in his absence.

Her. Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not:
My life stands in the level *) of your dreams.
Which I'll lay down.
Leon. Your actions are my dreams;

You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it : — As you were past all shame,
(Those of your fact are so,) ') so past all truth:
Which to deny, concerns more than avails:
For as »<»)

Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself.
No father owning it, (which is, indeed.
More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage.
Look for no less than death.
Her. Sir, spare your threats ;

The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek.
To me can life be no commodity;
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone.
But know not how it went: My second joy.
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence,
I am barr'd, like one infectious: My third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, ^ ' ) is from my breast.
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth.
Haled out to murder; Myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; With immodest hatred.
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion: — Lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i'the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. *-) Now, ray liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive.
That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed.
But yet hear this; mistake me not — — No! life,
I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour,
(Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd
Upon sunnises; all proofs sleeping else.
But what your jealousies awake; I tell you
'Tis rigour, and not law. — Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle?
Apollo be my judge.

Km.

266

W I N T E R'S TALE

Act III.

1 Lord. This your request

Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.

^Exeunt certain Oflicers.

Her. The emperor of Russia was my father:
O, that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery; ^^) yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!

Re-enter Officers, with Clbomenks and Dion.

Ofji. You here shall swear upon this sword of
justice,
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos ; and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then.
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal,
Nor read the secrets in't.

Cleo. Dion. All this we swear.

Leon. Break up the seals, and read.

OfJi. [Reads.] Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blame-
less, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous ty-
rant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the
king shall live without an heir, if that, which
is lost, be not found.

Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo !

Her. Praised !

Leon, Hast thou read truth?

Of/i. Ay, my lord; even so

As it is here set down.

Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle:
The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood.

Enter a Servant, hastily.

Serv. My lord the king, the king !

Leon. What is the business?

Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it:
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed, ' "*) is gone.

Leon. How ! gone ?

Serv. Is dead.

Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at iny injustice. [Hebmioke fainia.] How
now there?

Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look
down.
And see what death is doing.

Leon. Take her hence:

Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover. —
I have too much bellev'd mine own suspicion: —
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon

[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with He&x.
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle! —
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes;
New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo;
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy:
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister, to poison
My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death, and with
Reward, did threaten and encourage him.
Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane.
And lill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here.
Which you knew great; and to the certain hazard * *)
Of all incertainties himself commended, ^')
No richer than his honour: — How he glisters
Thorough my rust! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker! ^')

Be-enter Paulina.

Paul. Woe the while!

O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it.
Break too!

1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady?

Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling.
In leads, or oils? what old, or newer torture
Must I receive; whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies, —
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine ! — O, think, what they have done.
And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou beti'ay'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant,
And damnable ungrateful: nor was't much.
Thou would'sthavepoison'd good Camillo's honour, "*)
To have him kill a king; poor trespasses.
More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter.
To be or none, or little; though a devil
Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't : ' ')
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young prince; whose honourable thoughts
(Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart
That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,
Laid to thy answer: But the last, — O, lords,
When I have said, cry, woe! — the queen, the queen.
The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead; and venge-
ance for't
Not dropp'd down yet.

1 Lord. The higher powers forbid!

Paul. I say, she's dead: I'll swear't: if word, nor
oath.
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods, — But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things; for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees.
Ten thousamd years together, naked, fasting.
Upon a barren moimtain, and still winter
In stoim perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert. ■

Leon. Go on, go on:

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

1 Lord. Say no more ;

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I'the boldness of your speech.

Paul. I am sorry for't; ^")

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd
To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what's

past help.
Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction
At my petition, I beseech you; rather
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege.
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:
The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool, again ! —
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
I'll not remember you of my own lord.
Who is lost too: Take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.

Leon. Thou didst speak but well.

When most the truth; which I receive much better

Kill.

Act hi.

W I N T E R*S TALE

207

Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me

To the dead bodies of my queen, and son:

One grave shall be for both; upon them shall

The causes of their death appear, unto

Our shame perpetual: Once a day I'll visit

The chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there.

Shall be my recreation : So long as

Nature will bear up with this exercise.

So long I dadly vow to use it. Come,

And lead me to these sorrows.

[^Exeuat.

SCENE III.

Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.

Enter Antigonus, with a Child; and a Mariner.

Ant. Thou art perfect then, ^ ') our ship hath touch'd
upon
The deserts of Bohemia?

Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear

We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly.
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry.
And frown upon us.

Ant. Their sacred wills be done 1 — Go, get aboard ;
Look to thy bark: I'll not be long, before
I rail upon thee.

Mar. Make your best haste; and go not
Too far i'the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey, that keep upon't.

Ant. Go thou away:

I'll follow instantly.

Mar. I am glad at heart

To be so rid o'the business. [Exit.

Ant. Come, poor babe: — —

I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead
May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature.
Sometimes her head on one side, some another;
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow.
So fill'd, and so becoming: in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me;
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, —
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
/ pr'ythee, call't: for this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more: — and so, with shrieks.
She melted into air. Atfrighted much,
I did in time collect myself; and thought
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys:
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe,
Hermione hath suffer'd death; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid.
Either for life, or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well !

[Laying down the Child.
There lie; and there thy character:-^) there these;

[Laying down a bundle.
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty.

And still rest thine. The storm begins : — Poor

wretch.

That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd

To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot.

But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I,

To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell!

The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have

A lullaby too rough: I never saw

The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour? —

Well may I get aboard! This is the chace;

I am gone for ever. * [Exit punued by a bear.

Enter an old Shepherd.

Shep. I would, there were no age between ten and

three-and-twentv ; or that youth would sleep out

the rest: for there is nothing in the between but

getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,

stealing, fighting. — Hark you now! Would

any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and two-
and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have scared
away two of my best sheep; which, I fear, the
wolf will sooner find, than the master; if any where
I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing on ivy.
Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here?
[Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne; a very
pretty barne! A boy, or a child, -^) I wonder? A
pretty one; a very pretty one: Sure, some scape:
though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-
gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some
stair-work, some trunk- work, some behind- door-
work: they were warmer that got this, than the
poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity : yet I'll
tarry till my son come; he hollaed but even now.
Whoa, ho hoa!

Enter Clown.

Clo. Hilloa, loa!

S/iep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to
talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither.
What ailest thou, man?

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by
land; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is
now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it, you
cannot thrust a bodkin's point.

Shep. Why, boy, how is it?

Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how
it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not
to the point: O, the most piteous cry of the poor
souls! sometunes to see 'em, and not to see 'em:
now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast;
and anon swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd
thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the
land service, — To see how the bear tore out his
shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and
said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman: — But
to make an end of the ship : — to see how the sea
flap-dragoned it: — -*) but, first, how the poor
souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; — and how
the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked
him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather.

Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw
these sights: the men are not yet cold under water,
nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at
it now.

Shep. W^ould I had been by, to have helped the
old man!

Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to
have helped her; there your charity would have
lacked footing. [Jtide.

Shep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but look thee
here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with
things dying, I with things new born. Here's a
sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth -*) for a
child! look thee here! take up, take up.

squires

Kill.

268

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act IV.

boy ; open't. So ; let's see ; It was told ine, I should
be rich by the fairies; this is some changeling: — ^^)
open't: What's within, boy?

Clo. You're a made old man; ^') if the sins of
your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live.
Gold! all gold!

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove
so : up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next
way. ^*) We are lucky, boy; and to be so still,
requires nothing but secresy. — Let my sheep go :
— Come, good boy, the next way home.

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings;
I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman,
and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst, ^ ')
but when they are hungry: if there be any of him
left, I'll bury it.

Shep. That's a good deed: if thou may'st discern
by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me
to the sight of him.

Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him
i'the ground.

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good
deeds on't. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Enter Time, as Chorus.

Time. I, — that please some, try all ; both joy,
and terror.
Of good and bad; that make, and unfold error, —
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime.
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap; ') since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom: Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was,
Or what is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them in: so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning ; and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass; and give my scene such growing.
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
The effects of his fond jealousies; so grieving.
That he shuts up himself; imagine me.
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well,
I mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring: What of her ensues,
I list not prophecy; but let Time's news
Be known, when 'tis brought forth : — a shepherd's

daughter.
And what to her adheres, which follows after.
Is the argument of time: -) Of this allow, ^)
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never yet, that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly, you never may. [Exit.

SCENE I.

The same. A Room in the Palace of Polixenes.

Enter Polixenbs and Camillo.

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im-
portunate; 'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing;
a death, to grant this.

Cam. It is fifteen years, '*) since I saw my country :

though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad,
I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni-
tent king, my master, hath sent for me: to whose
feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er-
ween to think so ; which is another spur to my
departure.

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the
rest of thy services, by leaving me now : the need
I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;
better not to have had thee, than thus to want
thee : thou, having made me businesses, which none,
without thee, can sufficiently manage, must either
stay to execute them thyself, or take away with
thee the very services thou hast done: which if I
have not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,)
to be more thankful to thee, shall be my study;
and my profit therein, the heaping friendships. ^)
Of that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no
more : whose very naming punishes me with the re-
membrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and
reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his
most precious queen, and children, are even now to
be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou
the prince Florizel my son? Kings are no less un-
happy, their issue not being gracious, than they
are in losing them, when they have approved their
virtues.

Cam. Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince :
What his happier affairs may be, are to me un-
known: but I have, misslngly, *) noted, he is of
late much retired from court; and is less frequent
to his princely exercises, than formerly he hath ap-
peared.

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo ; and with
some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my ser-
vice, which look upon his removedness : from whom
I have this intelligence; That he is seldom from
the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they
say, that from very nothing, and beyond the ima-
gination of his neighbours, is grown into an un-
speakable estate.

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath
a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is
extended more, than can be thought to begin from
such a cottage.

Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But,
I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou
shalt accompany us to the place : where we will,
not appearing what we are, have some question ')
with the shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I think
it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort
thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in his busi-
ness, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

Cam. I willingly obey your command.

Pol. My best Camillo! — We must disguise our-
selves. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Road near the Shepherd's Cottage.

Enter Autolycus, singing.

When daffodils begin to peer, ^)

With, heigh! the doxy over the dale, —

Why, then, comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. ')

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, —
With, hey ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing ! —

Doth set my pugging tooth '") on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, —

With, hey 1 with hey! the thrush and the jay : —

XIII.

Act IV.

W I i\ T E R'S TALE

269

Are tummer tongs for me and my aunlt, * *)
While we lie tumbling in the hay.

I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, >Yore
three-pile; ^^) but now I am out of sen ice:

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?

The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,

I then do most go right.

If tinkers may have leave to live.

And bear the sow-skin budget;
Then my account I well may give.

And in the stocks avouch it.

My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who,
being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was like-
wise a snapper up of unconsidered trifles: With
die, and drab, *^) I purchased this caparison; and
my revenue is the silly cheat: '"*) Gallows, and
knock, are too powerful on the highway : beating,
and hanging, are terrors to me; for the life to
come, I sleep out the thought of it. — A prize! a
prize !

Enter Clown.

Clo. Let me see : — every 'leven wether — tods * ^)
every tod yields — pound and odd shilling: fifteen
hundred shorn, — What comes the wool to ?

Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. [Jside.

Clo. I cannot do't without counters. — Let me see;
what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast?
Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants;

rice What will this sister of mine do with i

rice ? But my father hath made her mistress of the '
feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four- \
and-twenty nosegays for the shearers: three-man ;
song-men all, ^'') and very good ones; but they are
most of them means *') and bases: but one Puritan
amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-pipes. I .
must have saffron, to colour the warden pies; '*);
mace, — dates, — none; that's out of my note:
nutmegs, seven; a race, or two of ginger; but
that 1 may beg ; — four pound of prunes, and as \
many of raisins o'the sun. i

Aut. O, that ever I was bom!

[Grovelling on the ground, i

Clo. V the name of me,

Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these
I rags ; and then death, death !

Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more
' rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.

Aut. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me
mure than the stripes I have received; which are
mijihty ones, and millions.

Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may
come to a great matter.

Ant. I am robbed, sir, and beaten: my money and
apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things
put upon me.

Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man?

Aut. Foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man.

Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the gar-
ments he hath left with thee; if this be a horse-
man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me
. thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.

[Helping him up.
\ Aut. O! good sir, tenderly, oh!
j Clo. Alas, poor soul.

j Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear, sir, my
I shoulder-blade is out.

Clo. How now? cans't stand?

Aut. Softly, dear sir; [pick» hit pocket] good sir,
softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money
for thee.

Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech yon, sir:
I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile
hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have
money, or any thing I want: offer me no money, I
pray you; that kills my heart.

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed
you?

Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about
with trol-my dames : * ') I knew him once a servant
of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of
his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped
out of the court.

Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue
w hipped out of the court : they cherish it, to make
it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.

Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man
well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
process-sener, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion
of the prodigal son, -") and married a tinker's wife
within a mile where my land and living lies ; and,
having flown over many kna\-ish professions, he
settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.

Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: **)
he haunts wakes, fairs, and bearbaitings.

Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue
that put me into this apparel.

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia;
if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd
have run.

Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter;
I am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, I
warrant him.

Clo. How do you now?

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can
stand, and walk; I will even take my leave of you,
and pace softly towards my kinsman's.

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?

Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.

Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices
for our sheep-shearing.

Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! — [Exit Clown.] Your
purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll
be with you at your sheep-shearing too : If I make
not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers
prove sheep, let me be enrolled, and my name put
in the book of virtue!

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a: --)

A merry heart goes all the day.

Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit.

SCENE III.

The same. A Shepherd'« Cottage.

Enter Florizel and Perdita.

Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of yoa
Do give a life: no shepherdess; but Flora,
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods.
And you the queen on't.

Per. Sir, my gracious lord.

To chide at your extremes, -^) it not becomes me;
O, pardon, that I name them: your high self.
The gracious mark - ^) o' the land, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up : - ^) But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush

Km.

270

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act IV.

To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To sliow myself a glass.

Flo. I bless the time,

When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.

Per. Now Jove afford you cause!

To me, the difference ''■) forges dread; your greatness
Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble
To think, your father, by some accident.
Should pass this way, as you did: O, the fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble.
Vilely bound up? -'') What would he say? or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?

Flo. Apprehend

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated : and the fire-rob'd god.
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain.
As I seem now: Their transfoi'mations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honour; nor ray lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.

Per. O but, dear sir, ' ^}

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o' the king:
One of these two must be necessities.
Which then will speak; that you must change this

purpose.
Or I my life.

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,

With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o' the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's: for I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine: to this 1 am most constant,
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming :
Lift up your countenance ; as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.

Per. O lady fortune.

Stand you auspicious!

Enter Shepherd, with Pot-ixenes and Camillo
disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, anrf others.

Flo. See, your guests approach :

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly.
And let's be red with mirth.

Shep. Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day, she was both pantier, butler, cook;
Both dame and ser^^ant: welcom'd all: serv'd all:
Would sing her song, and dance her turn : now here,
At upper end o' the table, now, i' the middle ; ,
On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire
With labour; and the thing, she took to quench it.
She would to each one sip : You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome: for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o' the feast : Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing.
As your good flock shall prosper.

Per. Welcome, sir!

[To POLIXENES.

It is my father's will, I should take on me

The hostess-ship o' the day: — You're welcome, sir!

[To Gahillo.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour, all the winter long :
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both.
And welcome to our shearing!

Pol. Shepherdess,

(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, —

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyflowers.
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden.

Do you neglect them?

Per. For I have -') heard it said,

There is an art which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.

Pol. Say, there be;

Yet nature is made better by no mean.
But nature makes that mean: so, o'er £hat art.
Which you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock;
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race; This is an art
Which does mend nature, — change it rather : but
The art itself is nature.

Per. So it is.

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers,
And do not call them bastards.

Per. I'll not put

The dibble ^°) in earth to set one slip of them:
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
This youth should say, 'twere well : and only therefore
Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you ;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun.
And with him rises weeping; these are ttoAvers
Of middle summer, and, I think they are given
To men of middle age: You are very welcome.

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock.
And only live by gazing.

Per. Out, alas!

You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through. — Now, my

fairest friend,
I would, I had some flowers o' the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing : — O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon! daffodils.
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim.
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, ^■)
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses.
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds.
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack.
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend.
To strew him o'er and o'er.

Flo. What? like a corse?

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ;
Not like a corse : or if, — not to be buried.
But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
Methinks I play as I have seen them do

Km.

Act IV.

W I X T E R'S TALE

271

In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.

Flo. What you do.

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy £ind sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function: Each your doing, ^-)
So singular in each particular.
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

Per. O Doricles,

Your praises are too large: but that your youth.
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it.
Do plainly give you out an unstaln'd shepherd;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.

Flo. I think, you have

As little skill to fear, as I have purpose
To put you to 't. — But, come; our dance, I prayj
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair.
That never mean to part.

Per. I'll swear for 'em.

Pol. This is the prettiest low-bom lass, that ever
Ran on the green sward : nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.

Cam. He tells her something.
That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.

Clo. Come on, strike up.

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic.
To mend her kissing >vith.

Mop. Now, in good time!

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand ^*) upon our
manners. —
Come, strike up. [Mimic.

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter?

Shep. They call him Doricles; and he boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding: ^'*) but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;
Helookslike sooth: ^^) He says, he loves my daughter;
I think so too: for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read.
As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose.
Who loves another best^

Pol. She dances featly.

Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it.
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedler at
the door, you would ne%'er dance again after a tabor
and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he
sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money;
he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all
men's ears grew to his tunes.

Clo. He could never come better: he shall come
in : I love a ballad but even too well ; if it be dole-
ful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant
thing Indeed, and sung lamentablv.

Sere. He hath songs, for man,' or woman, of all
sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with
gloves: he has the prettiest love songs for maids;

so without bawdry, which is strange; with such
delicate burdens of dildot and fadings: ^^) jump
her and thump her ; and where some stretch-mouth'd
rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break
a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to
answer. Whoop, do me no harm, good man ; puts
him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm,
good man.

Pol. This is a brave fellow.

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-con-
ceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? ^')

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours 1' the
rainbow; points, more than ail the lawyers in Bo-
hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to
him by the gross; inkles, caddlsses, ^'*) cambrics,
lawns ; w hy, he sings them over, 'as they w ere gods
or goddesses; you would think, a smock were a
she-angel ; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the
work about the square on't. ^ ')

Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him approach
singing.

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words
in his tunes.

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in
'em that you'd think, sister.

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

Enter Autolycus, tinging.

Lawn, as white as driven snow;

Cyprus, black as e'er was crow;

Gloves, as sweet as damask roses;

Masks for faces, and for noses;

Hiigle bracelets, necklace-amber.

Perfume for a lady's chamber:

Golden qitoifs, and stomachers.

For my lads to give their dears;

Pins, and poking-sticks of steel.

What maids tack from head to heel:

Come, buy of me, come; come, buy, come buy;

Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:

Come, buy, &c.

Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou
should'st take no money of me ; but being enthrali'd
as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain
ribands and gloves.

Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but
they come not too late now.

Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or
there be liars.

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you : may
be, he has paid you more; which will shame you
to give him again.

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will
they wear their plackets, where they should bear
their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you
are going to bed, or kiln-hole, "*") to whistle off
these secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before
all our guests? 'Tis well they are whispering; Cla-
mour your tongues, "* ') and not a word more.

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry
lace, "*-) and a pair of sweet gloves. ,

Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by
the way, and lost all my money?

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;
therefore it behoves men to be warj.

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many
parcels of charge.

Clo. What hast here? ballads?

Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in
print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true.

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a

Kill.

272

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act IV.

usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-
bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat ad-
ders' heads, and toads carbonadoed.

Mop. Is it true, think you?

Aut. Very true; and but a month old.

Dor. Bless me, from marrying a usurer!

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress
Taleporter; and five or six honest wives' that were
present: Why should I carry lies abroad?

Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it.

Clo. Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut. Here's another ballad, Of a fish, that ap-
peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore
of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and
sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids:
it was thought, she was a woman, and was turned
into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh
with one that loved her: The ballad is very piti-
ful, and as true.

Dor. Is it true too, think you?

Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses,
more than ray pack will hold.

Clo. Lay it by too: Another.

Aut. This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one.

Mop. Let's have some merry ones.

Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one ; and goes
to the tune of Two maids wooing a man: there's
scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in
request, I can tell you.

Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part,
thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my
occupation: have at it with you.

Song.

A. Get you hence, for I must go;
Where, it fits not you to know.

D. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither?
M. It becomes thy oath full well.
Thou to me thy secrets tell:

D. Me too, let me go thither.
M. Or thou ^o'st to the grange, or mill.
D. If to either, thou dost ill.

A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. NeitJier.
D. Thou hast sworn my love to be:
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me:

Then, whither go'st? say, whither?

Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves;
My father and the gentlemen are in sad '*^) talk,
and we'll not trouble them; Come, bring away thy
pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both: —
Pedler, let's have the first choice. — Follow me,
girls.

Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Aside.

Will you buy any tape,

Or lace for your cape.
My dainty duck, my dear-a?

Any silk, any thread.

Any toys for your head.
Of the new'st, and fin' st, fin'tt wear-a?

Come to the pedler;

Money's a medler.
That doth utter *■*) all men's ware-a.

\Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dobcab,
and M0F8A.

Enter a Servant.

iSerr. Master, there is three carters, three shep-
herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have

made themselves all men of hair;**) they call them-
selves saltiers: **■) and they have a dance which
the wenches say is a gallimaufry ^^) of gambols,
because they are not in't; but they themselves are
o'the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that
know little but bowling,) it will please plentifully.

Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too
much homely foolery already: — I know, sir, we
weary you.

Pol. You weary those that refresh us: Pray, let's
see these four threes of herdsmen.

Serv. One three of them , by their own report,
sir, hath danced before the king ; and not the worst
of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by
the squire. *^)

Shep. Leave your prating: since these good men
are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.

Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habited
like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.

Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here-
after. — *9)
Is it not too far gone ? — 'Tis time to part them. —
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.] — How now,

fair shepherd?
Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young.
And handed love, as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks : I would have ransack'd
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance ! you have let him go.
And nothing marted with him: If your lass
Interpretation should abuse ; and call this.
Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited ^°)
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.

Flo. Old sir, I know

She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart: which I have given already.
But not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem.
Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand.
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow.
That's bolted * ' ) by the northern blasts twice o'er.

Pol. What follows this? —
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out ; —
But, to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.

Flo. Do, and be witness to't.

Pol. And this my neighbour too?

Flo. And he, and more

Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all :
That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch.
Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and know-
ledge.
More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them.
Without her love: for her, employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service.
Or to their own perdition.

Pol. . Fairly offer'd.

Cam. This shows a sound affection.

Shep. But, my daughter.

Say you the like to him?

Per. I cannot speak

So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better;
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.

Shep. Take han4s, a bargain;

KUI.

Act IV.

W I N T E R'S TALE.

273

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.

Flo. O, that must be

I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder: But, come on.
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Shep. Come, your hand ;

And, daughter, yours.

Pol. Soft, sw^n, awhile, 'beseech you;

Have you a fatlier?

Flo. I have: But what of him?

Pol. Knows he of this ?

Flo. He neither does, nor shall.

Pol. Methinks, a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age, and altering rheums ? Can he speak ? hear ?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?^-)
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing,
But what he did being childish?

Flo. No, good sir;

He hath his health, and atnpler strength, indeed.
Than most have of his age.

Pol. By my white beard.

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: Reason, my son
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason.
The father, (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel
In such a business.

Flo. I yield all this;

But, for some other reasons, my grave sir.
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.

Pol. Let him know't.

Flo. He shall not

Pol. Pr'jthee, let him.

Flo. No, he must not.

Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.

Flo. Come, come, he must not : —

Mark our contract.

Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir,

[Discovering hinuelf.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd: Thou a scepter's heir.
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! — Thou old traitor,
I am sony, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force, must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with;

Shep. O, my heart!

Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars,

and made
More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, —
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh.
That thou no more shalt see ^^] this knack, (as never
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin.
Far than Deucalion off; — Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for this time.
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it. — 'And you, enchant-
ment, —
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too.
That makes himself, but for our honour therein.
Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open.
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces.

Km

I will devise a death as cruel for thee,

As thou art tender to't. [Exit.

Per, Even here undone!

I was not much afeard: *•*) for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly.
The selfsame sun, that shines upon his court.
Hides not his visage from oiu* cottage, but
Looks on alike. — Will't please you, sir, be gone?

[To Flobizel.
I told you, what would come of this : 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine.
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further.
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam. Why, how now, father?

Speak, ere thou diest.

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think.

Nor dare to know that which I know. — O, sir,

[To Flohizek.
You have undone a man of fourscore three.
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea.
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust. — O cursed wretch !

[To Perdita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st ad-
venture
To mingle faith with him. — Undone! undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire. [Exit.

Flo. Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afear'd; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am:
More straining on, for plucking back ; not following
My leash unwillingly.

Cam. Gracious my lord.

You know your father's temper: at tliis time
He will allow no speech, — which, I do guess.
You do not purpose to him; — and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
Then, till the fury of his highness settle.
Come not before him.

Flo. I not purpose it.

I think, Camillo.

Cam. Even he, my lord.

Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus ?
How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'twere known.

Flo. It cannot fail, but by

The violation of ray faith; And then
Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together.
And mar the seeds within ! — Lift up thy looks : —
From my succession wipe me, father! I
Am heir to my affection.

Cam. Be advis'd.

Flo. I am ; and by my fancy : * ^) if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness.
Do bid it welcome.

Cam. This is desperate, sir.

Flo. So caU it: but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you.
As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune,
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver, — I am put to sea

18

274

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act IV.

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course 1 mean to hold,
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

Cam. O, my lord,

I would your spirit were easier for advice.
Or stronger for your need.

Flo. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her tuide.

I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo.

Cam. He's irremovable,

Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.

Flo. Now, good Camillo,

I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony. [Going.

Cam. Sir, I think.

You have heard of my poor services, i'the love
That I have borne your father?

Flo. Very nobly

Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music.
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.

Cam. Well, my lord,

If you may please to think I love the king;
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction,
(If your more ponderous and settled project
May suifer alteration,) on mine honour
I'll point you whei'e you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress (from the whom, 1 see.
There's no disjunction to be made, but by,
As heavens forefend! your ruin:) marry her;
And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,)
Your discontenting father strive to qualify, *'")
And bring him up to liking.

Flo. How, Camillo,

May this almost a miracle, be done?
That I may call thee something more than man,
And, after that, trust to thee.

Cam. Have you thought on

A place, whereto you'll go ?

Flo. Not any yet:

But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do; *') so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.

Cam. Then list to me;

This follows, — if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight; — Make for Sicilia;
And there present yourself, and your fair princess,
(For, so I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes;
She shall be habited, as it becomes
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth : asks thee, the son, forgiveness.
As 'twere i'the father's person : kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess: o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow.
Faster than thought, or time. *

Flo. Worthy Camillo,

What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?

Cam. Sent by the king your father

To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with

What you, as from your father, shall deliver.
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down :
The which shall point you forth at every sitting.
What you must say; that he shall not perceive.
But that you have your father's bosom there,
And speak his very heart.

Flo I am bound to you:

There is some sap in this.

Catn. A course more promising

Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; most certain,
To miseries enough: no hope to help you;
But, as you shake ofl" one, to take another;
Nothing so certain as your anchors; who
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loath to be; Besides, you know.
Prosperity's the very bond of love;
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.

Per. One of these is true:

I think, affliction may subdue the cheek.
But not take in the mind. **)

Cam. Yea, say you so?

There shall not, at your father's house, these seven

years.
Be born another such.

Flo. My good Camillo,

She is as forward of her breeding, as
I'the rear of birth. ^^}

Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity

She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.

Per. Your pardon, sir, for this:

I'll blush you thanks.

Flo. My prettiest Perdita.

But, O, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo, —

Preserver of my father, now of me;

The medicin of our house! — how shall we do?

We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;

Nor shall appear in Sicily

Cavi. My lord.

Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes
Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed, as if
The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir.
That you may know you shall not want, — one word.

[They talk aside.

Enter Autolycus.

Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust,
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have
sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not
a riband, glass, pomander, ' ^) brooch, table-book,
ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn-
ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng
who should buy first; as if my trinkets had been
hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer:
by which means, I saw whose purse was best in
picture; and, what I saw, to my good use, I re-
membered. My clown, (who wants but something
to be a reasonable man,) grew so in love with the
wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes,
till he had both tune and words ; which so drew
the rest of the herd to me, that all their other sen-
ses stuck in ears : you might have pinched a placket,
it was senseless; 'twas nothing, to geld a codpiece
of a purse; I would have filed keys off, that hung
in chains : no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song,
and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this
time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their
festival purses : and had not the old man come in
with a whoobub against his daughter and the king's

XIII.

Act IV.

W I N T E R'S TALE.

275

son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had
not left a purse alive in the whole army.

[Camillo, Flobizei., and Perdita, come forward.

Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.

Flo. And those that you'll procure from king
Leontes,

Cam. Shall satisfy your father.

Per. Happy be you!

All, that you speak, shows fair.

Catn. Who have we here?

[Seeing Autolycus.
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
Nothing, may give us aid.

Aut. If they have overheard me now, why

hanging. [Aside.

Cam. How now, good fellow? why shakest thou so?
Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir.

Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal
that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty,
we must make an exchange; therefore, disease thee
instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,)
and change garments with this gentleman: Though
the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold
thee, there's some boot.**)

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir: — I know ye well
enough. [Aside.

Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : - the gentleman is
half flayed already. ^^)

Aut. Are you in eai'nest, sir? — I smell the trick
of it. — [Aside.

Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee.

Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with
conscience take it.

Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. —

[F14O. and Abtol. exchange garments.
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy
Come home to you! — you must retire yourself
Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat,
And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face;
Dismantle you; and as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming; that you may,
(For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard
Get undescried.

Per. I see, the play so lies,

That I must bear a part.

Ca7n. No remedy. —

Have you done there?

Flo. Should I now meet my father.

He would not call me son.

Cam. Nay, you shall have

No hat : — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend.

Aut. Adieu, sir.

Flo. O, Perdita, what have we twain forgot? ^^)
Pray you, a word. [They converse apart.

Cam. VVhat I do next, shall be, to tell the king

[Aside.
Of this escape, and whither they are bound;
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail,
To force him after; in whose company
I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight
I have a woman's longing.

Flo. Fortune speed us! —

Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.

Cam. The swifter speed, the better.

[Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.

Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : To have
an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is
necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite
also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see,
this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
What an exchange had this been, without boot?

what a boot is here, with this exchange ? Sure, the
gods do this year connive at us, and we may do
any thing extempore. The prince himself is about
a piece of iniquity; stealing away from his father,
Avith his clog at his heels: If 1 thought it were not
a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I
would <**) do't: I hold it the more knavery to con-
ceal it : and therein am I constant to my profession.

Enter Clown and Shepherd.
Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain ;
Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang-
ing, yields a careful man work.

Clo. See, see: what a man you are now! there is
no other way, but to tell the king she's a change-
ling, and none of your flesh and blood.

Shep. Nay, but hear me.

Clo. Nay, but hear me.

Shep. Go to then.

Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, yoor
flesh and blood has not offended the king; and, so,
your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him.
Show those things you found about her; those se-
cret things, all but what she has with her: This
being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you.

Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea,
and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no
honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go
about to make me the king's brother-in-law.

Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off
you could have been to him; and then your blood
had been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce.

Aut. Vei-y wisely ; puppies ! [Aside.

Shep. Well; let us to the king; there is that in
this fardel, will make him scratch his beard.

Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint
may be to the flight of my master.

Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace.

Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so,
sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my ped-
ler's excrement. — [Takes off his false beard.] How
now, rustics? whither are you bound?

Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship.

Aut. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the
condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling,
your names, your ages, of what having, '*) breed-
ing, and any thing that is fitting to be known,
discover.

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir.

Aut. A lie; you are rough and hairy: Let me have
no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
often give us soldiers the lie : but we pay them for
it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
they do not give us the lie. ''<')

Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one,
if you had not taken yourself with the manner. '"')

Shep. Are you a -courtier, an't like you, sir?

Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier.
See'st thou not the air of 'the court, in these en-
foldings? hath not my gait in it, the measure of
the court? receives not thy nose court-odour from
me? reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt?
Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, ortoze'*) from
thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am
courtier cap-a-pe ; and one that will either push on,
or pluck back thy business there : whereupon I com-
mand thee to open thy affair.

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king.

Aut. What advocate hast thou to him?

Shep, I know not, an't like you.

Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant;
say, you have none.

Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock, uor hen.

Km.

18

276

W I N T E R'S TALE

Act V.

Aut. How bless'd are we, that are not simple men 1
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I'll not disdain.

Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier.

Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them
not handsomely.

Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fan-
tastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by the
picking on's teeth.

Aut. The fardel there? what's i'the fardel?
Wherefore that box?

Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel,
and box, which none must know but the king; and
which he shall know within this hour, if I may
come to the speech of him.

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour.

Shep. Why, sir?

Aut. The king is not at the palace : he is gone
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air
himself: For, if thou be'st capable of things serious,
thou must know, the king is full of grief.

Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should
have married a shepherd's daughter.

Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him
fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall
feel, will break the back of man, the heart of
monster.

Clo. Think you so, sir?

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make
heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are
germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall
all come under the hangman: which though it be
great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-
whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his
daughter come into grace! Some say, he shall be
stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I:
Draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are
too few, the sharpest too easy.

Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear,
an't like you, sir?

Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive;
then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of
a wasp's nest; then stand, till he be three quarters
and a dram dead : then recovered again with aqua-
vitae, or some other hot infusion : then raw as he is,
and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, '')
shall he be set against a brick wall, the svin look-
ing Avith a southward eye upon him; where he is
to behold him with flies blown to death. But what
talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries
are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital?
Tell me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,)
what you have to the king: being something gently
considered, "*) I'll bring you where he is aboard,
tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in
your behalfs; and, if it be in man, besides the king,
to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.

Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close
with him, give him gold; and though authority be
a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with
gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside

of his hand, and no more ado: Remember stoned,

and flayed alive.

Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the busi-
ness for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it

as much more; and leave this young man in pawn,

till I bring it you.
Aut. After I have done what I promised?
Shep. Ay, sir.
Aut. Well, give me the moiety : — Are you a party

in this business?
Clo. In some sort, sir : but though my case be a

pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.

Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: —
Hang him, he'll be made an example.

Clo. Comfort, good comfort : we must to the king,
and show our strange sights: he must know, 'tis
none of your daughter, nor my sister; we are gone
else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man
does, when the business is performed; and remain,
as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you.

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the
sea-side ; go on the right hand ; I w ill but look upon
the hedge, and follow you.

Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say,
even blessed.

Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was provided
to do us good. [^Exeunt Shepherd and Clowu.

Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune
would not suffer me ; she drops booties in my mouth.
I am courted now with a double occasion; gold,
and a means to do the prince my master good;
which, who knows how that may turn back to my
advancement? I will bring these two moles, these
blind ones, aboard him : if he think it fit to shore
them again, and that the complaint they have to
the king concerns him nothing, let him call me,
rogue, for being so far officious; for I am proof
against that title, and what shame else belongs to't :
To him will I present them, there may be matter
in it. [Exit.

ACT V.

Scene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of
Leontes.

Enter Lkontbs, Cleomknks, Dion, Paulina, and
others.

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per-
form'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make.
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
More penitence, than done trespass: At the last
Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil;
With them, forgive yourself.

Leon. Whilst I remember

Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them; and so still think of
The wrong I did myself: which was so much,
That heirless it hath made my kingdom; and
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man
Bred his hopes out of.

Paul. True, too true, my lord:

If, one by one, you wedded all the world.
Or, from the all that are, took something good, ')
To make a perfect woman; she, you kill'd,
Would be unparallel'd.

Leon. I think so. Kill'd!

She I kill'd? I did so: but thou strik'st me
Sorely, to say, I did; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue, as in my thought : Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.

Cleo. Not at all, good lady:

You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd
Your kindness better.

Paul. You are one of those,

Would have him wed again.

Dion. If you would not so,

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign dame; consider little,
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue.
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour
Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy.

mix.

Act V.

W I N T E B'S TALE.

277

Than to rejoice, the former queen is well?
What holier, than, — for royalty's repair,
For present comfort and for fortune good, —
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to't?

Paul. There is none worthy.

Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
Will have fulfiU'd their secret purposes:
For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is't not the tenour of his oracle.
That king Leontes shall not have an heir.
Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall.
Is all as monstrous to our human reason,
As my Antigonus to break his grave.
And come again to me; who, on my life.
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel.
My lord should to the heavens be contrary.
Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue;

[To Leontes.
The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best.

Leon. Good Paulina, —
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour, — O, that ever I
Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! — then, even now,
1 might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes;
Have taken treasure from her lips,

Pattl. And left them

More rich, for what they yielded.

Leon. Thou speak'st truth.

No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse.
And better us'd would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corps; and, on this stage,
(Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vex'd.
Begin, And why to me?

Paul. Had she such power.

She had just cause.

Leon. She had; and would incense me-)

To murder her I married.

Paul. I should so:

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark
Her eye; and tell me, for what dull part in't
You chose her: then I'd shriek, that even your ears
Shou'd rift ^) to hear me; and the words that follow'd
Should be, Remember mine.

Leon. Stars, very stars, *)

And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife,
I'll have no wife, Paulina.

Paul. Will you swear

Never to marry, but by my free leave?

Leon. Never, Paulina: so be bless'd my spirit!

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.

Cleo. You tempt him over-much.

Paul. Unless another.

As like Hermione as is her picture,
Affront his eye. ^)

Cleo, Good madam, —

Paul. I have done.

Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir,
No remedy, but you will; give me the office
To choose you a queen; she shall not be so young
As was your former; but she shall be such,
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy
To see her in your arms.

Leon. My true Paulina,

We siiall not marry, till thou bidd'st us.

Paul. That

Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath;
Never till then.

Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel,

Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she
The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access
To your high presence.

Leon. What with him ? he comes not

Like to his father's greatness: his approach.
So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us,
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd
By need, and accident. Wliat train?

Gent. But few,

And those but mean.

Leon. His princess, say you, with him ?

Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
That e'er the sun shone bright on.

Paul. O Hermione,

As every present time doth boast itself
Above a better, gone; so must thy grave
Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself
Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now
Is colder than that theme,) '■) She had not been,
Nor was not to be equall'd; — thus your verse
Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis slirewdly ebb'd.
To say, you have seen a better.

Gent. Pardon, madam;

The one I have almost forgot; (your pardon,)
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye.
Will have your tongue too. This is such a creature.
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else; make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.

Paul. How? not women?

Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman
More worth than any man; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.

Leon. Go, Cleomenes;

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends.
Bring them to our embracement. — Still 'tis strange,
\Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentlemen.
He thus should steal upon us.

Paul. Had our prince,

(Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd
Well with this lord; there was not full a month
Between their tirths.

Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou know'st,
He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure.
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that, which may
Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come.

Re-enter Clbomknbs, with Flokizkl, Perdita, .
and Attendants.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
For she did print your royal father off,
Conceiving you : Were I but twenty-one,
Your father's image is so hit in you.
His very air, that I should call you brother.
As I did him; and speak of something, wildly
By us perforra'd before. Most dearly welcome !
And your fair princess, goddess ! — O, alas !
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as
You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost
(All mine own folly,) the society.
Amity too, of your brave father; whom,
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look upon. ')

Flo. By his command

Have I here touch'd Sicilia: and from him
Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend, «)
Can send his brother: and, but infirmity
(Which waits upon worn times,) hath something seiz'd
His wish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves

KXil.

278

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act V.

(He bade me say so,) more than all the scepters,
And those that bear them, living.

Leon. O, my brother,

(Good gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee, stir
Afresh within me; and these thy offices,
So rarely kind, are as interpreters
Of my behind-hand slackness! — Welcome hither.
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage
(At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man, not worth her pains; much less
The adventure of her person V

Flo. Good my lord,

She came from Libya.

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus,

That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd?

Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him, whose
daughter
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence
(A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have cross'd.
To execute the charge my father gave me.
For visiting your highness: My best train,
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
Not only my success in Libya, sir.
But my arrival, and wife's, in safety
Here, where we are.

Leon. The blessed gods

Purge all infection from our air, whilst you
Do climate here! You have a holy father,
A graceful gentleman; against whose person,
So sacred as it is, I have done sin:
For which the heavens, taking angry note.
Have left me issueless; and your father's bless'd,
(As he from heaven merits it,) with you,
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been.
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
Such goodly things as you?

Enter a Lord.

Lord. Most noble sir.

That, which I shall report, will bear no credit.
Were not the proofs so nigh. Please you, great sir,
Bohemia greets you from himself, by me:
Desires you to attach his son; who has
(His dignity and duty both cast off,)
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
A shepherd's daughter.

Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak.

Lord. Here in the city: I now came from him:
I speak amazedly; and it becomes
My marvel and my message. To your court
Whiles he was hast'ning (in the chase, it seems,
Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way
The father of this seeming lady, and
Her brother, having both their country quitted
With this young prince.

Flo. Camillo has betray 'd me;

Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now,
Endur'd all weathers.

Lord. Lay't so, to his charge;

He's with the king your father.

Leon. Who? Camillo?

Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
Has these poor men in question. ') Never saw I
Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth ;
Forswear themselves as often as they speak:
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
With divers deaths in death.

Per. O, my poor father! —

The heaven set spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.

Leon. You are married?

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: —
The odds for high and low's alike. *")

Leon. My lord.

Is this the daughter of a king?

Flo. She is.

When once she is my wife.

Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's speed,
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry.
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were tied in duty: and as sorry,
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty.
That you might well enjoy her.

Flo. Dear, look up:

Though fortune, visible an enemy,
Should chase us, with my father; power no jot
Hath she, to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir,
Remember since you ow'd no more to time * * )
Than I do now : with thought of such affections,
Step forth mine advocate; at your request.
My father will grant precious things, as trifles.

Leon.WoulA he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.

Paul. Sir, my liege.

Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
Than what you look on now.

Leon. I thought of her.

Even in these looks I made. — But your petition

[To FlobizeIi.
Is yet unanswer'd: I will to your father;
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am a friend to them, and you : upon which eriand
I now go toward him: therefore, follow me,
And mark what way I make : Come, good my lord.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Before the Palace.
Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.

Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this
relation ?

1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel,
heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he
found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we
weie all commanded out of the chamber; only this,
methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the
child.

Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it.

1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the busi-
ness : — But the changes I perceived in the king,
and Camillo, were very notes of admiration: they
seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear
the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their
dumbness, language in their very gesture; they
looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or
one destroyed : A notable passion of wonder ap-
peared in them : but the wisest beholder, that knew
no more but seeing, could not say, if the import-
ance were joy, or sorrow: '^) but in the extremity
of the one, it must needs be.

Enter another Gentleman.
Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more :
The news, Rogero?

2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires: The oracle is ful-
filled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal of
wonder is broken out within this hour, that ballad-
makers cannot be able to express it.

Enter a third Gentleman.
Here comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can de-

Kni.

Act V.

WINTER'S TALE.

279

liver you more. — How goes it now, sir ? this news,
which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the
verity of it is in strong suspicion: Has the king
found his heir?
3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant
by circumstance ; that, which you hear, you'll swear
you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The
mantle of queen Hermione: — her jewel about the
neck of it: — the letters of Antigonus, found with
it, which they know to be his character: — the
majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the mo-
ther; — the affection of nobleness, '^) which nature
shows above her breeding, — and many other evi-
dences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the
king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the
two kings?

2 Gent. No.

3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was
to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you
have beheld one joy cro^vn another; so, and in such
manner, that it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave
of them; for their joy waded in tears. There yvaa
casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with coun-
tenance of such distraction, that they were to be
known by garment, not by favour. •■*) Oar king,
being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his
found daughter; as if that joy were now become a
loss, cries, O, thy mother, thy mother 1 then asks
Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law;
then again worries he his daughter, with clipping
her; '*) now he thanks the old shepherd, which
stands by, like a weather-bitten conduit of many
kings' reigns. I never heard of such another en-
counter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes
description to do it.

2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that
carried hence the clxild?

3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have
matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not
an ear open: He was torn to pieces with a bear:
this avouches the shepherd's son ; who has not only
his innocence (which seems much,) to justify him,
but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina
knows.

1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his fol-
lowers ?

3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their mas-
ter's death; and in the view of the shepherd: so
that all the instruments, which aided to expose the
child, were even then lost, when it was found. But,
O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow,
was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined
for the loss of her husband; another elevated that
the oracle wzis fulfilled : she lifted the princess from
the earth; and so locks her in embracing, as if she
would pin her to her heart, that she might no more
be in danger of losing.

1 Gent. The dignity of this act ,was worth the
audience of kings and princes; for by such was it
acted.

3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and
that which angled for mine eyes (caught the water,
though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of
the queen's death, with the maimer how she came
to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,)
how attentiveness wounded his daughter: till, from
one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an alas !
I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my
heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, **•)
changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if aU
the world could have seen it, the woe had been
universal.

1 Qtnt. Are they returned to the court?

3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's
statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece
many years in doing, and now newly performed by
that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had
he himself eternity, and could put breath into hb
work, would beguile nature of her custom, so per-
fectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath
done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to
her, and stand in hope of answer: thither with all
greediness of affection, are they gone; and there
they intend to sup.

2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there
in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a
day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that
removed house. Shall we thither, and virith our
company piece the rejoicing?

1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit
of access? ' ') every wink of an eye, some new grace
will be bom: our absence makes us unthrifty to
our knowledge. Let's along. [Exeunt Gentlemen.

Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life
in me, would perferment drop on my head. I brought
the old man and his son aboard the prince; told
him, I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not
what: but he at that time, over-fond of the shep-
herd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,) who
began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better,
extremity of weather continuing, this mystery re-
mained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for
had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would
not have relished among my other discredits.

Enter Shepherd and Clown.
Here come those I have done good to against my
vrill, and already appearing in the blossoms of their
fortune.

Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; bat
thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen bom.

Clo. You are well met, sir: You denied to fight
with me this other day, because I was no gentleman
bom: See you these clothes? say, you see them not,
and think me still no gentleman bom: you were
best say, these robes are not gentlemen bom. Give
me the lie; do; and try whether I am not now a
gentleman born.

Aut. I know, yoa are now, sir, a gentleman bora.

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four
hours. •"

Shep. And so have I, boy.

Clo. So you have : — but I was a gentleman bom
before my father: for the king's son took me by
the hand, and called me, brother ; and then the two
kings called my father, brother ; and then the prince,
my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my
father, father; and so we wept: and there was the
first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more.

Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so
preposterous estate as we are.

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all
the faults I have committed to your worship, and to
give me your good report to the prince my master.

Shep. 'Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle,
now we are gentlemen.

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life?

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship.

Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the prince,
thou art as honest a 'true fellow as any is in Bo-
hemia.

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it.

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let
boors and franklins say it, ' *) I'll swear it.

Shep. How if it be false, son?

Mill.

280

W I N T E R'S TALE.

Act V.

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may
swear it, in the behalf of his friend: — And I'll
swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy
hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk ; but I know,
thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou
wilt be drunk; but I'll swear it: and I would, thou
would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands.

Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power.

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: If I
do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be drunk,
not being a tall fellow, trust me not. — Hark! the
kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to
see the queen's picture. Come, follow us ; we'll be
thy good masters. [Exeunt.

Tlie same.

SCENE III.
A Room in Paulina's House.

Enter Leontes, Pqlixbnes, Florizbi/, Perdita,
Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants.

Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!

Paul. What, sovereign sir,

I did not well, I meant well: All my services.
You have paid home : but that you have vouchsaf'd
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit.
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.

Leon. O Paulina,

We honour you with trouble: But we came
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.

Paul. As she liv'd peerless,

So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon.
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart: But here it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis well.
[Pablina undraws a Curtain, and discovers a Statue.
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my liege.
Comes it not something near ?

Leon. Her natural posture ! —

Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermioner or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace. — But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.

Pol. O, not by much.

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence;
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv'd now.

Leon. As now she might have done.

So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life.
As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her!
I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me.
For being more stone than it? — O, royal piece.
There's magic in thy majesty; which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!

Per. And give me leave;

And do not say, 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady,

Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.

Paul. O, patience:

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on ;
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers, dry; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow.
But kill'd itself much sooner.

Pol. Dear ray brother.

Let him, that was the cause of this, have power
To take off so much grief from you, as he
Will piece up in himself.

Paul. Indeed, my lord.

If I had thought, the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought *') you (for the stone

is mine,)
I'd not have show'd it.

Leon. Do not draw the curtain.

Paul. No longer shall ytou gaze on't; lest your fancy
May think anon, it moves.

Leon. Let be, let be.

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already —
What was he, that did make it? — See, my lord.
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?

Pol. Masterly done:

The very life seems warm upon her lip.

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't, -")
As we are mock'd with art. - ^)

Paid. I'll draw the curtain:

My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.

Leon. O sweet Paulina,

Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Left alone.

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd
you: but
I could afflict you further,

Leon. Do, Paulina;

For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks.
There is an air comes from her: What fine chizzel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me.
For I will kiss her.

Paul. Good my lord, forbear:

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain?

Leon. No, not these twenty years.

Per. So long could I

Stand by, a looker on.

Paul. Either forbear.

Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend.
And take you by the hand: but then you'll think,
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.

Leon. What you can make her do,

I am content to look on: what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.

Paul. It is requir'd,

You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;
Or those, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.

Leon. Proceed ;

No foot shall stir.

Paul. Music; awake her: strike. — [Music.

'Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach;

Bill.

Act V.

W I \ T E R'S TALE.

281

Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;
I'll fill your gi-ave up : stir ; nay, come away ;
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. — You perceive, she stirs;
[Hermione comes down from the Pedestal.
Start not; her actions shall be holy, as.
You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double; Nay, present your hand:
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age.
Is she become the suitor.

Leon. O, she's w arm ! [Emhracing her.

If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

Pol. She embraces him.

Cam. She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd.
Or, how stol'n from the dead?

Paul. That she is living.

Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives.
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. —
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel.
And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady ;
Our Perdita is found.

[Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hgbxioke.

Her. You gods, look down.

And from your sacred -vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head! — Tell me, mine own.
Where hast thou been preserv'd ? w here liv'd ? how

found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, —

Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle

Gave hope thou wast in being, — have preserv'd

Myself, to see the issue.

Paul. There's time enough for that ;

Ijest they desire, upon this push, to trouble
Your joys with like relation. — Go- together.
You precious winners all; -'■') your exultation
Partake to every one. -^) I, an old turtle.
Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.

Leon. O peace, Paulina;

Thou should'st a husband take by my consent.
As I by thine, a wife: tliis is a match.
And made betw een's by vow s. Thou hast found mine ;
But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her.
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many
A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far
(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee
An honourable husband: — Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand : whose w orth, and honesty.
Is richly noted; and here justified
By us, a pair of kings. — Let's from this place. —
What? — Look upon my brother: — both your

pardons.
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law.
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever'd: Hastily lead away. [Exeunt.

Km.

XIV.
COMEDY OF ERRORS

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

SoLiNUs, Duke of Ephesus.

Mgboth, a Merchant of Syracuse.

A j^TK \. i Twin Brothers, and Sons

Antipholuso/ Syracuse, ( „„;t«o«;« to each other.
Dromio o/Ephesus, j Twin Brothers, and Attendants
Dromio oj Syracuse,! on the two Antipholus's.
Balthazar, a Merchant.
Ancblo, a Goldsmith.

SCBNB —

A Merchant, Friend to Antlpholus of Syracuse.
Pinch, a Schoolmaster, and a Conjurer.

iEMiLiA, Wife to Mgeon, an Abbess at Ephesus
Adriana, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LuciANA, her Sister.
Luce, her Servant.
A Courtezan.

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.

Ephesus.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Hall in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Dukk, ^Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and
other Attendants.

^geon.
Proceed, SoUnus, to procure my fall.
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial, to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, —
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives.
Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods, —
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us.
It hath in solemn synods been decreed.
Both by the Syracusans ^) and ourselves
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

If any, born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs,
Again, if any Syracusan born,
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies.
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty, and to ransome him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate.
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

jEge. Yet this my comfort; when your words are
done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

jtEge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd.
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, -)
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.

In Syracusa was I bom; and wed

Unto a woman, happy but for me,

And by me too, had not our hap been bad.

With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,

By prosperous voyages I often made

To Epidamnuju, till my factor's death;

And he (great care of goods at random left) ^)

Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:

From whom my absence was not six months' old,

Before herself (almost at fainting, under

The pleasing punishment that women bear,)

Had made provision for her following me,

And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.

There she had not been long, but she became

A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

And, which was strange, the one so like the other,

As could not be distinguish'd but by names.

That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,

A poor mean woman was delivered

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike :

Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,

I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

Made daily motions for our home return:

Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.

We came aboard;

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,

Before the always-wind-obeying deep

Gave any tragic instance of our harm :

But longer did we not retain much hope;

For what obscured light the heavens did grant

Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death ;

Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd.

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife.

Weeping before for what she saw must come.

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes.

That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.

And this it was, — for other means was none. —

The sailors sought for safety by our boat.

And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:

My wife, more careful for the latter-born.

Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,

KIV.

Act I.

COMEDY OF ERRORS

283

Such as sea-faring men provide for storms:
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream.
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us ;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light, '*)
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came, — O, let me say no more.
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. May, forward, old man, do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

j^ge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, eie the ships could meet by twice five leagues.
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us;
And knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests,
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bend their course. —
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.

^ge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, ^)
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and importun'd me.
That his attendant, (for his case was like, *)
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest ') Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, ^)
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought.
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death.
Could all my travels warrant me they live.

Duke. Hapless iEgeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap !
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity.
Which princes, would they, may not disannul.
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd,
But to our honour's great disparagement.
Yet will I favour thee in what I can :
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day.
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends th»u hast in Ephesus:

Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum.

And live; if not, ') then thou art doom'd to die: —

Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaol. I will, my lord.

^ge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth i£!geon wend, * "*)
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.

SCENE n.

A public Place.

Enter Antipholds and Dromio of Syracuse, and
a Merchant.

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnuin,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day, a Syracusan merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And, not being able to bay out his life,
According to the statute of the town.
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host.
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town.
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings.
And then return, and sleep within mine inn;
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word,
And go, indeed, having so good a mien.

[Exit Dbo. S,

Ant.S. A trusty villain, '^) sir; that very oft.
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town.
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants.
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock.
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart.
And afterwards consort you till bed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.

Ant. S. Farewell till then; I will go lose myself.
And wander up and down, to view the city.

Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.

[Exit Merchant.

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, failing there to find his fellow forth.
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: ' ^)
So I, to find a mother, and a brother.
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Enter Drohlo of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanac of my true date. —
What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon?

Dro. E. Return'd so soon ! rather approach'd too late :
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell,
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot, because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast:
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray.
Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray;
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

Dro.E. O, — six-pence, that I had o' Wednes-
day last,

KTV.

284

COMEDY OF ERRORS

Act JI.

To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper;
The saddler had it, sir, 1 kept it not.

Ant.S. I am not in a sportive humour now:
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?

Dro.E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed;
For she will score your fault upon my pate. *^)
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock.
And strike you home without a messenger.

Ant.S. Come, Droraio, come, these jests are out
of season;
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this;
Where is the gold 1 gave in charge to thee?

Dro.E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me.

Ant. S. Come on, sir knave ; have done your foolish-
ness.
And tell me, how thou hast disposed thy charge.

Dro.E. My charge was but to fetch you from
the mart '

Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner;
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.

Ant. S. Now, as I am a christian, answer me.
In what safe place you have bestow'd ' ''} my money;
Or I shall break tliat merry sconce of yours, '^)
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd:
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders.
But not a thousand marks between you both. —
If I should pay your worship those again.
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently.

Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ! what mistress, slave,
hast thou?

Dro.E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the
Phoenix ;
She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner.
And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner.

Ant.S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

Dro. E. What mean you, sir ? for God's sake, hold
your hands;
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.

[Exit Dho. E.

Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-raught '*) of all my money.
They say, this town is full of cozenage; ^')
As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches, that deform the body ;
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks.
And many such like liberties of sin: '8)
If it prove so, I will begone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave;
I greatly fear, my money is not safe. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A publie Place.
Enter AoRiASfA and Luciana.

Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd,
That in such haste I sent to seek liis master!
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

Luc. Perhaps, 6ome merchant hath invited him.
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret:
A man is master of his liberty:
Time is their master; and, when they see time,
'i'hey'U go, or come: if so, be patient, sister.

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more?

Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door.

Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.

Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will.

Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so.

Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. ')
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye.
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls.
Are their males' subject,-) and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these.
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls.
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls.
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.

Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.

Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some
sway.

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

Adf. How if your husband start some other tvhere ? ^)

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear.

Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she
pause; '')
They can be meek, that have no other cause. *)
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity.
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain.
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee.
With urging helpless patience '') would'st relieve me :
But, if thou live to see like right bereft.
This fool-begg'd '') patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try; —
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.

Enter Daosiio of Ephesus.

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

Dro.E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and
that my two ears can witness.

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st
thou his mind?

Dro.E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear;
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not
feel his meaning?

Dro.E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too
well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that
I could scarce understand them. ^)

Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.

Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

Dro.E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's

stark mad:
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold :
'Tia dinner time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain ?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; My gold, quoth he :
My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mistress;
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!

Luc. Quoth who?

Dro.E. Quoth my master:
/ know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ; —
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him
home. I

KIV.

Act II.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

285

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For God's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.

Dro.E. And he will bless that cross with other
beating:
Between you I shall have a holy head.

Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master
home.

Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me, ')
That like a football \ou do spurn me thus?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither;
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. '")

[Exit.

Luc. Fye, how impatience lowreth in your face!

Adr. His company must do his minions grace,
^Vhilst I at home starve for a meri-y look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it;
\ie my discourses dull? barren my wit?
1 1 voluble and sharj) discourse be mari-'d,
L iikindness blunta it, more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That's not my fault, he's master of my state:
What ruins are in me, that can be found
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures: ") My decayed fair *-)
\ sunny look of his would soon repair;
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale. •^)

Luc. Self-harming jealousy! — fye, beat it hence.

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
I know his eye doth homage other>vhere;
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain ; —
Would that alone alone he would detain.
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see, the jewel, best enamelled.
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still.
That others touch, yet often touching will
W^ear gold; and so no man, *^} that hath a name,
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. '*)
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.

Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

[Exeunt.

sccivE n.

The tame.

Enter Antiphoi-us of Syracuse.

Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's report,
I could not speak vnth Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the mart: See here he comes.

Enter Drohio of SyTacuse.

How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd?
As \ou love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad.
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

Dro. S. What answer, sir ? when spake I such a
word ?

Ant.S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence.
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

Ant. S. Villain, thou did'st deny the gold's receipt;
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd.

Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein :
W hat means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth?
Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.

[Beating him.

Dro.S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest
is earnest:
Upon what bargain do you give it me?

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you.
Your sauciness will jest upon my love.
And make a common of my serious hours. ' **)
When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport,
But creep in ciannies, when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me, know my aspect, ' ')
And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
Or I v*-ill beat this method in your sconce.

Dro.S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave
battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head,
and insconce it too; *^) or else J^ shall seek my
wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why auj I
beaten ?

Ant. S. Dost thou not know?

Dro.S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten.

Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and Avherefore ; for, they say, every
why hath a wherefore.

Ant. S. Why, first — for flouting me ; and then,
wherefore, —
For urging it the second time to me.

Dro.S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out

of season?
When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither

rhyme nor reason ?
Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant.S. Thank me, sir? for what?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you
gave me for nothing.

Ant.S. I'll make you amends next, to give you
nothing for something. But, say, sir, is it dinner-
time ?

Dro.S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I
have.

Ant.S. In good time, sir, what's that?

Dro. S. Basting.

Ant.S. Well, sir, then 't\vill be dry.

Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.

Ant.S. Your reason?

Dro.S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase
me another dry basting.

Ant.S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's
a time for all things.

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were
so choleric.

Ant.S. By what rule, sir?

Dro. S. Marrj', sir, by a rule as plain as the plain
bald pate of father Time hiiuself.

Ant. S. Let's hear it.

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his
hair, that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? ")

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peinike, and recover
the lost hair of another man.

Ant.S. Why is Time such a niggard of hsur, being,
as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows
on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair,
he hath given them in wit.

Ant.S. Why, but there's many a man hath more
hair than ^vit.

Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath tlie wit
to lose his hair.

BTV.

286

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Act II.

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain
dealers without wit.

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet
he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

Ant.S. For what reason?

Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too.

Ant.S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.

Dro. S. Sure ones then.

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. - °)

Dro. S. Certain ones then.

Ant. S. Name them.

Dro. S. I'he one to save the money that he spends
in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not
drop in his porridge.

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, there
is no time for all things.

Dro. S. aiarry, and did, sir ; namely, no time ^ * )
to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why
there is no time to recover.

Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald, and
therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers.

Ant.S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion:
But soft! who wafts us --) yonder?

Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown;
Some otlier mistress hath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow
That never words were music to thine ear.
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, -2) or carv'd, to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged ^rom thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me.
That undividable, incorporate.
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall -'')
A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
And take unmingled thence that drop again.
Without addition, or diminishing,
As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious?
And that this body, conseciate to thee.
By ruflian lust should be contaminate?
Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face.
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow.
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring.
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
For, if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh.
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then lair league and truce with thy true bed ;
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:
In Ephesus I am but two hours old.
As strange unto your town, as to your talk;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd.
Want wit in all, one word to understand.

Luc. Fye, brother! how the world is chang'd with
you:
When were you wont to use my sister thus?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

Ant.S. By Dromio?

Dro. iS. By me?

Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from him, —
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle-
woman ?
What is the course and drift of your compact?

Dro.S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time.

Ant. S. Villain, thou liest ; for even her very words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life.

Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names.
Unless it be by inspiration?

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity.
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave.
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood?
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, - ^)
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine :
Thou art an elin, my husband, I a vine;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to couununicate :
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss; ^^)
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

Ant.S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her
theme :
What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now? and think I hear all this?
What erior drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

Dro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner.
This is the fairy land ; — O, spite of spites ! —
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites;
If we obey them not, this will ensue.
They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot !

Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I ?

Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I.

Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape.

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.

Dro. S. No, I am an ape.

Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.

Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long for
grass.
'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be.
But I should know her as well as she knows me.

Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool.
To put the finger in the eye and weep.
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn. —
Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate: —
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day.
And shrive you -') of a thousand idle pranks:
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master.
Say, lie dines forth, and let no creature enter. —
Come, sister: — Dromio, play the porter well.

Ant.S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking? mad, or well advis'd?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!
I'll say as they say, and pers^ver so.
And in this mist at all adventures go.

Dro.S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?

Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.

[Exeunt.

HIV.

Act hi.

COMEDY OF ERRORS

287

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter Antiphot.us of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephe-
sus, Angblo, and Balthazar.

Ant.E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse
us all;
My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours:
Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop,
To see the making of her carkanet, ')
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a Tillain, that would face me down
He met me on the mart; and that I beat him.
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold;
And that I did deny my wife and house: —
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?
Dro.E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what
I know :
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand

to show:
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave

were ink.
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
Ant.E. I think, thou art an ass.
Dro.E. Marry, so it doth appear

By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd ; and, being at that pass,
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.
Ant.E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray

Gpd, our cheer,
May answer my good will, and your good welcome

here.
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel-
come dear.
Ant.E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.
Bal. Good meat, sir, is coimnon; that everj' churl

affords.
Ant.E. And welcome more common; for that's

nothing but words.
Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a

merry feeist.
Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing
guest.
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
But, soft; my door is lock'd ; Go bid them let us in.
Dro.E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian,

Jen' !
Dro.S. [Jf'itftjn.] Mome, -) malt-horse, capon, cox-
comb, idiot, patch! ^)
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the

hatch :
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for

such store.
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the
door.
Dro.E. What patch is made our porter? My mas-
ter stays in the street.
Dro.S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest

he catch cold on's feet.
Ant.E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door.
Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell

me wherefore.
Ant.E. Wherefore! for my dinner; I have not din'd

to-day.
Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not ; come sigain,

when you may.
Ant.E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from

the house I owe? *)
Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name
is Dromio.

Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office

and my name:
The one ne'er got me credit, the other luickle blame.
If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place.
Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name,

or thy name for an £iss.
Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there? Dromio,

who are those at the gate?
Dro.E. Let my master in. Luce.
Luce. Faith, no; he comes too late:

And so tell your master.

Dro.E. O Lord, I must laugh; —

Have at you with a proverb. — Shall I set in my staff?

Luce. Have at you with another: that's, — When?

can you tell?
Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou

hast answer'd him well.
Ant.E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let as

in, I hope?
Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. S. And you said, no.

Dro.E. So, come, help; well struck; there was

blow for blow.
Ant.E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. Can you tell for whose sake?

Dro.E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce. Let him knock till it ake.

Ant.E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the

door down.
Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks

in the town?
Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps

all this noise?
Dro.S. By my troth, your town is troubled with

unruly boys.
Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have come

before.
Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from the door.
Dro.E. If you went in pain, master, this knave

would go sore.
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we

would fain have either.
Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part

with neither. *)
Dro.E. They stand at the door, master; bid them

welcome hither.
Ant.E. There is something in the wind, that we

cannot get in.
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments

were thin.
Your cake here is warm within : you stand here in

the cold:
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought

and sold.
Ant.E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope

the gate.
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break

your knave's pate.
Dro.E. A man may break a word with you, sir;

and words are but wind;
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not

behind.
Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breakings Out upon

thee, hind!
Dro.E. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray

thee, let me in.
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish

have no fin.
Ant.E. Well, I'll break in; Go, borrow me a crow.
Dro.E. A crow without a feather; master, mean

you so?
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather :
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together.
xrv.

288

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Act III.

Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch ine an iron crow.

Bal. Have patience, sir, O, let it not be so;
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this, — *) Your long experience of her wisdom.
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, ■
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against you. ')
Be rul'd by me; depart in patience.
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner:
And, about evening, come yourself alone.
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on it; ^)
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation.
That may with foul intrusion enter in.
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead :
For slander lives upon succession;
For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. ^)

Ant.E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet.
And, in despight of mirth, '") mean to be merry.
1 know a "vvench of excellent discourse, — •
Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle; —
There will we dine: this woman that I mean.
My wife, (but, I protest, without desert,)
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner. — Get you home.
And fetch the chain: by this, I know, 'tis made:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;
For there's the house; that chain will I bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,)
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste:
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence.

Ant.E. Do so; This jest shall cost me some ex-
pence. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same.
Enter Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse.

Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot

A liusband's office? shall, Antipholus, •*) hate.
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,

Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more
kindness :
Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;

Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:
Let not my sister read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger:
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ;

Teach sin the carnage of a holy saint;
Be secret-false : What need she be acquainted ?

What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed.

And let her read it in thy looks at board:
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;

111 deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women! make us but believe,

Being compact of credit, '^) that you love us;
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ;

We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife:
'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, '^)

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
Ant.S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else,
I know not,
Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,)
Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show not.

Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;

Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you.

To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? would you create me new?

Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know.

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;

Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, ^*) with thy note.

To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears;
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote:

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie;

And, in that glorious supposition, think
He gains by death, that hath such means to die : —
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink !
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so?
Ant.S. Not mad, but mated : ' *) how, I do not know.
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear

your sight.
Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so.
Ant.S. Thy sister's sister.
Luc. That's my sister.

Ant. S. No,

It is thyself, mine own self's better part ;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart ;
My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim.
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim."')
Lite. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant.S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wile:
Give me thy hand.

Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still;

I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit Luc,

Enter from the House of Antipholus of Ephesus,
Dromio of Syracuse.

Ant.S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st
thou so fast?

Dro.S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am
I your man? am I myself?

Ant.S. Thou ait Dromio, thou art my man, thou
art thyself.

Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and
besides myself.

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thy-
self?

Dro.S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a
woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me,
one that will have me.

Ant.S. What claim lays she to thee?

Dro.S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay
to your horse ; and she would have me as a beast :
not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but
that she, being a vei"y beastly creature, lays claim
to me.

Ant. S. What is she ?

HIT.

Act IV.

COMEDY OF ERRORS

299

Dro. S. A very reverent body ; ay, such a one as
a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-re-
verence : ' ^} I have but lean luck in the match, and
yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.

Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and
all grease; and I know not what use to put her to,
but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by
her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow
in them, will burn a Poland winter : if she lives till
doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole
world.

Ant. S. What complexion is she of?

Dro.S. Swart, ^^) like my shoe, but her face
nothing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats,
a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.

Ant.S. That's a fault that water will mend.

Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood could
not do it.

Ant.S. What's her name?

Dro. S. Nell, sir ; — but her name and three quar-
ters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not
measure her from hip to hip.

Ant.S. Then she bears some breadth?

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from
hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could
find out countries in her.

Ant.S. In what part of her body stands Ireland?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks ; I found it
out by the bogs.

Ant.S. Where Scotland?

Dro. S. I found it out by the barrenness ; hard,
in the palm of the hand.

Ant.S. Where France?

Dro.S. In her forehead; armed and reverted,
making war against her hair. ^ ')

Ant.S. Where England?

Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could
find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in
her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France
and it.

Ant.S. Where Spain?

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it, hot in
her breath.

Ant.S. Where America? the Indies?

Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished
with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their
rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent
whole armadas of carracks to the ballast at her
nose.

Ant.S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

Dro.S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To con-
clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me;
called me Dromio; swore, I was assured to her; -")
told me what privy marks I had about me, as the
mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the
great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran
from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast
had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel,
she had transformed me to a curtail-dog, and made
me turn i'the wheel.

Ant.S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
And if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbour in this town to-night.

If any bark put forth, come to the mart.

Where I will walk, till thou return to me.

If every one knows us, -i] and we know none,

'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.

Dro.S. As from a bear a man would run for life,

So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit.
Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here ;

And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.

She, that doth call me husband, even my soul

Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister,
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace.
Of such enchanting presence and discourse.
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
But, lest myself be guilty to self- wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

Enter Ansblo.

Ang. Master Antipholus?

Ant. S. Ay, that's my name.

Ang. I know it well, sir : Lo, here is the chain :
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine: --)
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with this?

Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made it
for you.

Ant.S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you
have :
Go home with it, and please your wife withal;
And soon at supper-time I'll \'isit you.
And then receive my money for the chain.

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now.
For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more.

Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well.

[Exit.

Ant.S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell:
But this I think, there's no man is so vain.
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I see, a man here needs not live by shifts.
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay;
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same.
Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer.

Mer. You know, since pentecost the sum is due.
And since I have not much importun'd you;
Nor now I had not, but that 1 am bound
To Persia, and want gilders ') for my voyage:
Therefore make present satisfaction.
Or I'll attach you by this officer.

Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you.
Is growing to me -) by Antipholus:
And, in the instant that I met with you.
He had of me a chain; at live o'clock,
I shall receive the money for the same:
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge ray bond, and thank you too.

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of
Ephesus.

Off. That labour may you save ; see where he comes.

Ant.E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou
And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates.
For locking me out of my doors by day. —
But soft, I see the goldsmith : — get thee gone ;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.

Dro.E I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a
rope! [Exit Dkomio.

Ant.E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you:
I promised your presence, and the chain;
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me:
Belike, you thought our love would last too long.
If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not.

Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note.
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carrat;
The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion;

XIV.

19

290

COMEDY OF ERRORS

Act IV.

Which doth amount to three odd ducats more

Than I stand debted to this gentleman :

I pray you, see him presently discharg'd,

For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Ant.E. I am not furnish'd with the present money ;

Besides, I have some business in the town :

Good signior, take the stranger to my house.

And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof;
Perchance, I will be there as soon as you.

Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her your-
self?

Ant.E. No: bear it with you, lest I come not
time enough.

Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about
you 'i

Ant.E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
Or else you may return without your money.

Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain ;
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman.
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

Ant. E. Good lord, you lose this dalliance, to excuse
Your breach of promise to the Porcupine:
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir, despatch.

Ang. You hear, how he importunes me ; the chain —

Ant.E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your
money.

Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even noAv;
Either send the chain, or send me by some token.

Ant.E. Fye! now you run this humour out of
breath :
Come, Where's the chain? I pray you let me see it.

Mir. My business cannot brook this dalliance:
Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me or no;
If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

Ant.E. I answer you! What should I answer you?

Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain.

Ant.E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain.

Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since.

Ant.E. You gave me none; you Avrong me much
to say so.

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
Consider, how it stands upon ray credit.

Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

Off. I do; and charge you, in the duke's name,
to obey me.

Ang. This touches me in reputation:-^
Either consent to pay this sum for me.
Or I attach you by this officer.

Ant.E. Consent to pay thee that I never had!
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.

Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer; —
I Avould not spare my brother in this case,
If he should scorn me so apparently.

Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit.

Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail : —
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
As all the metal in your shop Avill answer.

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum,
That stays but till her owner comes aboard.
And then, sir, bears away: ^) our fraughtage, sir,
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamum, and the aqua-vitae.
The ship is in her trim; the merry Avind
Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all,
But for their owner, master, and yourself.

Ant.E. How now! a madman? Why thou peevish
sheep, ")
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

Oro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.

Ant.E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope;
And told thee to Avhat purpose, and what end.

Dro.S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's-end as
soon: '•)
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

Ant.E. I will debate this matter at more leisure.
And teach your ears to listen <*) with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight;
Give her this key, and tell her in the desk
That's cover'd o'er Avith Turkish tapestry,
There is a purse of ducats; let her send it;
Tell her, I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave; be gone.
On, officer, to prison till it come.

[Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and Ant. E.

Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where we din'd.
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband i
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
Thither I must, although against my will.
For serA'ants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The same.
Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ?

Look'd he or red, or pale, or sad, or merrily?
What observation mad'st thou in this case.
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? '')

Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right.

Adr. He meant, he did me none ; the more my
spite. **)

Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here.

Adr. And true he SAvore, though yet forsAvorn he
Avere.

Luc. Then pleaded I for you. *

Adr. And Avhat said he?

Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me.

Adr. With Avhat permission did he tempt thy love?

Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might moAC.
First, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech.

Adr. Did'st speak him fair?

Luc. Have patience, I beseech.

Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, ')
lU-fac'd, Avorse-bodied, shapeless every where,
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
Stiginatical in making, ^") worse in mind.

Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one?
No evil lost is Avail'd when it is gone.

Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say.
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse:
Far from her nest the lapwing cries aAvay ; '*)
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

Dro. S. Here, go ; the desk, the purse ; sweet noAV,
make haste.

Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?

Dro.S. ^ By running fast.

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he Avell?

Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.
A devil in an everlasting garment *-) hath him.
One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;

BIV.

Act IV.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

291

A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder- clapper, one that counter-
mands
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; * ^)
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-
foot well; •'*)
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls
to hell. '^)
Adr. Why, man, what is the matter?
Dro.S. I do not know the matter; he is 'rested

on the case.
Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit.
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested,
well;
But he's in a suit of buff, '<•) which 'rested him,

that can I tell:
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money
in the desk?
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This I wonder at,

[Exit LiiciASA.
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt: —
Tell me, was he arrested on a band? '")
Dro.S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;
A «hain, a chain: do you not hear it ring?
Adr. What, the chain?

Dro. S. No, no, the bell ; 'tis time, that I were

gone.

It was two ere I left him, and now the clock

strikes one.

-4dr. The hours come back! that did I never hear.

Dro. S. O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, a'turns

back for very fear.
Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost

thou reason!
Dro.S. Time is a very bankrupt, '^] and owes
more than he's worth, to season.
Nay, he's a thief too : Have you not heard men say.
That time comes stealing on by night and day?
If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

Enter Luciana.

Adr. Go, Dromio ; there's the money, bear it straight ;
And bring thy master home immediately. —
Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceit; ")
Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt.

SCEIVE III.

The same.

Enter Aktipjiolus of Syracuse.

Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend:
And every one doth call lue by my name.
Some tender money to me, some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy:
J'Jven now a tailor call'd me in his shop.
And, show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And, therewithal, took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles.
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

Dro.S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for:
What, have you got the picture of Old Adam new
apparelled? ^'')
Ant.S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou

mean?
Dro.S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise.

but that Adam, that keeps the prison : he that goes
in the calfs-skin that was killed for the prodigal ;
he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel,
and bid you forsake your liberty.

Ant. S. I understand thee not.

Dro.S. No? why 'tis a plain case; he that went
like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir,
that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob,
and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed
men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets
up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than
a morris-pike. - ')

Ant.S. What! thou mean'st an officer?

Dro.S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he,
that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his
band ; one that thinks a man always going to bed,
and says, God give you good rest!

Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there
any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone?

Dro.S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour
since, that the bark Expedition put lorth to-night;
and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to
tarry for the hoy. Delay : Here are the angels that
you sent for, to deliver you.

Ant.S. The fellow is distract, and so am I;
And here we wander in illusions;
Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

Enter a Courtezan.

Cour. W^ell met, well met, master Antipholus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now :
Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day ?

Ant.S. Satan, avoid! 1 charge thee tempt me not!

Dro.S. Master, is this mistress Satan?

Ant. S. It is the devil.

Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam ;
and here she comes in the habit of a light wench;
and tliereof comes, that the wenches say, God damn
me, that's as much as to say, God viake me a
light wench. It is written, they appear to men like
angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire
will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn; Come sot
near her.

Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.
Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here. - -)

Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, or
bespeak a long spoon. -*)

Ant.S. Why, Dromio?

Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that
must eat with the devil.

Ant.S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of
supping ?
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress :
I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone.

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner.
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd;
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

Dro.S. Some devils ask but the paring *'*} of
one's nail,
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
A nut, a cherry-stone; but she, more covetous,
Would have a chain. ^

Master, be wise; an' if you give it her.
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring or else the chain;
I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so.

Ant.S. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.

Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, that
you know. [Exeunt Am. S. and Db«. S.

Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself:
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
And for the same he proinis'd me a chain;

KIV.

19

292

COMEDY OF ERRORS

Act IV.

Both one, and the other, he denies me now.

The reason that I gather he is mad,

(Besides this present instance of his rage,)

Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner.

Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.

Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits,

On purpose shut the doors against his way.

My way is now, to hie home to his house,

And tell liis wife, that, being lunatic.

He rush'd into my house, and took perforce

My ring away: This course I fittest choose;*

For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

The same.
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, atid an Officer.
Ant.E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away;
I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day;
And will not lightly trust the messenger,
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus:
I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. —

EnierDKOviio of Ephesus, with a rope's end.
Here comes my man ; I think, he brings the money.
How now, sir? have you that I sent you for?

Dro.E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them
all. ^5)

Ant.E. But where's the money?

Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

Ant.E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?

Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.

Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home ?

Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that end am
I returned.

Ant.E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.

[Beating him.

Off. Good sir, be patient.

Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am in
adversity.

Off. Good now, hold thy tongue.

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain !

Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might
not feel your blows.

Ant.E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows,
and so is an ass.

Dro.E. I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by
nay long ears.-'') I have served him from the hour
of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at
his hands for my service, but blows; when I am
cold, he heats me with beating: when I am warm,
he cools me with beating: I am waked with it,
when I sleep; raised with it, when I sit; driven
out of doors with it, when I go from home; wel-
comed home with it, when I return : nay, I bear it
on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and,
I think, when he hath laaned me, I shall beg with
it from door to door.

Enter Adriana, Luciana, and the Courtezan,
with Pinch, and others.

Ant.E. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

Dro. E. Mistress, respice Jinem, respect your end :
or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, Beware
the ropers end.

Ant.E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him.

Cour. How say you now ? is not your husband mad ?

Adr. His incivility confirms no less. —
Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;
Establish him in his true sense again.
And I will please you what you will demand.

Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his extacy!

Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your
pulse.

Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.

Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man.
To yield possession to my holy prayers.
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight;
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.

Ant.E. Peace, doting wizard, peace; I am not mad.

Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!

Ant.E. You minion, you, are these your customers?
Did this companion -") with the saffron face
Revel and feast it at my house to-day.
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut.
And I denied to enter in my house?

Adr. O, husband, God doth know you din'd at home.
Where 'would you had remain'd until this time,
B'ree from these slanders, and this open shame!

Ant.E. 1 din'd at home! -^} Thou villain, what
say'st thou ?

Dro. E. Sii", sooth to say, you did not dine at home.

Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut out?

Dro.E. Perdy, -') your doors were lock'd, and you
shut out.

Ant.E. And did not she herself revile me there?

Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself I'evil'd you there.

Ant.E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and
scorn me?

Dro.E. Certes, ^'') she did; the kitchen-vestal ^ * )
scorn'd you.

Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ?

Dro. E. In verity, you did ; — my bones bear witness,
That since have felt the vigour of his rage.

Adr. Is't good to sooth him in these contraries?

Pinch, It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein,
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.

Ant.E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to ar-
rest me.

Adr. Alas! I sent you money to redeem you.
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

Dro. E. Money by me ? heart and good-will you might.
But, surely, master, not a rag of money.

Ant.E. Went'st not thou to herfor a purse of ducats?

Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it.

Ltic. And I am witness with her, that she did.

Dro. E. God and the rope-makex", bear me witness.
That I was sent for nothing but a rope!

Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd ;
I know it by their pale and deadly looks:
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room.

Ant.E. Stay, wherefore didst thou lock me forth
to-day.
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.

Dro.E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold;
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.

Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in
both.

Ant.E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all;
And art confederate with a damned pack.
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:
But with these nails, I'll pluck out these false eyes.
That would behold me in this shameful sport.

[Pinch and his Assistants bind Ant. E.
and Dro. E.

Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near
me.

Pinch. More company ; — the fiend is strong within
him.

Luc. Ah me, poor man ! how pale and wan he looks !

Ant.E. What, will you murder me? thou gaoler,
thou.

XIV.

Act V.

COiMEDY OF ERRORS

293

I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them
To make a rescue!

Off. Masters, let him go :

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too.

Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

Off. He is my prisoner; if I let him go,
The debt he 'owes will be requir'd of me.

Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee:
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor.
And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd
Home to my house. — O most unhappy day •

Ant.E. O most unhappy strumpet! ^-)

Dro. E. blaster, I am here enter'd in bond for you.

Ant.E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou
mad me?

Dro.E. Will you be boimd for nothing? be mad.
Good master; cry, the devil. —

Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk?

Adr. Go bear him hence. — Sister, go you with me. —
[Exeunt Pi>ch and Assistants, with Aht. E.
and Dro. E.
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?

Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; Do you know him?

Adr. I know the man: What is the sum he owes?

Off. Two hundred ducats.

Adr. Say, how grows it due?

Off. Due for a chain, your husband had of him.

Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

Coiir. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day
Came to my house, and took away my ring,
(The ring I saw upon his finger now,)
Straight after, did I meet him with a chain.

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it: —
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is,
I long to know the truth hereof at large.

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier

drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse.
Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.
Adr. And come with naked swords ; let's call more
help.
To have them bound again.
Off. Away, they'll kill us.

[Exeunt Officer, Adr. and Luc.
Ant.S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords.
Dro.S. She, that would be your wife, now ran

from you.
Ant.S.' Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff ^^)
from thence:
I long, that we were safe and sound aboard.

Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they w ill surely
do us no harm; you saw, they speak us fair, give
us gold: methinks, they are such a gentle nation,
that but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims
marriage of me, I could find in my heart to stay
here still, and turn witch.
Ant.S. I will not stay to-night for all the town;
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same.
Enter Merchant and Angelo.

Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you;
But, I protest, he had the chain of me.
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.

Mer. How Is the man esteem'd here in the city?

Ang. Of very reverent reputation, sir.
Of credit infinite, highly belov'd.
Second to none that lives here in the city ;
His word might bear my wealth at any time.

Mer. Speak softly : yonder, as I think, he walks.

Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse.

Ang. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck,
Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have.
Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. —
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much
That you would put me to this shame and trouble;
And not without some scandal to yourself.
With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny
This chain, which now you wear so openly:
Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment.
You have done wrong to this my honest friend;
Who, but for staying on our controversy.
Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day:
This chain you had of me, can you deny it?

Ant. S. I think, I had ; I never did deny it.

Mer. Yes, that you did, sir; and forswore it too.

Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forsweeir it?

Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear
thee:
Fye on thee, wretch! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st
To walk where any honest men resort.

Ant.S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus:
I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand.

Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.

[They draw.

Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and others.
Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; he is mad ;
Some get within him, ') take his sword away:
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.
Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take a
house. -)
This is some priory ; — In, or we are spoil'd.

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dbo. S. to the Priory.

Enter the Abbess.

Abb. Be quiet, people; Wherefore throng you hither?

Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence!
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast.
And bear him home for his recovery.

Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits.

Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him.

Abb. How long hath this possession held the man?

Adr. Tlxis week he hath been heavy, sour, sad.
And much, much different from the man he was; ■*)
But, till this afternoon, his passion
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.

Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea?
Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?
A sin prevailing much in youthful men.
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last;
Namely,, some love, tluit drew him oft from home.

Abb. You should for that have reprehended him.

Adr. Why, so I did.

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough.

Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let me.

Abb. Haply, in private.

Adr. And In assemblies too.

Abb. Ay, but not enough.

Adr. It was the copy •*) of otu: conference:
In bed, he slept not for my urging it;
At board, he fed not for my urging it;
Alone, it was the subject of my theme;

XIV.

294

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Act V.

In company, I often glanced it;

Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad:
The venom clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It seems, his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing:
And therefore comes it, that his head is light.
Thou say'st, his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings :
Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;
And what's a fever but a fit of madness?
Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls:
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue,
But moody and dull melancholy,
(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;) *)
And, at her heels, '') a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?
In ibod, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast:
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits
Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.

Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly,
When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and wildly. —
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not?

Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. —
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him.

Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house,

Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband forth.

Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary,
And it shall privilege him from your hands.
Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Or lose my labour in assaying it.

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
Diet his sickness, for it is my office.
And will have no attorney but myself;
And therefore let me have him home with me.

Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir,
Till I have used the approved means I have,
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,
To make of him a formal man again: ')
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order;
Therefore depart, and leave him here with me.

Adr. I w ill not hence, and leave my husband here ;
And ill it doth beseem your holiness,
To separate the husband and the wife.

Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not have him.

[Exit Abbess.

LdUC. Complain unto the duke of this indignity.

Adr. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet,
And never rise until my tears and prayers
Have won his grace to come in person hither,
And take perforce my husband from the abbess.

Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five:
Anon, I am iBure, the duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale;
The place of death and sorry execution, ^)
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.

Ang. Upon what cause ?

Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant,
Who put unluckily into this bay
Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publicly for his offence.

Ang. See, where they come, we will behold his
death.

Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey.

Enter Duke attended; yEcKON bare-headed; with
the Headsman and other Officers.

Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
If any friend will pay the sum for him.
He shall not die, so much we tender him.

Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess !

Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady;
It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong.

Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my
husband.
Whom I made lord of me and all I had,
At your important letters, — ') this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him;
That desperately he hurried through the street,
(With him his bondman, all as mad as he,)
Doing displeasure to the citizens
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home.
Whilst to take order ' ") for the wrongs I went,
That here and there his fury had committed.
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape.
He broke from those that had the guard of him ;
And with his mad attendant and hhnself.
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
Met us again, and madly bent on us.
Chased us away; till, raising of more aid.
We came again to bind them: then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them;
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us,
And will not suffer us to fetch him out.
Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence.
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command.
Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help.

Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in my wars ;
And I to thee engag'd a prince's word.
When thou didst make him master of thy bed.
To do him all the grace and good I could. -^
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate,
And bid the lady abbess come to me;
I will determine this, before I stir.

Enter a Servant.

Sert. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!
My master and his man are both broke loose.
Beaten the maids a-row, ' ') and bound the doctor.
Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;
And ever as it blazed, they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair:
My master preaches patience to him, while '-)
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool: '^)
And, sure, unless you send some present help.
Between them they will kill the conjuror.

Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here;
And that is false, thou dost report to us.

Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it.
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,
To scorch your face, and to disfigure you:

[Cry within.
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone.

Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guard
with halberts.

Adr. Ah me, it is my husband! Witness you
That he is borne about invisible: '
Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here;
And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

Enter Aivtipiiolus and DaoMio of Ephesus.
Ant.E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant me
justice !
Even for the ser\'ice that long since I did thee.
When I bestrid thee in the wars, ' **) and took
Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
.^ge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio.
Ant.E. Justice, sweet prince, against this woman
there.

ntv.

Act V.

COxMEDY OF ERRORS

295

She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife;

That hath abused and dUhonour'd me.

Even in the strength and height of injury !

Beyond imagination is the wrong,

That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt iind me just.

Ant.E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors
upon me.
While she, with harlots ' *) feasted in my house.

Duke. A grievous fault : say, woman, didst thou so ?

Adr. No, ray good lord; — myself, he, and my sister,
To-day did dine together: So befal my soul.
As this is false, h§ burdens me withal!

Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night.
But she tells to your highness simple truth!

Ang. O perjur'd woman! they are both forsworn.
In this the maduian justly chargeth them.

Ant.E. My liege, 1 am advised ") what I say;
Neither disturb'd ' '} with the effect of wine,
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire.
Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner:
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her.
Could witness it, for he was with me then ;
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him: In the street I met him;
And in his company, that gentleman.
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down.
That I this day of him receiv'd the chain.
Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the whlcb.
He did arrest me with an officer.
I did obey; and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats: He with none retum'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer.
To go in person with me to my house.
By the way we met
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
Of vile confederates; along with them
They brought one Pinch ; a hungry leein-faced villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller;
A needy, hoUow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man : this pernicious slave.
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer;
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse.
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me.
Cries out, I was possess'd: then altogether
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence;
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together;
Till knawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
1 gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames, and great indignities.

Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him;

J'liat he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no?

Ang. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here,
These people saw the chain about his neck.

Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine
Heard you confess, you had the chain of him.
After you first forswore it on the mart.
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you;
And then you fled into this abbey here.
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.

Ant.E. I never came within these abbey walls.
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven!
And this is false, you burden me withal.

Duke. What an intricate impeach is this!
I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup.
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly: —
You say, he din'd at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying: — Sirrah, what say you?

Dro.E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por-
cupine.

Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that
ring.

Ant.E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.

Duke, Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

Duke. Why, this is strange: — Go call the abbess
hither ;
I think, you are all mated, or stark mad.

[Exit an Attendaat.

^ge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word,
Haply, I see a friend will save ray life.
And pay the sum that may deliver me.

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.

^ge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
And is not that your bondman Dromio?

Dro.E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir.
But he, I thank him, knaw'd in two my cords:
Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.

j^ge. I am sure, you both of you remember me.

Dro.E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?

-dEg'*. Why look you strange on me? you know
me well.

Ant.E. I never saw you in my life till now.

./Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw

me last;
And careful hours, with time's deforra'd '^) hand.
Have written strange defeatures ^'') in my face:
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Ant.E Neither.

jEge. Dromio, nor thou?

Dro.E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.

jEge. I am sure, thou dost.

Dro.E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not; and
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to
believe him.

.^ge. Not know my voice! O time's extremity!
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue.
In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? - •*)
Though now this grained face-') of mine be hid
In sap-consuraing winter's drizzled snow.
And all the conduits of my blood froze up;
Yet hath my night of life some memory.
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer lefit.
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,)
Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus.

Ant.E. I never saw my father in my life.

yfig'e. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy.
Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son.
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant.E. The duke, and all that know me in the city.
Can witness with me that it is not sd;
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Enter the Abbess, vith Antipholos Syracusan,
and Dromio Syracusan.

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd.
[Ali gather to tee ham.

KIV.

296

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Act V.

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.

Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other;
And so of these: Which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?

Dro.S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.

Dro.E. J, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.

Ant.S. Mgeon, art thou not? or else his ghost?

Dro. S. O, my old master, who hath bound him here ?

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,
And gain a husband by his liberty : —
Speak, old /Egeon, if thou be'st the man
That had'st a wife once called ^Emilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:

0, if thou be'st the same Mgeon, speak.
And speak unto the same ^Emilia!

yEge. If I dream not, thou art Emilia;
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I,
And the twin Dromio; all were taken up;
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio, and my son from them.
And me they left with those of Epidamnum:
What then became of them, I cannot tell;

1, to this fortune that you see me in.

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right ; -^)
These two Antipholus's, these two so like,
And these two Dromio's, one in semblance, —
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, —
These are the parents to these children.
Which accidentally are met together.
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first?

Ant.S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.

Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.

Ant.E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.

Dro.E. And I with him.

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous
warrior
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day ?

Ant. <S. I, gentle mistress.

Adr. And are not you my husband?

Ant.E. No, I say nay to that.

Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Did call me brother: — What I told you then,
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good ;
If this be not a dream I see and hear.

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.

Ant.S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not.

Ant.E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.

Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not.

Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

Dro.E. No, none by me.

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you.
And Dromio my man did bring them me:
I see, we still did meet each other's man,
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me.
And thereupon these errors are arose.

Ant.E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.

Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life.

Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you.

Ant.E. There, take it; and much thanks for my
good cheer.

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes: —
And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction. —
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons; nor, till this present hour.
My heavy burdens are delivered: — -^)
The duke, my husband, and my children both.
And you the calendars of their nativity.
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me;
After so long grief, such nativity! ^'')

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.
[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ^geon, Courtezan,
Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants.

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship-
board ?

Ant.E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em-
bark'd?

Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the
Centaur.

Ant. S. He speaks to me ; I am your master, Dromio :
Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon:
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him.

[Exeunt Antipholus S. and E., AnaiANA,
and LuciANA.

Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house,
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner;
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

Dro.E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my
brother ?
I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossipping?

Dro.S. Not I, sir; you are my elder.

Dro.E. That's a question: how shall we try it?

Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : till
then, lead thou first.

Dro. E. Nay, then thus :
We came into the world, like brother and brother;
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before
another. [Exeunt.

StlV.

XV.

MACBETH.

PERSONS BEPRESENTED.

Duncan, King of Scotland
Malcolm, J ^.^ ^^^^
donalbain, i
Macbbth,
Banquo,
Macduff,
Lenox,
RossB,
Mentbth,
Angus,
Cathnbss,

Flbancb, Son to Banquo.
SiwARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of
English Forcet :

ScBNB — in the End of the fourth Act

in Scotland ; and ,

\ Generah of the King'* Army.

Noblemen of Scotland.

the

Young SiwARD, hi* Son.

Sbtton, an Officer attending on Macbeth.

Son to MacduJff.

An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor.

A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man.

Lady Macbbth.

Lady Macduff.

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.

Hbcatb, and three Witches.

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers , Soldiers, Murderers,
Attendants, and Messengers.

The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Appari-
tions.

, tieg in England; through the Rest of the Play,
chiefly, at Macbeth'* Castle.

ACT I.

Scene I. An open Place.
Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

1 Witch.
\Vhkn shall we three meet again.
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's done, ')
When the battle's lost and won:

3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. *)

1 Witch. Where the place?

2 Witch. Upon the heath:

3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth.
1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin! ^)

All. Paddock calls : — Anon. —
Fair is foul , and foul is fair : *)
Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Witches vanish.

Scene n. A Camp near Fores.

Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm,

DoNALBAiN, Lbkox, with Attendants, meeting a

bleeding Soldier.

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can report.
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

MaL This is the sergeant.

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend !
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil.
As thou didst leave it.

Sold. Doubtfully *) it stood;

As two spent s\vimmers, that do cling together.
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald
(Worthy to be a rebel; for, to that, *)
The multiplying villainies of nature

Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied; ')
And fortune, on his damned quarrel *) smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore: But all's too weak:
For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,)
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel.
Which smok'd with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion,

Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave;
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam' d him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

Dun. O , valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman !

Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion ')
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break;
So from that spring , whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
No sooner justice had , wth valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels :
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage.
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.

Dun. Dismay'd not this

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sold. Yes ;

As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks;
So they

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds.
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell: —
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy

wounds;
They smack of honour both : — Go, get him surgeons.

[Exit Soldier, attended.

XV.

298

MACBETH.

Act I.

Enter Rossb.

Who comes here?

Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse.

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So
should he look,
That seems to speak things strange.

Rosse. God save the king!

Dun. Whence earnest thou, worthy thane?

Rosse. From Fife, great king,

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, '")
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict:
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, *')
Confronted him with self- comparisons,
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude,
The victory fell on us; —
Dun. Great happiness!

Rosse. That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch, **)
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom interest: — Go, pronounce his death, '^)
And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Rosse. I'll see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

A Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?

2 Witch. Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sister, where thou?

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd: —

Give me, quoth I:
Aroint thee, witch! ' "*) the rump-fed ronyon * *) cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail.
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
1 Witch. Thou art kind.

3 Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I myself have all the other;
And the very ports they blow.

All the quarters that they know
I'the shipman's card."')
I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall, neither night nor day.
Hang upon his pent -house lid;
He shall live a man forbid: ")
Weary sev'n - nights, nine times nine.
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost.
Yet it shall be tempest - toss'd.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Show me, show me.

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. [Urum within.

3 Witch. A drum, a drum;
Macbeth doth come.

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, •^)
Posters of the sea and land.
Thus do go about, about;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine.

And thrice again, to make up nine:
Peace! the charm's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Ban. HoAv far is't call'd to Fores? — What are these.
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire;
That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth,
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question ? You seem to understand me.
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips: — You should be women.
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

Macb. Speak, if you can ; What are you ?

1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of

Glamis! '9)

2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane

of Cawdor! 2")

3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king

hereafter.
Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair? — I'the name of truth,
Are ye fantastical, ^') or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner
You greet with present grace, and great prediction
Of noble having, ^^) and of royal hope.
That he seems wrapt withal; ^ *) to me you speak not;
If you can look into the seeds of time.
And say, which grain will grow; and which will not;
Speak then to me, who, neither beg, nor fear.
Your favours, nor your hate.

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3 Witch. Hail!

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2 Witch, Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none :
So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo !

1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail!

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more;
By Sinel's death, ^'*) I know, I am thane of Glamis ;
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king,
Stands not within the prospect of belief.
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
You owe this strange intelligence? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting? — Speak, I charge
you. [Witches vanish.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has.
And these are of them : Whither are they vanish'd ?

Macb. Into the air: and what seem'd corporal,
melted
As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had stayed !

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about ?
Or have we eaten of the insane root, ^*)
That takes the reason prisoner?

Macb. Your children shall be kings.

Ban. You shall be king.

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?

Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here ?

Enter Rossb and Ancus.

Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy success: and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight.
His wonders and his praises do contend.
Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that, -*)
In viewing o'er the rest o'the self-same day.
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make.

KV.

Act I.

MACBETH

299

Strange images of death. As thick as tale, -"')
Came post with post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are sent,

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
To herald - *) thee into his sight, not pay thee.

Rotie. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:
In which "xddition, hail, most worthy thane!
P'or it is thine.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true?

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you
dress me
In borrow'd robes?

Ang. Who vras the thane, lives yet;

But under hea\'y judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was *')
Combin'd with Norw ay ; or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor:

The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. —
Do you not hope your children shall be kings.
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them?

Ban. That, trusted home, '")

Might yet enkindle ^') you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm.
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence. —
Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb. Two truths are told, '-)

As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. —
This supernatural soliciting ^ ')
Cannot be ill; cannot be good: — If ill.
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair.
And make my seated ^*) heart knock at my ribs
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings:
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical.
Shakes so my single state of man, ^*) that function
Is smother'd in suimise; and nothing is,
But what is not. ^')

Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt.

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance
may crown me,

Without my stir.

Ban. New honours come upon him

Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould,

But with the aid of use.
yiacb. Come what come may;

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. ^^)

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

Macb. Give me your favour: — ^*) my dull brain
was wrought

With things forgotten. *') Kind gentlemen, your pains

Are register'd where every day I turn

The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. —

Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more time.

The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak

Our free hearts each to other.
Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.
Fores. A Room in the Palace.

Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbaiii,

Lenox, and Attendants.

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
Those in commission yet return'd?

Mai. My liege.

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die: who did report.
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons;
Implor'd your highness' pardon; and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death.
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd.
As 'twere a careless trifle.

Dun. There's no art,

To find the mind's construction in the face: ''")
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin!

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rossb, and Angus.

The sin of my ingratitude even now

Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before,

That swiftest wing of recompense is slow

To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd;

That the proportion both of thanks and payment

flight have been mine! only I have left to say,

More is thy due than more than all can pay.

Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe.
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties: and our duties
Are to your tht-one and state, children, and servants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe toward your love and honour.

Dun. Welcome hither:

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. — *') Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me infold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.

Ban. There if I grow,

The harvest is your own.

Dun. My plenteous joys.

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know.
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter.
The prince of Cumberland : w hich honour must
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only.
But signs of nobleness, like stars shall shine
On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, *-)
And bind us further to you.

Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you:
I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach;
So humbly take my leave.

Dun. My worthy Cawdor!

Macb. The prince of Cumberiand! — *^) That is
a step.
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, [A$ide.
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires !
Let not light see my black and deep desires:
The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be.
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [ExU.

Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant:
And in his commendations I am fed ;
It is a banquet to me. Let us after hun,
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flouruk, Sremat.

KV.

300

MACBETH

Act I.

SCENE V.

Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle.

Enter Lady Macbkth, reading a letter.

Lady M. They met me in the day of success;
and I have learned by the perfectest report, they
have more in them than mortal knowledge. When
I burned in desire to question them further, they
made themselves — air, into which they vaiiish'd.
Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came
missives from the king, **) who all- hailed me,
Thane ot Cawdor; by which title, before, these
weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the
coming on of time, with. Hail, king that siialt be!
This have I thought good to deliver thee, my
dearest partner of greatness; that thou mightest
not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant
of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy
heart, and farewell.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be

What thou art promis'd: — Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o'the milk of human kindness,

To catch the nearest way: Thou would'st be great;

Art not without ambition; but \rithout

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st

highly.
That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false,
And yet would'st wrongly win : thou'd'st have, great

Glamis,
That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it:
And that which rather thou dost fear to do.
Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may "^our my spirits in thine ear;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid '^ ^) doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal. What is your

tidings?

Enter an Attendant.

Atten. The king comes here to-night.

Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it:

Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so.
Would have inform'd for preparation.

Atten. So please you, it is true; our thane is coming:
One of my fellows had the speed of him;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.

Lady M. Give him tending.

He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse, '* '')

[Exit Attendant.
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, '*') unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood.
Stop up the access and passage to remorse; *®)
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers.
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee **') in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife *") see not the wound it makes;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark.
To cry. Hold, hold! — Great Glamis! worthy
Cawdor! *0

Enter Macbeth.
Greater than both, by the all-hsui hereafter!

Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the instant.

Macb. My dearest love,

Duncan comes here to-night.

Lady M. And when goes hence?

Macb. To-morrow, — as he purposes.

Lady M. O, never

Shall sun that morrow see!
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men
May read strange matters; — ^-) To beguile the time.
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye.
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent

flower.
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming
Must be provided for: and you shall put
This night's great business into my despatch;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Macb. We will speak further.

Lady M. Only look up clear;

To alter favour ever is to fear: ^^)
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The same. Before the Castle.

Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.

Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo,
Lenox, Macduff, Rossb, Angus, and At-
tendants.

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; *^) the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.

Ban. This guest of summer.

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve.
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath.
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress.
Nor coigne of vantage,*^) but this bird hath made
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where they
Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air
Is delicate.

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Dun. See, see! our honour'd hostess!

The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble.
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you.
How you shall bid God yield us for your pains.
And thank us for your trouble. ^^)

Lady M. AH our service

In every point twice done, and then done double,
Were poor and single business to contend
Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith
Your majesty loads our house: For those of old.
And the late dignities heap'd up to them.
We rest your hermits. *')

Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor?

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor: but he rides well;
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him
To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess.
We are your guest to-night.

Lady M. Your servants ever ^ ")

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in

compt.
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,
Still to return your own.

Dun. Give me your hand:

Conduct me to mine host; we love him highly.
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leave, hostess. [ExeuiU.

KV.

Act II.

MACBETH.

301

SCENE vn.

The same. A Room in the Cattle.

Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the

stagey a Sewer, *'') and divers Servants with dishes

and service. Then enter Macbeth.

Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: If the assassination ''°)
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch.
With his surcease, success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here.
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, —
We'd jump the life to come. — But, in these cases.
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject.
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host.
Who should against his murderer shut the door.
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, *') hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against

The deep damnation of his taking-off:
And pity, like a naked new-born babe.
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye.

That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur

I'o prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself.
And falls on the other. — How now, what news?

Enter Lady <<-) Macbeth.

Lady M. He has almost supp'd ; Why have you
left the chamber?

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me?

Lady M. Know yon not, he has?

Macb. We will proceed no further in this business :
He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people.
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
Not cast aside so soon.

Lady M. Was the hope drunk.

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely? From this time.
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour.
As thou art in desire? Would'st thou have that
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life.
And live a coward in thine own esteem; ''')
Letting I dare not wait upon I would,
Like the poor cat i'the adage? **)

Macb. Pr'ythee, peace:

I dare do all that may become a man:
Who dares do more, is none.

Lady M. What beast was it then,

That made you break this enterprize to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man;
And, to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place.
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
Does unmake you. I have given suck; and know
How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me:
I would, while it was smiling in my face.
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,

And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you
Have done to this.

If we should fail, —

Macb.

LadyM. We fail!

But screw your courage to the sticking place, **)
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and wassel so convince,*^)
That memory, the warder of the brain, *')
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason")
A limbeck only: ") When in swinish sleep
Their drenched natures lie, as in a death.
What cannot you and I perform upon
The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon
His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt
Of our great quell? ' ")

Macb. Bring forth men-children only!

For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd.
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers.
That they have don't?

Lady M. Who dares receive it other.

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
Upon his death?

Macb. I am settled, and bend up

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

[Exeunt. ' •)

ACT II.

SCENE I.*) The same. Court within the Castle.

Enter Bakqlo and Fleance, and a Servant with
a torch before them.

Ban. How goes the night, boy?

Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock.

Ban. And she goes down at twelve.

Fie. I take't, 'tis later, tar.

Ban. Hold, take my sword : — There's husbandry
in heaven, -)
Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me.
And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers !
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repose ! — ^) Give me my sword; —

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.

Who's there ?

Macb. A friend.

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed:
He hath been in unusual plesisure, and
Sent forth great largess to your offices: '*)
This diamond he greets your wife withal.
By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up ^)
In measureless content.

Macb. Being unprepar'd,

Our will became the ser^'ant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought. '')

Ban. '' All's welL

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:
To you they have show'd some truth.

Macb. I think not of them

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve.
Would spend it in some words upon that business,-
If you would grant the time.

Ban. At your kind'st leisore.

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 'tis,')
It shall make honour for you.

Ban. So I lose none.

In seeking to augment it, but still keep

KV.

302

MACBETH

Act II.

My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsel'd.

Macb. Good repose, the while!

Ban. Thanks, sir; The like to you I [ExifBiNQuo.

Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready.
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

[Exit Servant
Is this a dagger, which I see before me.
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch

thee: — ■ —
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind; a false creation.
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o'the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, ^)
Which was not so before. — There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, ') and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf.
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about.
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. — * °) Whiles I threat, he lives ;
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. ^ *)

[A bell rings.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell.
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The same.

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath
made me bold:
What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire: —

Hark! — Peace!
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman.
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it :
The doors are open: and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd

their possets,
That death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live, or die.

Macb. \frithin.] Who's there? — what, ho?

Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd.
And 'tis not done: the attempt, and not the deed.
Confounds us: — Hark! — I laid their daggers ready,
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done't. — • -) My husband ?

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. I have done the deed: — Didst thou not

hear a noise?
Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets

cry.
Did not you speak?
Macb. When?

Lady M. Now.

Macb. As I descended?

Lady M. Ay.

Mccft. Hark! —
Who lies i'the second chamber?

Lady M. Donalbain.

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looking on bis hands.

Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one
cried, murder I
That they did wake each other; I stood and heard

them:
But they did say their prayers, and addressed them
Again to sleep.

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together.

Macb. One cried, God bless us! and Amen, the
other ;
As they had seen me, ' ^) with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say, amen,
When they did say, God bless us.

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply.

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen?
I had most need of blessing, and amen
Stuck in my throat.

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought

After these ways ; so, it will make us mad.

Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no
more!
Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep;
Sleep that knits up the ravelVd sleave of care •'*)
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath.
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course.
Chief nourisher in life's feast!

Lady M. What do you mean?

Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more! to all the house;
Glamis hath murder'd sleep ; and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more! ' *)

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why,
worthy thane.
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things: — Go, get some water.
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. —
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

Macb. I'll go no more:

I am afraid to think what I have done;
Look on't again, I dare not.

Lady M. Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead.
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood.
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
B^or it must seem their guilt.

[Exit. Knocking within.

Macb. Whence is that knocking?

How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes!
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, "*)
Making the green — one red. '")

Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking
At the south entry: •^- retire we to our chamber:
A little water clears us of this deed:
How easy is it then? Your constancy
Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.] Hark! more

knocking :
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion calls us,
And show us to be watchers: — Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.

KV.

Act IL

MACBETH.

303

Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know
myself. [Knock.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, 'would thou
could'st! •«)

SCENE III.

The tame.

Enter m Porter. [Knoddng within.

Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man were
porter of heil-gate, he should have old turning the
key. ") [XnocWn^.] Knock, knock, knock: Who's
there, i'the name of Beelzebub? Here's a fanner,
that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty:
Come in time; have napkins enough about you;
here you'll sweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock, knock:
Who's there, i'the other devil's name ? 'Faith here's
an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales
against either scale ; who committed treason enough
for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven:
O, come in, equivocator. [Knocking.] Knock, knock,
knock: Who's there? 'Faith, here's an English tailor
come hither, for stealing out of a French hose : Come
in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [Knocking?^
Knock, knock: Never at quiet! What are you? —
But this place is too cold for hell. I'll deviI-porter
it no further: I had thought to have let in some of
all professions, that go the primrose way to the
everlasting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon; I pray
you, remember the porter. [Open* the gate.

Enter Macduff and Lenox.

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
That you do lie so late?

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second
cock: -°) and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three
things.

Macd. What three things does drink especially
provoke ?

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes: it pro-
vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance:
Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equi-
vocator with lecher^' : it makes him and it mars him ;
it sets him on, and it takes him o£f; it persuades
him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and
not stand to : in conclusion, equivocates him in a
sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night.

Port. That it did, sir, i'the very throat o'me: But
I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too
strong for him, though he took up my legs some-
time, yet I made a shift to cast him.

Macd. Is thy master stirring? —
Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.

Enter Macbeth.

Len. Good-morrow, noble sir!

Macb. Good-morrow, botli!

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane?

Macb. Not yet.

Macd. He did command me to call timely on lum;
I have almost slipp'd the hour.

Macb. I'll bring you to him.

Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you;
But yet, 'tis one.

Macb. The labour we delight in, physics pain.
This is the door.

Macd. I'll make so bold to call.

For 'tis my limited service. -') [Exit Macdvvf.

Len. Goes the king --)

From hence to-day?

Macb. He does: — he did appoint so. **)

Len. The night has been unruly: Where we lay,
Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of death;
And prophecying, with accents terrible.
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events.
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird
Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.

Macb. 'Twas a rough night.

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.

Be -enter Macduff.

Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor heart,
Cannot conceive, nor name thee!

Macb. Len. What's the matter?

Macd. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o'the building.

Macb. What is't you say? the life?

Len. Mean you his majesty?

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon: — Do not bid me speak;
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake! awake! —
[Exeunt Macbeth and Lekox.
Ring the alarum-bell: — Murder! and treason!
Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit.
And look on death itself! — up, up, and see

The great doom's image Malcolm I Banquo !

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights.
To countenance this horror ! [Bell ring$.

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. What's the business.
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,

Macd. O, gentle lady,

'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
The repetition, in a woman's ear.
Would murder as it fell. O Banquo ! Banquo !

Enter Banquo.

Our royal master's murder'd!

Lady M. Woe, alas!

What, in our house?

Ban. Too cruel, any where.

Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself,
And say, it is not so.

Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox.

Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance,
I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant.
There's nothing serious in mortality:
All is but toys: renown, and grace, is dead!
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.

Don. What is amiss?

Macb. You are, and do not know it:

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.

Macd. Your royal father's murder'd.

Mai. O, by whom?

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't:
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood.
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found
Upon their pillows:

They star'd, and were distracted: no man's life
Was to be trusted with them.

KV.

304

MACBETH.

Act III.

Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.

Macd. Wherefore did you so?

Macb. Who can be Avise, amaz'd, temperate, and
furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
The expedition of my violent love
Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin iac'd with his golden blood; -')
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature,
For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers
Unmannerly breech'd with gore: - *) Who could refrain.
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage, to make his love known?

Lady M. Help me hence, ho!

Macd. Look to the lady.

Mai. Why do Ave hold our tongues,

That most may claim this argument for ours?

Don. What should be spoken here,
Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole, ^^}
May rush, and seize us? Let's away; our tears
Are not yet brew'd.

Mai. Nor our strong sorrow on

The foot of motion. 2 7)

Ban. Look to the lady: —

[Lady Macbeth is carried out.
And when we have our naked frailties hid,
That suffer in exposure, - *) let us meet.
And question this most bloody piece of work.
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us :
In the great hand of God I stand; and, thence.
Against the undivulg'd pretence I tight
Of treasonous malice. -')

Macb. And so do L

All. So all.

Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i'the hall together.

All. Well contented. [Ea;eunt all but Mal. and Don.

Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort with them :
To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office
Which the false man does easy : I'll to England.

Don. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer: where we are.
There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood,
The nearer bloody. ^°)

Mai. This murderous shaft that's shot,

Hath not yet lighted; ^^) and our safest way
Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking.
But shift away: There's warrant in that theft
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left,

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Without the Castle.
Enter Rosse and an old Man.

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well:
Within the volume of which time, I have seen
Hours dreadful, and things strange ; but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

Rotse. Ah, good father.

Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's act.
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day.
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:
Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth entomb.
When living light should kiss it?

Old M. 'Tis unnatural.

Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd.

Rotse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange
and certain,)
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out.
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
War with mankind.

Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other.

Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes.
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff:

Enter Macduff.
How goes the world, sir, now?

Macd. Why, see you not?

Rosse. Is't known, who did this more than bloody deed?

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Rosse. Alas, the day!

What good could they pretend? ^-)

Macd. They were suborn'd :

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons.
Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.

Rosse. 'Gainst nature still:

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life's means ! — Then 'tis most like,
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

Macd. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone,
To be invested.

Rosse. Where is Duncan's body?

Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill; ^^)
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.

Rosse. Will you to Scone?

Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

Rosse. Well, I will thither.

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there; —

adieu!

Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!

Rosse. Father, farewell.

Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes !

\Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Fores. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Banquo.

Ban. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all
As the weird women promis'd; and, I fear.
Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said,
It should not stand in thy posterity;
But that myself should be the root, and father
Of many kings. If there come truth from them,
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,)
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well.
And set me up in hope? But, hush; no more.

Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as King; Lady
Macbeth, as Queen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, La-
dies, and Attendants.

Macb. Here's our chief guest.

Lady M. If he had been forgotten,

It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all things unbecoming.

Macb. .To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir.
And I'll request your presence.

Ban. Let your highness

Command upon me; to the which, my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.

Macb. Ride you this afternoon?

Ban. Ay, my good lord.

KV.

Act III.

MACBETH,

305

Macb. We should have else desir'd your good advice
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,)
In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.
Is't far you ride?

Ban. As far, my lord, as >vill fill up the time
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night,
For a dark hour, or twdn.

Macb. Fail not our feast.

Ban. My lord, I will not.

Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd
In England, and in Ireland ; not confessing
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
With strange invention : But of that to-morrow ;
When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state.
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: Adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?

Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon us.

Macb. I wish your horses swift, and sure of foot;
And so I do commend you to their backs.

Farewell. [Exit BiiKquo.

Let every man be master of his time
Till seven at night; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourselves
Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you.
[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &c.
Sirrah, a word: ') Attend those men our pleasure?

Atten. They are, my lord, without the palace gate.

Macb. Bring them before us. — [Exit Attendant.
To be thus, is nothing;
But to be safely thus : — Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature ^)
Reigns that which would be fear'd : 'Tis much he dares ;
And, to ^) that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour
To act in safety. There is none, but he
Whose being I do fear: and, under him.
My genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said,
Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters.
When first they put the name of king upon me.
And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like,
They hail'd him father to a line of kings:
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown.
And put a barren scepter in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand.
No son of mine succeeding. If it be so.
For Banquo's issue have I fil'd "*) my mind;
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd;
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace
Only for them; and mine eternal jewel
Given to the common enemy of man, *)
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!
Rather than so, come, fate, into the list,

And champion me to the utterance! *) Who's

there? —

Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers.
Now to the door, ' ) and stay there till we call. [Exit Attend.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?

1 Mur. It was, so please your highness.

Macb. Well then, now

Have you considered of my speeches? Know,
That it was he, in the times past, which held you
So under fortune; which, you thought, had been
Our innocent self: this I made good to you
In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with you,
How you were borne in hand; ") how cross'd; the

instruments ;
Who wrought w ith them ; and all things else, that might.
To half a soul, and a notion craz'd,
Say, Thus did Banquo.

1 Mur. You made it known to us.

Macb. I did so; and went further, which is now

KV

Our point of second meeting. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature.
That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, ')
To pray for this good man, and for his issue.
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave.
And beggar'd yours for ever?

1 Mur. We are men, my liege.
Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men;

As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,
Shoughs, ' ") water-rugs, and demi-wolves are cleped
All by the name of dogs : the valued file * ' )
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle.
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive
Particular addition, from the bill
That writes them all alike: and so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file.
And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it;
And I will put that business in your bosoms.
Whose execution takes your enemy off;
Grapples you to the heart and love of us.
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.

2 Mur. I am one, my liege.
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what

I do, to spite the world.

1 Mur. And I another.

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune.
That I would set my life on any chance.
To mend it, or be rid on't.

Macb. Both of you

Know, Banquo was your enemy.

2 Mur. True, my lord.
Macb. So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, • ^)

That every minute of his being thrusts
Against my near'st of life: And though I could
With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight.
And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not.
For certain friends ' ^) that are both his and mine.
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is.
That I to your assistance do make love;
Masking the business from the common eye.
For sundry weighty reasons.
2 Mur. We shaD, my lord.

Perform what you command us.

1 Mur. Though our lives

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this

hour at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves.
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the time,
The moment on't ; ' •*) for't must be done to-night.
And something from the palace ; always thought.
That I require a clearness; '*) And with him,
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,)
Fleance his son, that keeps him company.
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate t

Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart;
I'll come to you anon. ^

2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord.
Macb. I'll call upon you straight; abide within.

It is concluded: — Banquo, thy soul's flight.

If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.
The same. Another Room.
Enter Lady Macbkth and a Servant.
Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court?
Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

20

306

MACBETH.

Act III.

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure
For a few words.

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit.

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent.

Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy.
Than by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter Macbeth.
How now, my lord? why do you keep alone.
Of sorriest fancies '^) your companions making?
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died
With them they think on? Things without remedy, ^ ')
Should be without regard: what's done, is done.

Macb. We have scotch'd ' *) the snake, not kill'd it;
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let

The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, ^ ')
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams.
That shake us nightly; Better be with the dead.
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace.
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstacy. ^") Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing.
Can touch him further!

Lady M. Come on;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night.

Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you:
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ;
Present him eminence, - *) both with eye and tongue:
Unsafe the while, that we--)

Must lave our honours in these flattering streams;
And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.

Lady M. You must leave this.

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.

LadyM. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. '^^)

Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable;
Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons,
The shard-borne beetle, ^'*) with his drowsy hums.
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.

Lady M. What's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, - ^)
Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ;
And, with thy bloody and invisible hand,
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond
Which keeps me pale! — Light thickens; and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood:
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. - ^]i
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill:
So, pr'ythee, go with me. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The tame. A Park or Lawn, with a Gate leading
to the Palace.

Enter three Murderers.

1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us?

3 Wfur. Macbeth.

2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust ; since he delivers
Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction just.

1 Mur. Then stand with us.

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.
Now spirrs the lated ^') traveller apace.
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.

3 Mur. Hark! I hear horses.

Ban. [JVithin.] Give us a light there, ho!

2 Mur. Then it is he; the rest
That are within the note of expectation, **)
Already are i'the court.

1 Mur. His horses go about.

3 Mur. Almost a mile: but he does usually.
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.

Enter Banquo and Flbancb; a Servant, with
a torch preceding them.

2 Mur. A light, a light!

3 Mur. 'Tis he.
1 Mur. Stand to't.

Ban. It will be rain to-night.

1 Mur. Let it come down. [Assaults Bakquo.

Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly;
Thou may'st revenge. — O slave!

[Vies. Flkance and Servant escape. ^ ')
3 Mur. Who did strike out the light?

1 Mur. Was't not the way? ^")
3 Mur. There's but one down; the son is fled.

2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair.

1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is done.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room of State in the Palace.

A Banquet prepared. Enter Macbkth, Lady Mac-
beth, RossB, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down: at first
And last, the hearty welcome.

Lords. Thanks to your majesty

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society.
And play the humble host.

Our hostess keeps her state; ^') but, in best time,
We will require her welcome.

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends ;
For my heart speaks, they are welcome.

Enter first Murderer, to the door.

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts'

thanks :

Both sides are even: Here I'll sit i'the midst:
Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure
The table round. — There's blood upon thy face.

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then.

Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within.
Is he dispatch'd?

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.

Macb. T4iou art the best o'the cut throats: Yet
he's good
That did the like for Fleance: if thou did'st it,
Thou art the nonpareil.

Mur. Most royal sir,

Fleance is 'scap'd.

Macb. Then comes my fit again: I had else been
perfect ;
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;
As broad, and general, as the casing air:
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?

Mur. Ay, my good lord; safe in a ditch he bides,
W'ith twenty trenched gashes ^-) on his head;
The least a death to nature.

Macb. Thanks for that:

KV.

Act III.

MACBETH.

307

There the grown serpent lies; the ^^orm, that's fled,
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone ; to-morrow
We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer.

Lady M. My royal lord,

You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold, '^)
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making,
'Tis given with welcome: To feed, were best at home;
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony,
Meeting were bare without it.

Macb. Sweet remembrancer! —

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!

Len. May it please your highness sit?

[The Ghost o/Banquo risefi, and sits in Macbeth'* place.

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd,
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present;
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness,
Than pity for mischance !

Rosse. His absence, sir.

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness
To grace us with your royal company?

Macb. The table's full.

Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir.

Macb. Where?

Len. Here, my lord. ^''J What is't that moves
your highness?

Macb. Which of you have done this?

Lords. What, my good lord?

Macb. Thou can'st not say, I did it: never shake
Thy gory locks at me.

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well.

Lady M. Sir, worthy friends : — my lord is often thus.
And hath been from his youth: 'pray you, keep seat;
The fit is momentary; upon a thought^*)
He will again be well; If much you note him,
You shall ofi'end him, and extend his passion;
Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man?

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.

Lady M. O proper stuff!

This IS the very painting of your fear :
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said,
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts,
(Impostors to true fear) would well become *')
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how
say you?
Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. —
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears.

Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ?

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady M. Fye, for shame !

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time,
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal; ^'')
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been.
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end: but now, they rise again.
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns.
And push us from our stools: This is more strange
Than such a murder is.

Lady M. My worthy lord,

Your noble friends do lack you.

Macb. I do forget: —

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends;
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;

Then I'll sit down : Give me some wine, fill

full:

I drink to the general joy of the whole table

Ghost rises.
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;
Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,^')
And all to all. ^^)

Lords. Our duties and the pledge.

Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth
hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!

Lady M. Think of this, good peers,

But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macb. What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger.
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again.
And dare me to the desart with thy sword;
If trembling I inhibit "*") thee, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!

[Ghost disappears.
Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why so ; — being gone,
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still.

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the
good meeting.
With most admir'd disorder.

Macb. Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder ? * ' ) You make me strange
Even to the disposition that I owe, *-)
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks.
When mine are blanch'd with fear.

Rosse. What sights, my lord?

Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse

and worse;
Question enrages him: at once, good night: —
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.

Len. Good night, and better health

Attend his majesty!

Lady M. A kind good night to all !

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants.

Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will
have blood:
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak,
Augurs, and understood relations, ^^) have
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks brought forth
The secret'st man of blood.- — What is the night?

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is
which.

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his
person.
At our great bidding? *'*)

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir?

Macb. I hear it by the way; but I will send:
There's not a one of them, but in his house
I keep a servant fee'd. .1 will to-morrow,
(Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters:
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know.
By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good,
All causes shall give way; I am in blood
Stept in so far, that should I wade no more.
Returning were as tedious as go o'er:
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. '*5)

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. *'')

Macb. Come, we'll to sleep : My strange and self-abuse

XV.

20

308

MACBETH.

Act IV.

Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: —

We are yet but young indeed. [JExeunt.

SCENE V.

The Heath.
Thunder. £n<cr Hbcate, meeting the f Arec Wi t c h e s .

1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are.
Saucy, and over-bold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,
In riddles and affairs of death:
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms.
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And, which is worse, all you have done,
Hath been but for a wayward son.
Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: Get you gone.
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i'the morning; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels, and your spells, provide.
Your charms, and every thing beside:
I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal-fatal end.'*')
Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound; **)
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that, distill'd by magic slights, ^9)
Shall raise such artificial sprights.
As, by the strength of their illusion.
Shall draw him on to his confusion:
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, security
Is mortal's chiefest enemy.

Song. [Withiu.] Come away, come away, &c.
Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see.
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit.

1 Witch. Come, let's make haste: she'll soon be
back again. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Fores. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Lenox, and another Lord,

Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
Which can interpret further: only, I say,
Things have been strangely borne: The gracious

Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth: — marry, he was dead: —
And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain,
To kill their gracious father? damned fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight.
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear.
That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep :
Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive.
To hear the men deny it. So that, I say.
He has borne all things well: and I do think,
That, had he Duncan's son under his key,
(As, an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should find
What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.
But, peace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

Lord. The son of Duncan,

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth.
Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward with such grace,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid *"]
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Si ward:
That, by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratify the work,) we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; *•)
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours, ^^)
All which we pine for now : And this report
Hath so exasperate the king, ^^) that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.

Len. Sent he to Macduff?

Lord. He did: and with an absolute. Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back.
And hums ; as who should say. You'll rue the time
That clogs me with this answer.

Len. And that well might

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come; that a swift blessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accurs'd!

Lord. My prayers with him! ^'*) [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a
Cauldron boiling.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig whin'd.

3 Witch. Harper cries: — *) 'Tis time, 'tis time.

1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go;

la the poison'd entrails throw.

Toad, that under coldest stone,

Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got.
Boil thou first i'the charmed pot!
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake.
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog.
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting.
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing.

For a charm of powerful trouble;
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf;
Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf, ^)
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark; ^)

Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; '*)
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips: *)
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:

XV.

Act IV.

MACBETH

309

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, *)
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

Enter Hbcatb, and the other three Witches.
Hec. O, well done! I commend your pains;
And every one shall share i'the gains.
And now about the cauldron sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.

Song.

Black spirits and white.

Red spirits and grey;
Mingle, mingle, mingle.

You that mingle may.

2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes: —
Open, locks, whoever knocks.

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags?
What is't you do?

All. A deed without a name.

Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me:
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches: though the yesty waves ')
Confound and swallow navigation up;
Though bladed corn be lodg'd ^) and trees blown down ;
Though castles topple ') on their warders' heads;
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope
Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure
Of nature's germins ^°) tumble all together.
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.

1 Witch. Speak.

2 Witch. Demand.

3 Witch. We'll answer.
1 Witch. Say, if thou'd'st rather hear it from our

mouths,
Or from our masters'?
Macb. Call them, let me see them.

1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farrow; grease, that's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet, throw
Into the flame.
All. Come, high, or low;

Thyself, and office, deftly *') show.

' Thunder. An Apparitioii of an armed Head rises. *^'^)

Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power,

1 Witch. He knows thy thought;

Hear his speech, but say thou nought.
App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Mac-
duff;
Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me : — Enough.

[Descends.
Macb. What-e'er thou art, for thy good caution,
thanks ;
Thou hast harp'd ^3) ,ny f^^r aright: — But one
word more: —
1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's an-
other.
More potent than the first.

Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises.
^PP- Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! —

Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.

App. Be bloody, bold,

And resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man.
For none of woman bom shall harm Macbeth. [Descends.

Macb. Then live, Macduff; What need I fear of thee?
But yet, I'll make assurance double sure.
And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies.
And sleep in spite of thunder, — What is this.

Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned,

with a Tree in his Hand, rises.
That rises like the issue of a king;
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty?

All. Listen, but speak not. ^^J

App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Birnara wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him. [Descendt.

Macb. That will never be;

Who can impress the forest; '5) bid the tree
Unfix his earth-boimd root? sweet bodements ! good!
Rebellious head, rise never till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time, and mortal custom. — Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing; Tell me, (if your art
Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in this kingdom?

All. Seek to know no more.

Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : —
Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise •*) is
this? [Hautboys.

1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show!

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.

Eight Kings appear, and pass over the Stage in

order; the last with a Glass in his Hand;

Banquo following.

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; down!
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls: — And thy

hair, »^)
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first: —
A third is like the former: — B^ilthy hags!
W^hy do you show me this ? — A fourth ? — Start, eyes !
What! will the line stretch outto the crack of doom? **)
Another yet? — A seventh? — I'll see no more: —
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass.
Which shows me many more; and some I see.
That two-fold balls and treble scepter carry: '')
Horrible sight! — Ay, now, -•*} I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo - * ) smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. — What, is this so?

1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: — But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? —
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, -2)
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say.
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, Bnd vanish..

Macb. Where are they? Gone? — Let this per-
nicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar! —
Come in, without there!

Enter Lbnox.
Len. What's your grace's will?

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?

XV.

310

MACBETH.

Act IV.

Len. No, my lord.

Macb. Came they not by you?

Leii. No, indeed, my lord.

Macb. Infected be the air Tvhereon they ride;
And danin'd, all those that trust them ! — I did hear
The galloping of horse: Who was't came byV

Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word,
Macduff is fled to England.

Macb. Fled to England?

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,
Unless the deed go with it: From this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done :
The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o'the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace his line. ^^) No boasting like a fool;
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool:
But no more sights! — Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Fife. A Room in Macduff* Castle.

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse.

L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the
land?

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.

L. Macd. He had none:

His flight was madness: When our actions do not.
Our fears do make us traitors.

Rosse. You know not,

Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his
babes,
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch : - *) for the poor wren.
The most diminutive of birds, will fight.
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Rosse. My dearest coz',

I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o'the season. - *) I dare not speak much further :
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; -'') when we hold ru-
mour -')
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you :
Shall not be long, but I'll be here again:
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before. — My pretty cousin.
Blessing upon you!

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

Rosse. I am so much a fool ; should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort:
I take, my leave at once. [Exit Rosse,

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies?

Son. With what I get, I mean, and so do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net,
nor lime,

The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are
not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for
a father?

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?

L. Macd. Why, I can buy ine twenty at any market.

Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; and yet
i'faith.
With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?

L. Macd. Ay, that he was.

So7i. What is a traitor?

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.

Son. And be all traitors, that do so?

L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and
must be hanged.

Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie?

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for
there are liars and swearers enough to beat the
honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey!
But how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him : if you
would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly
have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
Though in your state of honour I am perfect. ^*)
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly:
If you will take a homely man's advice,
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
To do worse to you, were fell cruelty.
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!
I dare abide no longex-. [Exit Messenger.

L. Macd. Wlilther should I fly?

I have done no harm. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world ; where to do harm,
Is often laudable; to do good, sometime.
Accounted dangerous folly : Why then, alas !
Do I put up that womanly defence.

To say, I have done no harm? What are

these faces?

Enter Murderers.
Mur. Where is your husband?
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st find him.
Mur. He's a traitor.

Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him.

Young fry of treachery?

Son. He has killed me, mother;

Run away, I pray you. [l>ie«.

[Exit Lady Macdukf, crying murder, and pursued
by the Murderers.

SCENE III.

England. A Room in the King'« Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macd. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men.

KV.

Act IV.

M A C B E T H.

311

Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom : ^ ') Each new morn,
New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.

Mai. What I believe, I'll wail;

What know, believe; and, what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, ^'') I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues.
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but

something
You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom ^ ')
To offer a weak, poor, innocent Iamb,
To appease an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mai. But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil.
In an imperial charge. ^-) But crave your pardon; ^^)
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul ^'*) would wear the brows

of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.

Macd. I have lost my hopes.

Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my
doubts.
Why in that rawness ^^) left you wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,)
Without leave-taking? — I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours.
But mine own safeties: — You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure.
For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy

wrongs.
Thy title is affeer'd! — ^'^) Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think'st
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp.
And the rich East to boot.

Mai. Be not offended:

I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds: I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: But, for all this.
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet ray poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever.
By him that shall succeed.

Macd. What should he be?

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted.
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mai. I grant him bloody.

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful.
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none.
In my voluptuousness: your \Alve3, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impedimenta would o'er -bear.

That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne.
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty.
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood- wink.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves.
Finding it so inclin'd. »

Mai. With this, there grows.

In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; That I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal.
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd. This avarice

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeding lust: ^') and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons *^) to fill up your will.
Of your mere own: All these are portable, ^^
With other graces weigh'd.

Mai. But I have none : The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime.
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. O Scotland! Scotland!

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern!

No, not to live. — • O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd.
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd.
And does blaspheme iiis breed? — Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king : the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet.
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself.
Have banished me from Scotland. — O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mai. Macduff, this noble passIoD,

Child of integrity, hath firom my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: •*°) But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not beti'ay
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No less in truth, than life: my fiist false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,

XV.

.J

312

MACBETH.

Act IV.

Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth:
Now we'll together; and the chance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent?
Wlacd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once,
'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king forth,
I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir ; there are a crew of wretched souls,
That stay his cure: their malady convinces "**)
The great assay of art; but, at his touch,
Such sanctity hath heaven given in his hand.
They presently amend.

Mai. I thank yon, doctor. \Exit Doctor.

Macd. What's the disease he means?

Mai. 'Tis call'd the evil:

A most miraculous work in this good king :
Which often, since iny here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures; "*-)
Hanging a golden stamp '*^) about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry bleswngs hang about his throne.
That speak him full of grace.

Enter Rosse.

Macd. See, who comes here?

Mai. My countryman; but yet I know him not.'*'*)

Macd. My ever- gentle cousin, welcome hither.

Mai. I know him now : Good God, betimes remove
I'he means that make us stranger!

Rosse. Sir, Amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?

Rosse. Alas, poor country;

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent

the air,
Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macd. O, relation,

Too nice, and yet too true!

Mai What is the newest grief?

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. How does my wife?

Rosse. Why, well.

Macd. And all my children?

Rosse. Well too.

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave
them.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; How
goes it?

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Wliich I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:

Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mai. Be it their comfort,

We are coining thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men;
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.

Rosse. 'Would I could answer

This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That Avould be howl'd out in the desert air.
Where hearing should not latch them. **)

Macd. What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief, '*')
Due to some single breast?

Rosse. No mind, that's honest.

But in it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine.

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for
ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Humph! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surpriz'd; your wife, and
babes.
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner.
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, *')
To add the death of you.

Mai. Merciful heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak.
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

Macd. My children too?

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence!

My wife kill'd too?

Rosse. I have said.

Mai, Be comforted:

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones ?
Did you say, all? — O, hell-kite! — All?
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam.
At one fell swoop? '*^)

Mai. Dispute it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so;

But I must also feel it as a man:
I cannot but remember such things were
That were most precious to me. — Did heaven

look on.
And would not take their part? Sinful MacdufT,
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am.
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes.

And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle

heaven,
Cut short all intermission; '*') front to front.
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him: if he 'scape.
Heaven forgive him too!^")

Mai. This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may ;
The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exemit.

XV.

Act V.

MACBETH.

313

ACT V.

Scene I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Cattle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting
Gentlewoman.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but
can perceive no truth in your report. When was
it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, ') I
have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-
gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper,
fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it,
and again return to bed; yet all this while in a
most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive
at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of
watching. — In this slumbry agitation, besides her
walking, and other actual performances, what, at
any time, have you heard her say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no
witness to confirm my speech.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.
Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and,
upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her: stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her
continually; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. -}

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how she
rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem
thus washing her hands; I have known her continue
in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks : I will set down what
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more
strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! — One;

Two; VVhy, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is

murky! — ') Fye, my lord, fye! a soldier, and
afeard ? What need we fear who knows it, when
none can call our power to account? — Y^et who
would have thought the old man to have had so
much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; Where is

she now? What, will these hands ne'er be

clean? — No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that:
you mar all with this starting. *)

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you
should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am

sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known.

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all

the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little

hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Doct. What a sigh is thei'e! The heart is sorely

charged.
Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom,

for the dignity of the whole body.
Doct. Well, well, well, —
Gent. 'Pray, God, it be, sir.
Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I

have known those which have walked in their sleep,

who have died holily in their beds.
Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-
gown; look not so pale: — I tell you yet again,

Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of hia grave.

Doct. Bven so?

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the
gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand ;
What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed,
to bed. [Exit Lady Macbeth.

Doct. Will she go now to bed?

Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : Unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine, than the physician. —
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance.
And still keep eyes upon her: — So, good night:
My mind she has mated, ^) and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt.

SCENE IL

The Country near Dunsinane.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cath-
NEss, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by Mal-
colm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn In them: for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man. ')

Ang. Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them ; that way are they coming.

Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son.
And many unrough youths, ') that even now
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment. What does the tyrant?

Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:
Some say, he's mad, others, that lesser hate him,
Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain,
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.

Ang. Now does he feel

His secret murders sticking on his hands;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith- breach;
Those he commands, move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then shall blame

His pester'd senses to recoil, and start.
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself for being there? *)

Cath. Well, march we on.

To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd:
Meet we the medecin ') of the sickly weal :
And with him pour we, in our country's purge.
Each drop of us.

Len. Or so much as it needs.

To dew. the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.

[Exeunt, marching.

SCENE lU.

Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.

Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all;
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus: '")

KV.

314

MACBETH.

Act V.

Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman,
Shall e'er have power on thee. '■'■) Then fly, false

thanes.
And mingle with the English epicures;
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear.
Shall never sagg with doubt, ' -) nor shake with fear.

Enter a Servant.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon! * ')
Where got'st thou that goose look?

Serv. There is ten thousand

Macb. Geese, villain?

Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear.
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiei-s, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

Serv. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence. Seyton! — I am

sick at heart.
When I behold — Seyton, I say! — This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough : my way of life ' '')
Is fall'n into the sear, ' "•) the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age.
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.
Seyton !

Enter Sexton.

Seif, What is your gracious pleasure?

Macb. What news more?

Sey. All is contirm'd, my lord, which was reported.

Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be
hack'd.
Give me my armour.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I'll put it on.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round; ^'')
Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me nune armour. —
How does your patient, doctor?

Doct. Not so sick, my lord.

As she is troubled with trhick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cure her of that:

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain:
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuif'd bosom of that perilous stuft',
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct. Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. —
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff: —
Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me : —
Come, sir, despatch : — If thou could'st, doctor, cast
The water of my land, '') find her disease.
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo.
That should applaud again. — PuU't off, I say. —
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug.
Would scour these English hence? — Hearest thou
of them?

Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.

Macb. Bring it after me.

I will not be afraid of death and bane.

Till Uirnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit.

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear.
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Country near Dunsinane. A Wood in view.

Eater, with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, old Si-
ward and his Son, Macduff, Mknteth, Catiinrss,
Angus, Lenox, Rossk, and Soldiers marching.

Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand,
That chambers will be safe.

Ment. We doubt it nothing.

Siw. What wood is this before us?

Ment. The wood of Birnam.

Mai. liet every soldier hew him down a bough.
And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.

Sold. It shall be done.

Site. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.

Mai. 'Tis his main hope:

For where there is advantage to be given.
Both more and less have given him the revolt;
And none serve with him but constrained things.
Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd. Let our just censures

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.

Siw. The time approaches,

That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate;
But certain issues strokes must arbitrate: '^)
Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching.

SCENE V.

Dunsinane. Within the Castle.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, Macbeth,
Seyton, and Soldiers.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ;
The cry is still, They come: Our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie.
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up :
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours.
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard.
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?

[A cry ivilhin, of women.

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of haii* ")
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts.
Cannot once start me- — Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word. —
To-morrow, and to-mon'ow, and to-morrow.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player.
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage.
And then is heard no more : it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
Mess. Gracious my lord,

KV.

Act V.

MACBETH.

315

I shall report ^liat which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it. -")

Macb. Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnain, and anon, mcthought,
The wood began to move.

Macfj. Liar, and slave ! [Striking him.

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, ift be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false.

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: -') if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much. —
I pull in resolution; and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend.
That lies like truth : Fear not till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane ; — and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out ! —
If this, which he avouches, does appear.
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun.
And wish the estate o'the world were now undone. —
Ring the alarum bell: — Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Tlie same. A Plain before the Castle.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, Malcolm, old Si-
ward, Macduff, etc. and their Army, with Boughs.

Mai. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw
down.
And show like those you are: — You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we.
Shall take upon us what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Siw. Fare you well. —

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night.
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them all
breath.
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

[Exeunt. Alarums continued.

SCENE VII.

The same. Another part of the Plain.

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he,
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.

Enter young Siward,
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?

Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a hotter
name
Than any is in hell.
Macb. My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a
title
More hateful to mine ear.
Macb. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

[They fight, and young Siwabd is slain.
Macb. Thou wast born of woman. —

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.
Macd. That way the noise is: — Tyrant, show
thy face:
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine.
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. --) Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum.

Enter Malcolm and old Siward.

Siw. This way, my lord; — the castle's gently
render'd :
The tyrant's people on both sides dp fight;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours,
And little is to do.

Mai. We have met with foes

That strike beside us.

Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum.

Re- enter Macbkth.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

Re-enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee :
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd. I have no words.

My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out! [They fight.

Macb. Thou losest labour:

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air -^)
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Despair thy charm.

And let the angel, whom thou still hast served.
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so.
For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd.
That palter with us in a double sense; -*)
That keep the word of promise to our ear.
And break it to our hope. — I'll not fight with thee.

Macd. Then yield thee, coward.
And live to be the show and gaze o'the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are.
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.

Macb. I'll not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet.
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dujisinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: Before my body
I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.

[Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with Drum andColourSy

Malcolm, old Siward, Rossb, Lknox, Angus,

Cathnkss, Mentkth, and Soldiers.

Mai. I would, the friends we miss were safe ar-

riv'd.

HV.

316

MACBETH.

Act V.

Stiff. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt;
He only liv'd but till he was a man;
The which no sooner had his prowess contirm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he died.

Siw. Then he is dead?

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause
of sorrow
Must not be raeasur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.

Site. Had he his hurts before?

Rosse. Ay, on the front.

Siiff. Why then, God's soldier be he!

Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death :
And so his knell is knoll'd.

Mai. He's worth more sorrow,

And that I'll spend for hun.

Siw. He's worth no more;

They say, he parted well, and paid his score:
So, **) God be with him! — Here comes newer
comfort.

Re-enter Macdufk, with Macbkth'* Head on a Pole.

Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold where stands
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free :
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, -*)
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, —
Hail, king of Scotland!

All. King of Scotland, hail! -''} [Flourish.

Mai. We shall not spend a largo expence of time.
Before we reckon with your several loves.
And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen.
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do.
Which would be planted newly with the time, —
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad,
That fled the»snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen;
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life; — This, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place:
So thanks to all at once and to each one,
VVhora we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

XV.

XVI.
KING JOHN.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

King John:

Prince Henry, hi» Son; afterwards ^ing- Henry III.

Arthuk, Duke ofBcetagne, Son of Geffrey, late
Duke of Bretagne, the elder Brother of
King Juhn.

William Marbshall, Earl of Pembroke.

Geffrky Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex, Chief Jus-
ticiary of England.

William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. *)

Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk.

Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain to the King.

Robert Faulconbridgb, Son of Sir Robert Faul-
conbridge.

Philip Faulconbridgb, his Half-brotJier, Bastard
Son to King Richard the First.

James Gurney, Servant to Lady Faiilconbridge.
Peter of Poinfret, a Prophet.

ScBNB — sometimes in England, and sometimes in France

Philip, King of France.

Lewis, the Dauphin.

Archduke of Austria.

Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope'a Legate.

Melun, a French Lord.

Chatillon, Ambassador from France to King John.

Elinor, the Widow of King Kctucy II. and Mother

of King John.
Constance, Mother to Arthur.
Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile,

and Niece to King John.
Lady Faulconbridgb, Mother to the Bastard and

Robert Faulconbridge.

Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other
Attendants.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Northampton. A Room of State
in the Palace.

Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex,
Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon.

King John.
j\ow, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of
France,
In my behaviour, -) to the majesty.
The borrow'd majesty of England here.
Eli. A strange beginning; — borrow'd majesty!

K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island, and the territories;
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine:
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword,
Which sways usurpingly these several titles;
And put the same into young Arthur's hand.
Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign.

K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this?

Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war.
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood
for blood,
Controlinent for controlment: so answer France.

Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth.
The furthest limit of my embassy.

K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace :
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canst report I will be there.
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath,
And sullen presage of your own decay, —

An honourable conduct let him have: —
Pembroke, look to't: Farewell, Chatillon.

\Exeunt Chatillon and Pembrokb.

Eli. What now, my son? have I not ever said,
How that ambitious Constance would not cease.
Till she had kindled France, and all the world,
Upon the right and party of her son?
This might have been prevented, and made whole,
With very easy arguments of love ;
Which now the manage ^) of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

K.John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us.

Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your

right ;
Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
So much my conscience whispers in your ear; .
Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear.

Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who
whispers Essex.
Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy,
Come from the country to be judged by you,
That e'er I heard: Shall I produce the men?

K. John. Let them approach. — [Exit Slieriff.

Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay

Re-enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconbridgb,

and Philip, his bastard Brother.
This expedition's charge. — What men are you?

Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman.
Bom in Northamptonshire; and eldest son.
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge;
A soldier, by the honour- giving hand
Of CcBur-de'-lion knighted in the field.

K. John. What art thou?

Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.

KVl.

318

KING JOHN

Act J.

Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king,
That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
But, for the certain knowledge of that truth,
I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother;
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

Eli. Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy
mother,
And wound her honour with this diffidence.

Bait. I, madam; no, I have no reason for it;
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine:
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land!

K. John. A good blunt fellow: — Why, being
younger born.
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

Bast. I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
But whe'r '*) I be as true begot, or no.
That still I lay upon my mother's head;
But, that I am as well begot, my liege,
(Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!)
Compare our faces, and be judge yourself,
If old sir Robert did beget us both,
And were our father, and this son like him; —

0 old sir Robert, father, on my knee

1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee.

K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent
us here!

Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face, ^)
The accent of his tongue afFecteth him:
Do you not read some tokens of my son
In the large composition of this man?

K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts.

And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak.

What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father;
With that half-face ^) would he have all my land:
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!

Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father llv'd.
Your brother did employ my father much; —

Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land;
Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother.

Rob. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
To Germany, there, with the emperor.
To treat of high affairs touching that time:
The advantage of his absence took the king.
And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's;
Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak:
Byt truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shores
Between my father and my mother lay,
(As I have heard my father speak himself,)
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
His lands to me; and took it, on his death, ^)
That this, my mother's son, was none of his;
And, if he were, he came into the world
B'ull fourteen weeks before the course of time.
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
My father's land, as was my father's will.

K.John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him:
And, if she did play false, the fault was hers;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son.
Had of your father claira'd this son for his?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;
In sooth, he might: then, if he were my brother's.
My brother might not claim him; nor your father.
Being none of his, refuse him: This concludes, —

My mother's son did get your father's heir;
Your father's heir must have your father's land.

Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force.
To dispossess that child which is not his?

Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.

Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon-
bridge,
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land;
Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence, and no land besides? ^)

Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
And I had his. Sir Robert his, like him; ')
And if my legs were two such riding-rods.
My arms such eel-skins stufPd; my face so thin,
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose.
Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings

goes

t 1 0

And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, ' ')
'Would I might never stir from off this place,
I'd give it every foot to have this face;
I would not be sir Nob *-) in any case.

Eli. I like thee well; Wilt thou forsake thy fortune.
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?
I am a soldier, and now bound to France.

Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance :
Your face hath got five hundred pounds a-year;
Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear. —
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

Bast. Our country manners give our betters way.

K. John. What is thy name?

Bast. Philip, my liege; so is my name begun;
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose
form thou bear'st:
Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great; *^}
Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. •*)

Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your
hand;
My father gave me honour, yours gave land:
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, sir Robert was away.

Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet! —
I am thy grandame, Richard; call me so.

Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : What
though ?
Something about, a little from the right, '^)
In at the Avindow, or else o'er the hatch :
Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night:

And have is have, however men do catch:
Near or far off, Avell won is still well shot;
And I am I, howe'er I was begot.
K. John. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy

desire,
A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. —
Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed,
For France, for France; for it is more than need.

Bast. Brother, adieu; Good fortune come to thee!
For thou wast got i'the way of honesty.

[Exeunt all but the Bastard.
A foot of honour better than I was;
But many a many foot of land the worse.

Well, now can I make any Joan a lady:

Good den, *'^) sir Richard, God-a-mercy, fellow ; —

And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter:

For new-made honour doth forget men's names;

'Tis too respective, and too sociable.

For your conversion. ^') Now your traveller, —

He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess;

And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd.

Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise

My picked man of countries: *^) My dear sir^

xn.

Act II.

KING JOHN,

319

(Thus, leaninfj on my elbow, I begin,)
/ iliall beseech you — That is question now;
And then comes answer like an ABC-book: — '*')
O, sir, says answer, at your best command;

At your employment; at your service, sir:

No, sir, says question, /, sweet, sir, at yours :

And so, ere answer knows what question would,

(Saving in dialogue of compliment;

And talking of the Alps, and Appennines,

The Pyrenean, and the river Po,)

It draws towards supper in conclusion so.

But this is worshipful society.

And fits the mounting spirit, like myself:

For he is but a bastard to the time, ^'*)

That doth not smack of obsei-vation ;

(And so am J, whether I smack, or no;)

And not alone in habit and device,

Exterior form, outward accoutrement;

But from the inward motion to deliver

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth:

Which, though I will not practice to deceive.

Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;

For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. —

But who comes in such haste, in riding robes?

What woman-post is this? hath she no husband,

That will take pains to blow a horn before her?

Enter Lady Faulconbridgk, and James Gubjsby.

0 me ! it is my mother : — How now, good lady ?
What brings you here to court so hastily?

Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? where
is he?
That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son?
Colbrand -') the giant, that same mighty man?
Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so?

Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou unreverend boy.
Sir Robert's son: Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?
He is sir Robert's son; and so art thou.

l?asf. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a while?

Gur. Good leave, --) good Philip.

liast. Philip ? — sparrow ! — ^^) James,

There's toys abroad; -■*) anon I'll tell thee more.

\Exit GuRNKY.
INIadam, I Avas not old sir Robert's son;
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good-friday, and ne'er broke his fast:
Sir Robert could do well; Marry (to confess!)
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it;
We know his handy-work: — Therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholden for these limbs?
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

Lady F. Hast thou conspii'ed with thy brother too,
That for thine owif^ain should'st defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, — Basilisco-
like: ")
What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.
Biit, mother, I am not sir Robert's son;

1 have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land ;
Legitimation, name, and all is gone:

Then, good my mother, let me know my father;
Some proper man, I hope; Who was it, mother?

Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?

Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil.

Lady F. King Richard Cocur-de-lion was thy father;
By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd

To make room for him in my husband's bed:

Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! —

Thou art the issue of my dear offence.

Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence.

Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better father.

Some sins do bear their privilege on earth.
And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly:
Needs must you lay your heaii; at his dispose, —
Subjected tribute to commanding love, —
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The awless lion could not wage the fight.
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts.
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother.
With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
Who lives and dares but say, thou did'st not well
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;

And they shall say, when Richard me begot.
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin!

Who says it was, he lies; I say, 'twas not.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. France. Before the Walls of
Angiers.

Enter, on one side, the Archduke o/ Austria, and

Forces; on the other, Philip, King o/" France, and

Forces; Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and

Attendants.

Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. —
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart,
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
By this brave duke came early to his grave:
And, for amends to his posterity.
At our importance ') hither is be come.
To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John;
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death,
The rather, that you give his offspring life.
Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
I give you welcome with a powerless hand.
But with a heart full of unstrained love:
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.

Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love;
That to my home I will no more return.
Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore.
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides.
And coops from other lands her islanders.
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main.
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes.
Even till that utmost corner of the Avest
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy.
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Const. 0,take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks.
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength.
To make a more requital to your love.

Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift
their swords
In such a just and charitable war.

K. Phi. Well then, to work; our cannon shall be bent

Against the brows of this resisting town.

Call for our chiefest men of discipline.
To cull the plots of best advantages: — ^)
We'll lay before this town our royal bones.
Wade to the market place in Frenchmen's blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy,

KVI.

320

KING JOHN.

Act II.

Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood:
My lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood,
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

Enter Chatillon.

K. Phi. A wonder , lady ! — lo, upon thy wish,
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. —
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord,
We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.

Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands.
Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds.
Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I:
His marches are expedient ^) to this town.
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen.
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife;
With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a bastard of the king deceas'd: *)
And all the unsettled humours of the land, —
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries.
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, —
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes.
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits.
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er.
Did never float upon the swelling tide,
To do offence and scath *) in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums

[Drums beat.
Cuts oiF more circumstance: they are at hand.
To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare.

K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedition !

Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occasion:
Let them be welcome, then, we are prepar'd.

Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard,
Pbmbrokb, and Forces.

K. John. Peace be to France; if France in peace
permit
Our just and lineal entrance to our own!
If not; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven!
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven.

K. Phi. Peace be to England ; if that war return
From France to England, there to live in peace!
England we love; and, for that England's sake.
With burden of our armour here we sweat:
This toil of ours should be a work of thine;
But thou from loving England art so far.
That thou hast underwrought ') his lawful king.
Cut off the secjuence of posterity.
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face; —
These eyes, these brows were moulded out of his:
This little abstract doth contain that large,
Which died in Geffrey; and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief ') into as huge a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born.
And this his son; England was Geffrey's right.
And this is Geffrey's: In the name of God,
How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king.
When living blood doth in these temples beat.
Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest?

K. John. From whom hast thou this great com-
mission, France,
To draw my answer from thy articles?
K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs good

thoughts
In any breast of strong authority.
To look into the blots and stains of right.
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy :
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong ;
And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it.
K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
K. Phi. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down.
Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, BVance?
Const. Let me make answer; — thy usurping son.
Eli. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king;
That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world !

Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true
As thine was to thy husband: and this boy
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey,
Than thou and John in manners; being as like,
As rain to water, or devil to his dam.
My boy a bastard! by my soul, I think.
His father never was so true begot;
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. ^)
Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy

father.
Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would

blot thee.
Aust. Peace !

Bast. Hear the crief .

Aust. What the devil art thou ?

Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,
An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. ')
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes.
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard;
I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right;
Sirrah, look to't; i'faith, I will, i'faith.

Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe.
That did disrobe the lion of that robe!

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him,
As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : —
But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back;
Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack.

Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?
K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.
Letv. Women and fools, break off your conference. —
King John, this is the very sum of all, —
England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee:
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms?

K. John. My life as soon : — I do defy thee, France.
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand:
And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win:
Submit thee, boy.
Eli. Come to thy grandam, child.

Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child;
Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig:
There's a good grandam.

Arth. Good my mother, peace!

I would, that I were low laid in my grave:
I am not worth this coil that's made for me.
Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps.
Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does or no!
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames,
Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes.
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee;
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd
To do him justice, and revenge on you.
Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth!
Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth!

KVI.

Act II.

KING JOHN.

321

Call not ine slanderer; thou, and thine, usurp

The dominations, royalties, and rights.

Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son,

Infortunate in nothing but in thee;

Thy sins are visited in this poor child;

The canon of the law is laid on him,

Being but the second generation

Removed from thy sin -conceiving womb.

K. John. Bedlam, have done.

Const. I have but this to say, —

That he's not only plagued for her sin.
But God hath made her sin and her the plague *")
On this removed issue plagu'd for her,
And with her plague, her sin; his injury
Her injury, — the beadle to her sin;
All punish'd in the person of this child,
And all for her: A plague upon her!

Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
A will, that bars the title of thy son.

Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will;
A woman's will : a canker'd grandam's will !

K. Phi. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more temperate :
It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim *^)
To these ill-tuned repetitions. —
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak.
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.

Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls.

1 Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls?

K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England.

K. John. England, for itself:

You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, —

K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects.
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.

K. John. For our advantage ; — Therefore, hear

us first.

These flags of France, that are advanced here

Before the eye and prospect of your town.

Have hither march'd to your endamagement:

The cannons have their bowels full of wrath;

And ready mounted are they, to spit forth

Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls:

All preparation for a bloody siege.

And merciless proceeding by these French,

Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates; •-)

And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones.

That as a waist do girdle you about.

By the compulsion of their ordnance

By this time from their fixed beds of lime

Had been dishabited, and wide havock made

For bloody power to rush upon your peace.

But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,

Who painfully, with much expedient march.

Have brought a countercheck before your gates.

To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, —

Behold, the Fi'ench, ainaz'd, vouchsafe a parle :

And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire.

To make a shaking fever in your walls.

They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke,

To make a faithless error in your ears :

Which trust accordingly, kind citizens.

And let us in, your king! whose labour'd spirits,

Forwearied '^) in this action of swift speed,

Crave harbourage within your city walls.

K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both.
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet;
Son to the elder brother of this man.
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys:
For this down-trodden equity, we tread
In warlike march these greens before your town;

Being no further enemy to you.

Than the constraint of hospitable zeal,

In the relief of this oppressed child.

Religiously provokes. Be pleased then

To pay that duty, which you truly owe,

To him that owes it; ^*) namely, this young prince:

And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear.

Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up;

Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent

Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven;

And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire.

With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd,

We will bear home that lusty blood again,

Which here we came to spout against your town,

And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace.

But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,

'Tis not the roundure ^*) of your old-fac'd walls

Can hide you from our messengers of war;

Though all these English, and their discipline,

Were harbour'd in their rude circumference.

Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord,

In that behalf which we have challeng'd it?

Or shall we give the signal to our rage.

And stalk in blood to our possession?

1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects;
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.

K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in.

1 Cit. That can we not : but he that proves the king,
To him will we prove loyal; till that time.
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.

K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove
the king?
And, if not that, I bring you witnesses.
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed, —

Bast. Bastards, and else.

K. John. To verify our title with their lives.

K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as
those, •

Bast. Some bastards too.

K. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict his claim.

1 Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both.

K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls.
That to their everlasting residence,
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet.
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king!

K. Phi. Amen ! Amen ! — Mount, chevaliers ! to
arms !

Bast. St. George, — that swing'd the dragon, and
e'er since.
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door.
Teach us some fence ! — Sirrah, were I at home,
At your den, sirrah, [to Austria] with your lioness,
I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide.
And make a monster of you.

Aust. Peace; no more.

Bast. O, tremble; for you hear the lion roar.

K.John. Up higher to the plain; where we'll set
forth,
In best appointment, all our regiments.

Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field.

K. Phi. It shall be so; — \to Lewis] and at the
other hill
Command the rest to stand. — God, and our right !

[Exeunt,

SCENE II.

The same.
Alarums and Excursions, then a Retreat. Enter

a French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates.

F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates,
And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in;
KVI. 21

322

KING JOHN.

Act II.

Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made

Much work for tears in many an English mother,

Whose sons lye scatter'd on the bleeding ground.

Many a widow's husband groveling lies.

Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth;

And victory, with little loss, doth play

Upon the dancing banners of the French;

Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd,

To enter conquerois, and to proclaim

Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours.

Enter an English Herald, with trumpets.

E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Anglers, ring your bells;
King John, your king and England's, doth approach,
Commander of this hot malicious day!
Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood;
There stuck no plume in any English crest.
That is removed by a staff of France;
Our colours do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march'd forth ;
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands.
Died in the dying slaughter of their foes:
Open your gates, and give the victors way.

Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold.
From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies; whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censur'd: "')
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd

blows ;
Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted

power:
Both are alike; and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest : while they weigh so even.
We hold our town for neither: yet for both.

Enter, at one side, King John, with his Power;

Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other,

King Philip, Lewis, Austria, a7id Forces.

K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast
away ?
Say, shall the current of our right run on? *')
Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell
With course disturb'd even thy confining shores;
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean.

K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of
blood.
In this hot trial, more than we of France;
Rather, lost more: And by this hand I swear,
That sways the earth this climate overlooks, —
Before we will lay down our just-born arms,
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead;
Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss.
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.

Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers,
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire !
O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel;
The swoi'ds of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs;
And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, '■^J
In undetermin'd differences of kings. —
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus?
Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field,
You equal potents, ^') fiery-kindled spirits!
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death !

K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your
king ?

1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the king.

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right.

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy.
And bear possession of our person here:
Loi'd of our presence. Anglers, and of you.

1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this;
And, till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates:
King'd of our fears; -») until our fears, resolv'd.
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.

Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Anglers ^') flout
you, kings;
And stand securely on their battlements.
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul'd by me;
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, ^-)
Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town:
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths;
Till their soul-learing clamours - ^) have brawl'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city :
I'd play incessantly upon these jades.
Even till unfenced desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths.
And part your mingled colours once again;
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point:
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion;
To whom in favour she shall give the day,
And kiss him with a glorious victory.
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states?
Smacks it not something of the policy?

K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our
heads,
I like it well; — France, shall we knit our powers.
And lay this Anglers even Avith the ground;
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it?

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, —
Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town, —
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery.
As we will ours, against these saucy walls:
And when that we have dash'd them to the ground.
Why, then, defy each other: and, pell-mell.
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell.

K.Phi. Let it be so: — Say, where will you assault?

K. John. We from the west will send destruction
Into this city's bosom.

Aust. I from the north.

K. Phi. Our thunder from the south.

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.

Bast. O prudent discipline! From north to south;
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth:

\Aside.
I'll stir them to it : — Come, away, away !

1 Cit. Hear us, great kings; vouchsafe a while to
stay.
And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league;
Win you this city without stroke or wound;
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
That here come sacrifices for the field:
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.

K. John. Speak on, with favour ; we are bent to hear.

1 Cit, That daughter there of Spain, the lady
Blanch, -^)
Is near to England; Look upon the years
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid:
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty.
Where should lie find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous love should go in search of vii'tue,
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,

KVI.

Act XL

KING JOHN.

323

Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch?

Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth,

Is the young Dauphin every way complete:

If not complete, O say, he is not she;

And she again wants nothing, to name want,

If want it be not, that she is not he;

He is the half part of a blessed man,

Left to be finished by such a she;

And she a fair divided excellence.

Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.

O, two such silver currents, when they join,

Do glorify the banks that bound them in:

And two such shores to two such streams made one,

Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,

To these two princes, if you marry them.

This union shall do more than battery can.

To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match.

With swifter spleen ^*) than powder can enforce.

The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,

And give you entrance; but, without this match,

The sea enraged is not half so deaf,

Lions more confident, mountains and rocks

More free from motion: no, not Death himself

In mortal fui"y half so peremptory.

As we to keep this city.

Bast. Here's a stay, -')

That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death
Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed.
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and

seas;
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions.
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs?
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood?
He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue;
Our ears are cudgel'd: not a word of his,
But buffets better than a fist of France:
Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad.

Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match ;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough:
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown,
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
I see a yielding in the looks of France;
Mark, how they whisper : urge them, while their souls
Are capable of this ambition:
Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse.
Cool and congeal again to what it was.

1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town?

K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for-
ward first
To speak unto this city: What say you?

K.John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son.
Can in this book of beauty read, I love.
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen :
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea
(Except this city now by us besieg'd,)
Find liable to our crown and dignity.
Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions,
As she in beauty, education, blood.
Holds hand with any princess of the world.

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's
face!

Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle.
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye;
Which being but the shadow of your son,

XVI.

Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow :

I do protest, 1 never lov'd myself,

Till now infixed I beheld myself,

Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. -')

[fFhinpers with BLANCH.
Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! —

Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow ! —
And quarter'd in her heart! — he doth espy

Himself love's traitor: This is pity now.
That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there

should be.
In such a love, so vile a lout as he.

Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect is mine.
If he see aught in you, that makes him like.
That any thing he sees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will;
Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,)
I will enforce it easily to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I see in you is worthy love.
Than this, — that nothing do I see in you,
(Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your

That I can find should merit any hate.

K.John. What say these young ones? What say
you, my niece?

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do
What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say.

K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin ; can you love
this lady?

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love;
For I do love her most unfeignedly.

K.John. Then do I give Volquessen, - ^) Touraine,
Maine,
Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces.
With her to thee; and this addition more.
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. —
Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal.
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

K. Phi. It likes us well; — Young princes, close
your hands,

Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd.
That I did so, when I was first assur'd. 2'')

K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made;
For at Saint Mary's chapel, presently.
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. —
Is not the lady Constance in this troop ? —
I know, she is not; for this match, made up.
Her presence would have interrupted much :
Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows.

Lew, She is sad and passionate^") at your high-
ness' tent.

K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we
have made.
Will give her sadness very little cure. —
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady? in her right we came;
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way.
To our own vantage.

K. Johii. We will heal up all.

For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne,
And Earl of Richmond, and this rich fair town
We'll make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance ;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity: — I trust we shall.
If not fill up the measure of her will,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so.
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us.
To this unlook'd for unprepared pomp.

[Exeunt all hut the Bastard. — The Citizens
retire from the walls.

21*

324

KING JOHN.

Act III.

Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part: ^*)
And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on ;
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field,
As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear ^-)
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil;
That broker that still breaks the pate of faith;
That daily break-vow; he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids; —
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity, —
Commodity, the bias of the world; •*^)
The world, who of itself is peised well,
Made to run even, upon even ground;
1'ill this advantage, this vile drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity.
Makes it take head from all indifferency.
From all direction, purpose, course, intent:
And this same bias, this commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war.
To a most base and vile-concluded peace. —
And why rail I on this commodity?
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet:
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand,
When his fair angels would salute my palm:
But for ^*) my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail.
And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be,
To say, there is no vice but beggary :
Since kings break faith upon commodity.
Gain be my lord ! for I will worship thee ! \Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I, The same. The French King'*
Tent.

Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury.

Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro-
vinces V
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:
It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so :
I trust, I may not trust thee; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man:
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man!
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me.
For I am sick, and capable of fears; ')
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ;
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;
A woman, naturally born to fears;
And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest.
With my vcx'd spirits I cannot take a truce.
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rhenm.
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false,
That give you cause to prove my saying true.

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so.
As doth the fury of two desperate men.
Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. —
Lewis marry Blanch! O, boy, then where art thou?
France friend with England ! what becomes of me? —
Fellow, begone; I cannot brook thy sight;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done,
But spoke the harm that is by others done?

Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is.
As it makes harmful all that speak of it.

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content.

Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim,
Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb.
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless ^) stains,
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, ^) prodigious, "*)
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-olfending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content;
For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair; and, at thy birth, dear boy,
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great :
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast,
And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, O!
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John;
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty,
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs.
France is a bawd to fortune, and king John;
That strumpet fortune, that usurping John: —
Tell me, thou fellow, is not BVance forworn?
Envenom him with words; or get thee gone,
And leave these woes alone, which I alone,
Am bound to under-bear.

Sal. Pardon me, madam,

I may not go without you to the kings.

Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with
thee :
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. *)
To me, and to the state of my great grief.
Let kings assemble; '') for my grief's so great.
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and sorrow sit; ')
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.

\She throws herself on the ground-
Enter King John, King Philip, Lkwis, Blanch,
Elinor, Bastard, Austria, and Attendants.

K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this blessed day,
Ever in France shall be kept festival:
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye.
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly course, that brings this day about.
Shall never see it but a holyday.

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday!

\Rising.
What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done;
That it in golden letters should be set.
Among the high tides, ^) in the kaleudar?
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury:
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day.
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd: ')
But on this day, * ") let seamen fear no wreck;

KVI.

Act hi.

KING JOHN.

325

No bargains break, that are not this day made:
This day, all things begun come to ill end;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day :
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ?

Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit,
Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and tried,
Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood.
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours;
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war,
Is cold in amity and painted peace.
And our oppression hath made up this league: —
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings !
A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens!
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset.
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings !
Hear me, O, hear me!

Auit. Lady Constance, peace.

Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war.

0 Lymoges! O Austria! ") thou dost shame
That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou

coward.
Thou little valiant, great in villainy!
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side!
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too.
And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool; to brag and stamp, and swear.
Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave.
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?
Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame.
And hang a calfs skin on those recreant limbs.

Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to me !

Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.

Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself.

Enter Pandulph.
K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope.
Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven! —
To thee, king John, my holy errand is.

1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal.
And from pope Innocent the legate here,
Do, in his name, religiously demand.

Why thou against the church, our holy mother,
So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce.
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name.
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.

K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories,
Can task the free breath '-) of a sacred king?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous.
To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England,
Add thus much more, — That no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions;
But as we under heaven are supreme head,
So, under him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold.
Without the assistance of a mortal hand:
So tell the pope; all reverence set apart,
To him, and his usurp'd authority.

K. Phi. Brother of Engand, you blaspheme in this.

K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Chris-
tendom,
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest,
Dreading the curse that money may buy out;
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust.
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man.
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself;
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led,
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish;
Yet, 1 alone, alone do me oppose
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes.

Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have.
Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate:
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretic;
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd.
Canonized, and worship'd as a saint.
That takes away by any secret course
Thy hateful life.

Const. O, lawful let it be.

That I have room with Rome to curse a while!
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen.
To my keen curses: for, without my wrong.
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.

Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.

Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right,
Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong :
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here;
For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law:
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong.
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ?

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse.
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic;
And raise the power of France upon his head.
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy
hand.

Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France repent.
And, by disjoining hands, he'll lose a soul.

Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.

Bast. And hang a calf-skin on his recreant limbs.

Aust. Well, ruffian, 1 must pocket up these wrongs.
Because

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them.

K.John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal?

Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal?

Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend:
Forego the easier.

Blanch. That's the curse of Rome.

Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee
here.
In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. ' ^)

Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her

faith.
But from her need.

Const. O, if thou grant my need.

Which only lives but by the death of faith.

That need must needs infer this principle,

That faith would live again by death of need;

O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ;

Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down.

K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this.

Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well.

Aust, Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt.

Bast. Hang nothing but a calf-skin, most sweet lout.

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.

Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee
more.
If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd?

K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person
yours,

XVI.

326

KING JOHN.

Act IIL

And tell me, how you would bestow yourself.
This royal hand and mine are newly knit:
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and link'd together
With all religious strength of sacred vows;
The latest breath that gave the sound of words,
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,
Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves;
And even before this truce, but new before, —
No longer than we well could wash our hands,

To clap this royal bargain up of peace,

Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd
With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensed kings:
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood,
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreetV ^'*)
Play fast and loose with faith V so jest with heaven,
Make such uncoustant children of ourselves.
As now again to snatch our pahu from palm;
Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace to jnarch a bloody host,
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity? O holy sir.
My reverend father, let it not be so:
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.
Pand. All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore, to arms, be champion of our church!
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue,
A cased lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.
K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.
Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith;
And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath.
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ;
That is, to be the champion of our church;
What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself.
And may not be performed by thyself:
For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss.
Is not amiss when it is truly done; '^)
And being not done, where doing tends to ill.
The truth is then most done not doing it:
The better act of purposes mistook
Is, to mistake again: though indirect.
Yet indirection thereby grows direct.
And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire,
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd.
It is I'eligion, that doth make vows kept;
But thou hast sworn against religion ;
By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou

swear'st;
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure
To swear, swear only not to be forsworn;
Else, what a mockery should it be to swear?
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
Therefore, thy latter vows against thy first,
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself:
And better conquest never canst thou make.
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against those giddy loose suggestions:
Upon which better part our prayers come in.
If thou vouchsafe them: but, if not, then know,
The peril of our curses light on thee;
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off,

But, in despair, die under their black weight.
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion I
Bast. Will't not be?

Will not a calf-skin stop that mouth of thine?
LetP. Father, to arms!

Blanch. Upon thy wedding day?

Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men?
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, —
Clamours of hell, — be measures "^) to our pomp?
O husband, hear me! — ah, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth! — even for that name
Which still this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.

Const. O, upon my knee.

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee.
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Fore-thought by heaven.

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love ; What motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour!
Lew. I muse, *') your majesty doth seem so cold.
When such profound respects do pull you on.
Pand. 1 will denounce a curse upon his head.
K. Phi. Thou shalt not need: — England, I'll fall

from thee.
Const. O fair return of banlsh'd majesty!
Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!
K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within

this hour.
Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexton
time,
Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue.
Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood : Fair day,
adieu !
Which is the side that I must go withal?
I am with both: each army hath a hand;
And, in their rage, I having hold of both.
They whirl asunder, and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose:
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive :
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose;
Assured loss, before the match be play'd.
Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies.
Blanche. There where my fortune lives, there my

life dies.
K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. —

[Exit Dastard.
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath;
A rage, whose heat hath this condition,
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood.
The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France.
K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou
shalt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.
K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms
let's hie! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Plains near Angiers.

Alarums; Excursions. Enter the Bastard with
Austria's Head.

Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot:
Some airy devil hovers in the sky,
And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there;
While Philip breathes.

HVI.

Act III.

KING JOHN.

327

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert.

K. John. Hubert, keep this boy: — Philip, make up;
My mother is assailed in our tent,
And ta'en, I fear.

Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her;

Her highness is in safety, fear you not;
But on, my liege; for very little pains
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The same.

Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. JE/jfer King John,

Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, <ind

Lords.

K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay
behind, [To Elinor.

So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad:

[To Akthue.
Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief.

K. John. Cousin, [to the Bastard] away for Eng-
land; haste before:
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; imprison'd angels
Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon:
Use our commission in his utmost force.

Bast. Bell, book, and candle ' ^) shall not drive
me back,
When gold and silver becks me to come on.
I leave your highness: — Grandam, I will pray
(If ever I remember to be holy,)
For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.

Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin.

K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard.

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.

[She takes Arthur aside.

K.John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a soul, counts thee her creditor.
And with advantage means to pay thy love:
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, —
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty.

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say
so yet;
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say, — But let it go:
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day.
Attended with the pleasures of the world.
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, ^')
To give me audience: — If the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto -''} the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard where Ave stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy.
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick;
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,
RIaking that idiot, laughtei', keep men's eyes.
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes;)
Or if that thou could' st see me without eyes.
Hear me without thine cars, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone, - ')

Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts :
But ah, I will not: — Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well.

Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act.
By heaven, I'd do't.

K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st?

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend.
He is a very serpent in my way;
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread.
He lies before me: Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

Hub. And I will keep him so,

That he shall not offend your majesty.

K.John. Death.

Hub. My Lord?

K. John. A grave.

Hub. He shall not live.

K. John. Enough.

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee.
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:

Remember. --) Madam, fare you well:

I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.

Eli. My blessing go with thee !

K, John. For England, cousin : - ^)

Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeuia.

The same.

SCENE IV.
The French King'* Tent.

Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and

Attendants.

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
A whole armado of convicted sail -■^)
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.

Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well.

K.Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill?
Are we not beaten? Is not Anglers lost?
Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd.
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause.
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this?

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this
praise.
So we could find some pattern of our shame.

Enter Constance.
Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will.
In the vile prison of afflicted breath: —
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.

Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace !

K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle Con-
stance !

Const. No, I defy -*) all counsel, all redress,
But that wich ends all counsel, true redress.
Death, death: — O amiable lovely death!
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night.
Thou hate and terror to prosperity.
And I will kiss thy dt5testable bones;
And put my eye-balls in thy vanity brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms}
And" stop tliis gap of breath with fulsome dust,
HVI.

328

KING JOHN

Act JIL

And be a carrion monster like thyself:
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st.
And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, ^^)
O, come to me!

K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace.

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry : —
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion would I shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,
Which scorns a modern invocation. -")

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so;
I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine;
My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost:
I am not mad ; — I would to heaven, I were !
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself:
O, if I could, what grief should I forget! —
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief.
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes.
And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
If I were mad, I should forget my son;
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he:
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses; -*) O, what love
I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen.
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glew themselves in sociable grief;
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves,
Sticking together in calamity.

Const. To England, if you will.

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs.

Const. Yes, that I will; And wherefore will I do it?
I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,

0 that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
But now I envy at their liberty.

And will again commit them to their bonds,

Because my poor child is a prisoner.

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say.

That we shall see and know our friends in heaven:

If that be true, I shall see my boy again;

For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child.

To him that did but yesterday suspire, ^ ')

There was not such a gracious creature born, ^°)

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud.

And chase the native beauty from his cheek,

And he will look as hollow as a ghost;

As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;

And so he'll die; and, rising so again.

When I shall meet him in the court of heaven

1 shall not know him: therefore never, never,
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.

Const. He talks to me, that never had a son.

K. Phi. Ypu are as fond of grief, as of your child.

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child.
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pi'etty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts.
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort ^*) than you do. —
I will not keep this form upon my head,

[Tearing off her head-dreu.

When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow -comfort, and my sorrows' cure! [Exit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.

[Exit.
Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make me
joy: 3^)
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsyman;
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's

taste, 3^)
That it yields naught, but shame, and bitterness.

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease.
Even in the instant of repair and health.
The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil:
What have you lost by losing of this day?
Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had.
No, no : when fortune means to men most good,
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange to think how much king John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won:
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne ; and, therefore, mark.
John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be.
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins.
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour,
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest:
A scepter, snatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd :
And he, that stands upon a slippery place.
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up :
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall ?
Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife.
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old
world !
John lays you plots; the times conspire with you:
For he, that steeps his safety in true blood.
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal;
That none so small advantage shall step forth,
To check his reign, but they will cherish it;
No natural exhalation in the sky.
No scape of nature, no distemper'd day.
No common wind, no customed event.
But they will pluck away his natural cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs.
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven.
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life.
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.

Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change;
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath.
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot;
And, O, what better matter breeds for you,

KVI.

Act IV.

KING JOHN.

329

Than I have nam'd! — The bastard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity: If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the king: 'Tis wonderful.
What may be wrought out of their discontent:
Now that their souls are topfull of offence,
For England go: I will whet on the king.
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions:^'*) Let
us go:
If you Bay, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Northampton. ') A Room in the
Castle.

Enter Hubert and two Attendants.

Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth:
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me.
Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.

1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed.

Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. —

\Exeunt Attendants.
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter Arthur.

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.

Hub. Good morrow, little prince.

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad.

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier,

Arth. Mercy on me!

Methlnks, nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him:
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, Is't not; And I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside.

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:
In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
That I might sit all night, and watch with you:
I warrant, I love you more than you do me.

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. —
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How
now, foolish rheum! [Aside.

Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief; lest resolution drop

Out at mine eyes. In tender womanish tears.

Can you not read it? Is It not fair writ?

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect:
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ?

Hub. Young boy, I must.

Arth. And will you?

Hub. And I will.

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did
but ake,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows,

(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again:
And with my hand at midnight held your head;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour.
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time;
Saying, What lack you? and. Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you ?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still.
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love,
And call It, cunning; Do, an If you will:
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you?

Hub. I have sworn to do it;

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it!
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot.
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery Indignation,
Even in the matter of mine innocence:
Nay, after that, consume away in rust.
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me.
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. *)

Hub. Come forth. [Stam-p».

Re-enter Attendants, icith cords, irons, Ac.
Do as I bid you do.

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out.
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.

Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough ?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound !
Nay ! hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb;
1 will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you.
Whatever torment you do put me to.

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him.

1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed.

[Exeunt Attendants.

Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend;
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: -^
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.

Arth. Is there no remedy ?

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.

Arth. O heaven! — that there were but a mote
in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair.
Any annoyance in that precious sense !
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.

Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes:
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert!
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue.
So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes;
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold.
And would not harm me.

Hub. I can heat it, boy.

Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us'd

KVI.

330

KING JOHN

Act IV.

In undeserv'd extremes: See else yourself:
There is no malice in this burning coal:
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head.

Huh. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.

Arth. And if you do, you will but make It blush.
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert :
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes;
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. ^)
All things, that you should use to do me wrongs
Deny their office: only you do lack
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends.
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses.

Hub. Well, see to live : I will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes:
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while
You were disguised.

Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu;

Your uncle must not know but you are dead:
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure.
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.

Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert.

Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me.'*)
Much danger do I undergo for thee. \Exeunt.

SCENE 11.

The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, SALisiiuar,
a7id other Lords. The King takes his scat.

K.John.tieve once again we sit, once again crown'd,
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

Pern. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd,
Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off;
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land.
With any longed-for change, or better state.

Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp.
To guard *) a title that was rich before,
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet.
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.

Pent. But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told;
And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.

Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured:
Aivd, like a shifted wind unto a sail.
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about;
Startles and frights consideration;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

Pem. When workmen strive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in covetousness : '')
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault,
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse;
As patches, set upon a little breach,
Discredit more in hiding of the fault.
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd.
We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highness
To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd;

Since all and every part of what we would.
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.

K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong:
And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,)
I shall indue you with: Mean time, but ask
What you would have reforra'd, that is not well;
And well shall you perceive, how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.

Pem. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these.
To sound the purposes ^) of all their hearts,)
Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all.
Your safety, for the which myself and them
Bend their best studies,) heartily request
The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
To break into this dangerous argument, — ■
If, what in rest you have, in right you hold.
Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend
The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise ? ^)
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit.
That you have bid us ask his liberty;
Which for our goods we do no further ask.
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending.
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty.

K. John. Let it be so ; I do commit his youth

Enter Hubert.

To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you?

Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed;
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine:
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Does show the mood of a much troubled breast:
And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done.
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go.
Between his purpose and his conscience.
Like heralds twixt two dreadful battles set:
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.

Pem. And, when it bi'eaks, I fear, will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.

K.John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand; —
Good lords, although my will to give is living.
The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night.

Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure.

Pem. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was.
Before the child himself felt he was sick:
This must be answer'd, either here, or hence.

K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows

on meV
Think you, I bear the shears of destiny?
Have 1 commandment on the pulse of life?

Sal. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame.
That greatness should so grossly offer it:
So thrive it in your game! and so farewell.

Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee.
And find the inheritance of this poor child.
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle,
Three foot of it doth hold; Bad world the while!
This must not be thus borne: this will break out
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.

^Exeunt Lords.

K.John. They burn in indignation; I repent;
There is no sure foundation set on blood;
No certain life achiev'd by other's death.

KVI.

Act IV.

KING JOHN.

331

Enter a Messenger.
A fearful eye thou hast; Where is that blood,
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
Pour down thy weather: — How goes all in France?

Mess. From France to England. — Never such a
power
For any foreign preparation,
Was levied in the body of a land!
'I'he copy of your speed is learn'd by them;
For when you should be told they do prepare.
The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd.

K.John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
Wliere hath it slept? Where is my mother's care?
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it?

Mess. My liege, her ear

Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died
Your noble mother: And, as I hear, my lord.
The lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue
I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not.

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd
My discontented peers! — What! mother dead?
How wildly then walks my estate in France ! ')
Under whose conduct came those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here?

Mess. Under the Dauphin.

Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy

With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world
To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.

Bast. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.

K.John. Bear with me, cousin; for I was amaz'd ^°)
Under the tide: but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood; and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.

Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen,
The sums I have collected shall express.
But, as I travelled hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied;
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams;
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear:
And here's a prophet, ") that I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With many hundreds treading on his heels ;
To whom he sung, in rude harsh sounding rhymes,
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon.
Your highness should deliver up your crown.

K.John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?

Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.

K.John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
And on that day at noon, whereon, he says,
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd:
Deliver him to safety, ^^) and return.
For I must use thee. — O, my gentle cousin,

\Exit Hubert, with Peter.
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?

Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are full
of it:
Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury,
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,)
And others, more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night
On your suggestion.

K. John. Gentle kinsman, go,

And thrust thyself into their companies:
I have a way to win their loves again;
Bring them before me.

Bast. I will seek them out.

K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot

before.

O, let me have no subject enemies.

When adverse foreigners affright my towns

With dreadful pomp of stout invasion! —

Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels;

And fly, like thought, from them to me again.

Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

[Exit.

K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentleman. —
Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.

Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit,

K. John. My mother dead I

Re-enter Hubert.

Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen
to-night : ^ ^)
Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about
The other four, in wond'rous motion.

K. John. Five moons ?

Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets,

Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads.
And whisper one another in the ear;
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action.
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
1 saw a smith stand with his haimner, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand.
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) ^'*)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent:
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.

K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with
these fears?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.

Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not pro-
voke me?

K.John. It is the curse of kings, *^) to be attended
By slaves, that take their humours for a waiTant
To break within the bloody house of life:
And, on the winking of authority.
To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humour than advis'd respect. *^)

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaveu
and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation!
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds.
Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd.
Quoted *^) and sign'd, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect.
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy.
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king.
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

Hub. My lord,

KVI.

332

KING JOHN.

Act IV.

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, » 8) or
made a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed;
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
As bid "} ine tell my tale in express words;
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me :
But thou didst understand me by my signs.
And didst in signs again parley with sin;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to

name. —
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers:
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land.
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.

Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, * °)
And you have slander'd nature in my form;
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the
peers.
Throw this report on their incensed rage.
And make them tame to their obedience !
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords, with all expedient haste:
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The tame. Before the Castle.

Enter Arthur, on the walls.

Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down: —
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not! —
There's few, or none, do know me; if they did.
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.
I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die, and go, as die, and stay.

[Leaps doiDTt.
O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones: —
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

[Dies.

Enter Pbmbrokk, Salisbury, and Bigot.

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at saint Edmund's-
Bury;
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.

Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France;
Whose private with me, -') of the Dauphin's love,
Is much more general than these lines import.

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

Sal. Or, rather, then set forward: for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd -^)
lords !
The king, by me, requests your presence straight.

Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ;
We will not line his thin bestained cloak
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks :
Return, and tell him so; we know the worst.

Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think,
were best.

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.- ')

Bast. But there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now.

Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.

Bast. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else.

Sal. This is the prison: What is he lies here?

[Seeing Arthub.

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely

beauty !
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld.
Or have you read, or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see.
That you do see? could thought, without this object.
Form such another? This is the very top.
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke.
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in this:
And this, so sole, and so unmatchable.
Shall give a holiness, a purity.
To the yet-unbegotten sin of times;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand.
If that it be the work of any hand.

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand? —
We had a kind of light, what would ensue:
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
The practice, and the purpose, of the king: —
Fi'om whose obedience I forbid my soul.
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life.
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow;
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, -'*)
Never to be infected with delight.
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand.
By giving it the worship of revenge.

Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

Enter Hubert.

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you :
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.

Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death: —
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

Hub. I am no villain.

Sal. Must I rob the law ? [Drawing his sword.

Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.

Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin.

Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ;
By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself.
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; '*)

KVI.

Act V.

KING JOHN.

333

Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman?

Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.

Sal. Thou art a murderer.

Hub. Do not prove me so;

Yet, I am none; -') Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

Pe7it. Cut him to pieces.

Bast. Keep the peace, I say.

Sat. Stand by or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.

Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime;
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron.
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer?

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.

Big. Who kill'd this prince?

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse -') and innocency.
Away, with me, ail you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out.

\_Exeunt Lords.

Bast. Here's a good world! — Knew you of this
fair work?
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

Hub. Do but hear me, sir.

Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what;
Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so black ;
Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

Hub. Upon my soul,

Bast. If thou didst but consent

To this most cruel act, do but despair.
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be
A beam to hang thee on; or would'st thou drown

thyself.
Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean.

Enough to stifle such a villain up.

I do suspect thee very grievously.

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. —

I am amaz'd, -») methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. —
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
To tug and scamble, ^9) and to part by the teeth
The unowed interest ■^") of proud-swelling state.
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty.

Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,

And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:

Now powers from home, and discontents at home,

Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits

(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)

The imminent decay of wrested pomp. ^')

Now happy he, whose cloke and cincture can

Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,

And follow me with speed; I'll to the king;

A thousand businesses are brief in hand.

And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

[^Eseunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King John, Pandulph with the Crown, and

Attendants.

K.John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand
The circle of my glory.

Pand. Take again [Giving John fAe crown.

From this my hand, as holding of the pope.
Your sovereign greatness and authority.

K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the
French ;
And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd.
Our discontented counties do revolt;
Our people quarrel with obedience;
Swearing aHegiance, and the love of soul,
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of mistemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not: for the present time's so sick.
That present medicine must be minister'd,
Or overthrow incurable ensues.

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up.
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope :
But, since you are a gentle convertite, ')
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war,
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well.
Upon your oath of service to the pope.
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit.

K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet
Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon.
My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
I did suppose, it should be on constraint:
But heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

Enter the Bastard.

Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out,
But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd.
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To off'er service to your enemy;
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends. ,

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again,
After they heard young Arthur was alive?

Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the
streets ;
An empty casket, where the jewel of life
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

K. John. That villain Hubert told me, he did live.

Bast. So, on ray soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust,
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
Be stirring as the time; be tire with fire;

XVI.

334

KING JOHN

Act V.

Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow

Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes,

That borrow their behaviours from the great,

Grow great by yout example, and put on

The dauntless spirit of resolution.

Away; and glister like the god of war,

When he intendeth to become the field:

Show boldness, and aspiring confidence.

What, shall they seek the lion in his den,

And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ?

O, let it not be said! — Forage, and run

To meet displeasure further from the doors;

And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh.

K.John. The legate of the pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him ;
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.

Bait. O inglorious league!

Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce.
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms:
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace;
Or if he do, let it at least be said.
They saw we had a purpose of defence.

K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time.

Bast. Away then, with good courage ; yet, I know.
Our party may well meet a prouder foe> [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury.

Enter, in arms, Lkwis, Salisbury, Mblun, Pem-
broke, Bigot, and Soldiers.

Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out,
And keep it safe for our remembrance:
Return the precedent -) to these lords again;
That, having our fair order written down,
Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes,
May know wherefore we took the sacrament,,
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith,
To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt.
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound,
By making many: O, it grieves my soul.
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker; O, and there.
Where honourable rescue, and defence.
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury:
But such is the infection of the time.
That, for the health and physic of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong. —
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends!
That we, the sons and children of this isle.
Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
Wherein we step after a stranger march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) ^)
To grace the gentry of a land remote.
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here ? — O nation, that thou could'st remove !
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, '*)

Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,

And grapple thee unto a pagan shore;

Where these two Christian armies might combine

The blood of malice in a vein of league.

And not to spend it so unneighbourly !

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this;
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom.
Do make an earthquake of nobility.

0, what a noble combat hast thou fought.
Between compulsion, and a brave respect! *)
Let me wipe off this honourable dew.
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks;
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;

But this effusion of such manly drops.

This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul.

Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd

Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven

Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.

Lift up thy brow, renown'd Salisbury,

And with a great heart heave away this storm:

Commend these waters to those baby eyes.

That never saw the giant world enrag'd;

Nor met with fortune other than at feasts.

Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping.

Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep

Into the purse of rich prosperity.

As Lewis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all,

That knit your sinews to the strength of minev

Enter Pandulpii, attended.
And even there, methinks, an angel spake:
Look, where the holy legate comes apace.
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven;
And on our actions set the name of right,
With holy breath.

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France!

The next is this, — king John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy church.
The great metropolis and see of Rome:
Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up.
And tame the savage spirit of wild war;
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand.
It may lie gently at the foot of peace,
And be no further harmful than in show.

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back ;
I am too high born to be propertied.
To be a secondary at control.
Or useful serving-man, and instrument,
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath firSt kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself.
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right.
Acquainted me with Interest to this land.
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come you now to tell me, John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?

1, by the honour of my marriage-bed.

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, noAv it is half-conijuer'd, must I back.
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome bonie.
What men provided, what munition sent.
To underprop this action? is't not I,
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable.
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
Vive le roy! as I have bank'd their towns? '')

BVI.

Act V.

KING JOHN.

335

Have I not here the best cards for the game.
To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
'} No, on my soul, it never shall be said.

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.

Lew. Outside, or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war, ^)
And cuU'd these fiery spirits from the world.
To outlook ') conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death. —

[Trumpet sounds.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

Enter the Bastard, attended.

Bast. According to the fair play of the Avorld,

Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:

My holy lord of Milan, from the king
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
And, as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms.

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd.
The youth says well : — Now hear our English king;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should:
This apish and unmannerly approach.
This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel.
This unhair'd sauciness, und boyish troops.
The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.
That hand, which had the strength, even at your door.
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; *")
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells; ^')
To crouch in litter of your stable planks;
To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks;
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake,
Even at the crying of your nation's crow, '-)
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman; —
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here.
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No : Know, the gallant monarch is in arms ;
And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, '^)
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. •=—
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts.
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame:
For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids.
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change.
Their neelds to lances, '■*) and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in
peace ;
We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

Pand. Give me leave to speak.

Bast. No, I will speak.

Lew. We w ill attend to neither : —

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here.

Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten; Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum.
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd.
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall.

As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear.

And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand

(Not trusting to this halting legate here.

Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,)

Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits

A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day

To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. A Field of Battle.

Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert.

K. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell me,

Hubert.
Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty?
K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long,
Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field;
And send him word by me, which way you go.

K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, ^ *) to the
abbey there.

Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here,
Ai'e wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands.
This news was brought to Richard "*) but even now:
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

K. John. Ah me ! this tyrant fever bums me up.

And will not let me welcome this good news.

Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. Another part of the same.

Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others.

Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.

Pern. Up once again; put spirit in the French;
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

Pern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left
the field.

Enter Met.un wounded, and led by Soldiers.

Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here.

Sal. When we were happy, we had other names.

Pern. It is the count Melun.

Sal. Wounded to death.

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet;
For, if the French be lords of this loud day.
He means •') to recompense the pains you take.
By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn.
And I with him, and many more with me.
Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury ;
Even on that altar, where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true?

Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life;
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? ^^)

KVI.

336

KING JOHN.

Act V.

What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false: since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Lewis do win the day.
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:
But even this night, — whose black contagious

breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, —
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery, ")
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him, — and this respect besides.
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, —
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

Hal. We do believe thee, — And beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood.
Leaving our rankness and irregular course.
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd.
And calmly run on in obedience.

Even to our ocean, to our great king John.

My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends! New flight;
And happy newness, ^'*) that intends old right.

[Exeunt, leading off Melon.

SCENE V.

The same. The French Camp.

Enter Lewis, and his Train.

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set ;
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush.
When the English measur'd backward their own

ground.
In faint retire: O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot.
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tatter'd ^^) colours clearly up.
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin ?

Lew. Here : — What news ?

Mess. The count Melun is slain ; the English lords.
By his persuasion, are again fall'n off:
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long.
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.

Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrew thy very
heart !
I did not think to be so sad to-night.
As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said.
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

Lew. Well; keep good quarter,--) and good care

to-night;
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

An open Place in the Neighbourhood of
Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting.

Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or
I shoot.

Bast. A friend : — What art thou ?

Hub. Of the part of England.

Bast. Whither dost thou go?

Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

Bast. Hubert, I think.

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought :

I will, upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well :
Who art thou?

Bast. Who thoii wilt: an if thou please,

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless night,
Have done me shame : — Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue.
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Bast. Coine, come; sans compliment, what news
abroad ?

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news?

Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night.
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news;
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : - ^)
I left him ahnost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time.
Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him?

Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king-
Yet speaks, and peradventure, may recover.

Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ?

Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come
back.
And brought prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them.
And they are all about his majesty.

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven.

And tempt us not to bear above our power!

I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide.
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [Exeura

SCENE VII.

The Orchard o/' Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.

P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood
Is touch.'d corruptibly; and his pure brain
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,^
Doth, by the idle comments thid it makes,
Foretel the ending of mortality.

Enter Pembroke.
Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds beliel
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

xrvi.

Act V.

KING JOHN.

337

p. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. —
Doth he still rage? [Exit Bigot,

Pern. He is more patient

Than when you left him; even now he sung.

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death having prey'd upon the outward parts,
^*) Leaves them insensible; and liis siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies;
Which in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should

sing.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan.
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in
King John in a Chair.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room :
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

P. Hen. How fares your majesty?

K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare; — dead, forsook,
cast off:
And none of you will bid the winter come,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait, -*)
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears.
That might relieve you !

K. John. The salt in them is hot. —

Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.

Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion.
And spleen of speed to see your majesty.

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye :
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty. -'')

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him:
For, in a night, the best part of my power.

As I upon advantage did remove.
Were in the washes, all unwarily,
Devoured by the unexpected flood. ^^) [TheKmG dies.

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an
ear. —
My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus.

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay!

Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind.
To do the office for thee of revenge;
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,

As it on earth hath been thy servant still.

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres.
Where be your powers? Show now your mended

faiths ;
And instantly return with me again,
To push destruction, and perpetual shame.
Out of the weak door of our fainting land:
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we :
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest.
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin;
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it when he sees

Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;

For many carriages he hath despatch'd

To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel

To the disposing of the cardinal:

With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,

If you think meet, this afternoon will post

To consummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so : — And you, my noble prince,

With other princes that may best be spar'd.

Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; ^^)

For so he will'd it.
Bast. Thither shall it then.

And happily may your sweet self put on

The lineal state and glory of the land!

To whom, with all submission, on my knee,

I do bequeath my faithful services

And true subjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,

To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you
thanks.

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,

Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. —

This England never did, (nor never shall,)

Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

But when it first did help to wound itself.

Now these her princes are come home again.

Come the three corners of the world in arms.

And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue,

If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.

KVI.

22

XVII.
KING RICHARD II.

PEBSONS BEPBESENTED.

King Richard the Second.

Edmund o/LANGi<Br, Duke 0/ York;l Uncles to
John o/" Gaunt, Duke 0/ Lancaster; | the King.
Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford,

Son to John of Gaunt ; afterwards Henry IV.
Duke of AuMERLB, ^) Son to the Duke of York.
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
Duke of Surrey.
Earl of Salisbury.
Earl Berkley. -)
Bushy, i

Bagot, > Creatures to King Richard.
Green, }

Earl of Northumberland :
Henry Percy, his Son.

Lord Ross, ^)

Lord WiLLOUGlIBY.
Lord FlTZWATBR.

Bishop of Carlisle.
Abbot of Westminster.
Lord Marshal; and another Lord.
Sir Pierce of Exton.
Sir Stephen Scroop.
Captain of a band of Welchmen.
Queen to King Richard.
Duchess of Gloster.
Duchess of York.
Lady attending on the Queen.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.

ScENB — dispersedly in England and Wales.

ACT I.

Scene I. London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt,
and other Nobles, with him.

K, Richard.

Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, *)
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, *)
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son;
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear.
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Gaunt. I have, my liege,

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him.
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily as a good subject should.
On some known ground of treachery in him?

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu-
ment, —
On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.

K.Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak : —

\Exeunt some Attendants.
High-storaach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and
Norfolk.
Boling. Many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!
K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flatters us.
As well appeareth by the cause you come;

Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. —
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my speech !)
In the devotion of a subject's love, '

Tendering the precious safety of my prince.
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence. —
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak.
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live;
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note.
With a foul traitor's name stufl^ I thy throat;
And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move.
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn '') sword
may prove.

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal :
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war.
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues.
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain :
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this,
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty.
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and 1 spit at him ;
Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain:
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds;
And meet him were I tied to run a-foot

BVII.

Act 1.

KING RICHARD II.

339

Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable ')
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, —
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my
gage.
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty.
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except:
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm.
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.

Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear.
Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And, when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!

K.Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's
charge ?
It must be great, that can inherit us *)
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Baling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove

it true ; —
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles.
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain'd forlew'd') employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove, —
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye, —
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land,
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say, — and further will maintain
Upon his bad life, to m^Lke all this good, —
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death;
Suggest "') his soon-believing adversaries;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries.
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

K.Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars! —
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?

Nar. O, let my sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander of his blood, ' ')
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.

K.Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)
Now by my scepter's awe '-) I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul;
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou;
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart.
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserv'd I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account.
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. — B'or Gloster's death, —
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace,

Neglected my sworn duty in that case. —

For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,

The honourable father to my foe.

Once did I lay in ambush for your life,

A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul:

But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament,

I did confess it; and exactly begg'd

Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it.

This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd,

It issues from the rancour of a villain,

A recreant and most degenerate traitor:

Which in myself I boldly will defend;

And interchangeably hurl down my gage

Upon this overweening traitor's foot,

To prove myself a loyal gentleman

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom:

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray

Your highness to assign our trial day.

K.Rich. Wrath- kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Deep malice makes too deep incision:
Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed;
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. — * ^)
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son.

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age.
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.

Gaunt. When, Harry? when?

Obedience bids, I should not bid again.

K.Rich, Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is
no boot. '*)

Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot :
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,)
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here;
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breath'd this poison.

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood :

Give me his gage : — Lions make leopards tame. ' *)

Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but
my shame.
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford.
Is — spotless reputation ; that away.
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done ;
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live, and for that vyill I die.

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you
begin.

Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong.
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear;
And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace.
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.

[Exit Gaunt.

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command :
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it.
At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day;
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate

Kvn.

22

340

KING RICHARD II.

Act I.

The swelling difference of your settled hate;

Since we cannot atone you, ' ') we shall see

Justice design '^) the victor's chivalry. —

'*) Marshal, command our officers at arms

Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room in Mc Duke o/" Lancaster's
Palace.

Enter Gaunt, and Duchess o/" Glostbb. ")

Gaunt. Alas! the part-") I had in Gloster's blood
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims.
To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lieth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct.
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.

Duck. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood.
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course.
Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, —
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood.
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, —
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb,
That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee.
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and breath' st,
Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent -*)
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair:
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life.
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That which in mean men we entitle — patience.
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life.
The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death.

Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's sub-
stitute.
His deputy anointed in his sight.
Hath caus'd his death: the wliich if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.

Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself?

Gaunt. To heaA-en, the widow's champion and de-
fence.

Duch. Why then, I will, F'arewell, old Gaunt.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career.
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff--) recreant to my cousin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife.
With her companion grief must end her life.

Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!

Duch. Yet one word more; — Grief boundeth
where it falls,

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun;
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all: — Nay, yet depart not so;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what?
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see,
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where:
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Gosford Green, near Coventiy.

Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, ^c.
attending.

Enter the Lord Marshal, -^ and Acmerle. -'*)

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?

Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.

Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.

Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King Richard, who
takes his seat on his Throne: Gaunt, and several
Noblemen, who take their places. A Trumpet is
sounded and answered by another Trumpet within.
Then enter Norfolk, in armour, preceded by
a Herald.

K Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms;
Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art,
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms:
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel;
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath;
-^) And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour!

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth.
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue.
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm.
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

[He takes his seat.

Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbrokb, in armour;
preceded by a Herald.

K.Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war;
And formally according to our law
Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st
thou hither.
Before king Richard, in his royal lists?
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Dei'by,
Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,

xvn.

Act I.

KING RICHARD II.

341

To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous.
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists;
Except the marshal, and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's
hand.
And bow my knee before his majesty:
For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave.
And loving farewell, of our several friends.

Mar. The apellant in all duty greets your highness,
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.

K.Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if 1 be gor'd with Mowbray's spear;
As confident, as is the falcon's flight

Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

My loving lord, [to Lord Marshal] I take my leave

of you;
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle: —
Not sick, although I have to do with death;

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:

O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — [ToGaukt.

Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate.

Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up

To reach at victory above my head, —

Add proof unto* mine armour with thy prayers;

And with thy blessings steel my lance's point.

That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, -'')

And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,

Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pros-
perous !
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled.
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque -')
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy :
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.

Boling. Mine innoceucy, and saint George to thrive.

[He takes his seat.

Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast
my lot.
There lives, or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman:
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
Moi'e than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary. —
Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers, —
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest, -=*)
Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. —
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

[The King and the Lords return to their seats.

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!

Boling [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I

cry — amen.

Mar. Go bear this lance [to an Officer] to Thomas
duke of Norfolk.

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself.
On pain to be found false and recreant.

To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his king, and him.
And dares him to set forward to the fight.

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of

Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant.
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal;
Courageously, and with a free desire,
Attending but the signal to begin.

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.

[A charge sounded.
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder 2'') down.

K.Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their
spears.

And both return back to their chairs again:

Withdraw with us: — and let the trumpets sound.

While we return these dukes what we decree

[A long flourish.
Draw near, [To the CombatanU.

And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soii'd
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords;
[^'*) And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts.
With rival-hating envy, set you on
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;]
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd dnuns.
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray.
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms.
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace.
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood; —

Therefore, we banish you our territories :

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death.

Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields.

Shall not regreet our fair dominions.

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Boling. Your will be done : This must my com-
fort be,

That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams, to you here lent.
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.

K.Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The ^ ') fly-slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile; —
The hopeless word of — never to return
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air.
Have I deserved at your highness' hand.
The language I have learn'd these forty years.
My native English, now I must forego;
And now my tongue's use is to me no more.
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp;
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up.
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue.
Doubly portcuUis'd, with my teeth, and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.

Kvn.

342

KING RICHARD II.

Act 1.

I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,

Too far in years to be a pupil now;

Wliat is thy sentence then but speechless death,

Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

K.Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; ^-)

Atter our sentence plaining comes too late.

Kor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light,

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring.

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee.

Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;

Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven,

(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) ^^)

To keep the oatlv that we administer: —

You never shall (so help you truth and heaven !)

Embrace each other's love in banishment;

Nor never look upon each other's face;

Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;

Nor never by advised ^'*) purpose meet,

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,

'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Baling. I swear.

Nor. And I, to keep all this.

Baling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy; ^*)
By this time, had the king permitted us.
One of our souls had vvander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh.
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

Nor. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life.
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence!
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. —
B^arewell, my liege: — Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way.

[Exit.

K.Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away ; — Six frozen winters spent.
Return [to Bolinc] with welcome home from banish-
ment.

Baling. How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs,
End in a word ; Such is the breath of kings.

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me,
He shortens four years of my son's exile;
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend,
Can change their moons, and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light.
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done.
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give :
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow : ^ ^)
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wijjnkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death:
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

K.Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, ^')
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave;
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower?

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour.
You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather.
You would have bid me argue like a father: —
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:

A partial slander ^8) sought I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
Alas, 1 look'd, when some of you should say,
I was too strict, to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue.
Against my will, to do myself this wrong.

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell : — and, uncle, bid him so ;
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

[Flourish. Exeunt K. Richard and Train.
Aum. Cousin, farewell : w hat presence must not know.
From where you do remain, let paper show.
Mar. My lord, no leave take I: for I will ride
As far as land will let me, by your side.

Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?
Baling. I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Baling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone.
Baling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.
Baling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so.
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home-return.
Baling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages; and in the end.
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
But that I was a journeyman to grief?

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits,
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens:
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not, the king did banish thee;
But thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit.
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honour.
And not — the king exil'd thee: or suppose.
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air.
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st.
Suppose the singing birds, musicians;
The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence

strew'd; ^')
The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more
Than a delightful measure, ■*") or a dance:
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand.
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow.
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good.
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more.
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.

Gawwf. Come,cume,my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet
soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!

Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can,

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. '*')

[Exeunt.

KVXI.

Act II.

KING RICHARD II.

343

SCENE IV,

The same. A Room in the King'a Castle.

Enter King Richakd, Bagot, and Gbbbn; Aumbblb
following.

K.Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.

K. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were
shed?

Aum. 'Faith, none by me: "^J except the north-
east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak'd the sleeping rheum; and so, by chance.
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

K.Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted
with him?

Aum. Farewell:
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so profane the word that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief.
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd

hours.
And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But, since it would not, he had none of me.

K.Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment.
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourseif, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people: —
How he did seem to dive into their hearts.
With humble and familiar courtesy;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles.
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere, to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee, *^)
With — Thanks, my countrymen, my loving

friends;
As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these
thoughts.
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland; —
Expedient **) manage must be made, my liege;
Ere further leisure yield them further means.
For their advantage, and your highness' loss.

K. Rich. We will ourseif in person to this war.
And, for our coffers — •**) with too great a court.
And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light,
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand: If that come short,
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich.
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.

Enter Bushy.

Bushy, what news?

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt in grievous sick, my
lord;
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste.
To entreat your majesty to visit him.

K.Rich. Where lies he?

Bushy. At Ely-house.

K.Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's
mind.
To help him to his grave immediately !
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. —
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late!

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. London. A Room in Ely-house.

Gaunt on a Couch; the Duke of York, *) and
others standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe

my last ^

In wholesome counsel to his unstated youth.
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your

breath ;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention, like deep harmony :
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent

in vain;
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words

in pain.
He, that no more must say, is listen'd more

Than they whom yo uth and ease have taught to glose ;
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before;

The setting sun, and music at the close.
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last:
Writ in remembrance, laore than things long past:
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear.
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds.
As, praises of his state: then, there are found
Lascivious metres; to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen:
Report of fashions in proud Italy; ^)
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after, in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile,)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard.
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. ^)
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose;
'Tisbreaththoulack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd;
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last;
For violent fires soon burn out themselves:
Smajl showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant.
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, tliis seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise ;
This fortress, built by nature, for herself.
Against infection, '*) and the hand of war:
This happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious stone set in the silver sea.
Which serves it in the office of a wall.
Or as a moat defensive to a house.
Against the envy of less happier lands ; ^
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed, *) and famous by their birth.
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,

Kvn.

344

KING RICHARD II.

Act II.

(For Christian service, and true chivalry,)

As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,

Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:

This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,

Dear for her reputation through the world.

Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,)

Like to a tenement, or pelting farm:

England, bound in with the triumphant sea.

Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame.

With inky blots, '') and rotten parchment bonds; ')

That England, that was wont to conquer others.

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:

O, would the scandal vanish with my life,

How happy then were my ensuing death!

Enter King Richard, and Queen; ®) Aumbrlb, ')
Busur, Green, Bagot, Ross, ^°) and Wil-

tOUGHBY. ' ')

Yorh. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth ;
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more.

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

K.Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged
Gaunt?

Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old:
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon.
Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks ;
And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt;
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave.
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

K.Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their
names ?

Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself;
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that
live?

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die.

K.Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st — thou flat-
ter'st me.

Gaunt. Oh ! no ; thou diest, though I the sicker be.

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now, he that made me, knows I see thee ill;
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land.
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick :
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Connnit'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown.
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head:
And yet, incaged in so small a verge.
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame;
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. *-)
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame, to let this land by lease:
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
Tliy state of law is bondslave to the law;
And thou

K. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool,

Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition

Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,

With fury, from his native residence.

Now by my seat's right royal majesty,

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head.

Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son.
For that I was his father Edward's son:
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd :
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul,
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls !)
May be a precedent and witness good,
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! —
These words hereafter thy tormentors be! —
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave :
Love they ^^) to live, that love and honour have.
[Exit, borne out by his Attendants.

K.Rich. And let them die, that age and suUens have;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

York. 'Beseech your majesty, "*) impute his words
To wayward sickliness and age in him :
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.
K.Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love,
so his:
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Enter Northumberland. ' *)

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your
majesty.

K.Rich. What says he now? '<')

North. Nay, nothing: all is said:

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so !
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he ;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars :

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns;
Which live like venom, where no venom else, ^')
But only they, that privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge.
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables.
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment.
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs.
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, '^) nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek.
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. —
I am the last of noble Edward's sons.
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce.
In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild.
Than was that young and princely gentleman:
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; *')
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won:
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood.
But bloody with the enemies of Ixis kin.

KVII.

Act II.

KING RICHARD II.

345

O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.

K.Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?

York. O, my liege.

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands.
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from tune
His charters, and his customarj- rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king.
But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!)
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights.
Call in the letters patents that he hath
By his attomies-general to sue
His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, -")
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head.
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts.
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
^Vhich honour and allegiance cannot think.

K.Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our
hands
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

York. I'll not be by, the w hile : My liege, farewell :
What will ensue hereof there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood.
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit.

K.Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire
straight;
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
To see this business: To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in absence of ourself.
Our uncle York lord governor of England,

For he is just, and always lov'd us well.

Coine on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merrj', for our time of stay is short. [Flouritb.
[Exeunt King, Qceek, Bcshy, Auhekle,
Gbee>-, and Bigot.

^orth. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.

Ross. And li\ing too; for now his son is duke.

Witlo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.

Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with
silence,
Ere't be disburden'd v^ith a liberal tongue.

North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er

speak more.
That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm!

Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of
Hereford ?
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ;
Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him.

Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;
Liiless you call it good, to pity him.
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs
are borne.
In him a royal prince, and many more

Of noble blood in this declining land.

The king is not himself, but basely led

By flatterers; and what they will inform.

Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all.

That will the king severely prosecute

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

Ross. The coimuons hath he pill'd with grievous
taxes.

And lost their hearts : - ' } the nobles hath he fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;
But what, o'God's name, doth become of this?

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he
hath not.
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.

Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

Willo. The king's grow n bankrupt, like a broken man.

^orth. Reproach, and dissolution hangeth over him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars.
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding.
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

^orth. His noble kinsman: most degenerate lung!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing.
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails.
And yet we strike not, --) but securely perish. -')

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer ;
And unavoided -^) is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
death,
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou
dost ours.

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself;' and, speaking so.
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.

North. Then thus : — I have from Port le Blanc,
a bay
In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence.
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobhixm,
[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter, -^)
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,-*')
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norberry, sir Robert Waterton, and Francb

Quoint,

All these, well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war;
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke.
Imp out -') our drooping country's broken wing.
Redeem from broken pawn the blemish'd crown.
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, -^)
And make high majesty look like itself.
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg:
But if you faint, as fearing to do so.
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.

Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them
that fear.

WiUo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

[Exeunt.

SCENE n.

The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Qoebn, Bcsht, and Bagot.

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
You promis'd, when you parted with the king.
To lay aside life- harming heaviness.
And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please myself,
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause

xvn.

346

KING RICHARD II

Act II.

Why I should welcome such a guest as grief.
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks.
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows,
Which show like grief itself, but are not so :
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, -') which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of griefs, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's

not seen :
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.

Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
As, — though, in thinking, on no thought I think, —
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
From some fore-father grief; mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; this nameless woe, I wot.

Enter Green.

Green. God save your majesty! — and well met,
gentlemen,
I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is;
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd?

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his
power, 3")
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid!

Green. O, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse, —
The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry

Percy,
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum-
berland,
And all the rest of the revolting faction,
Traitors ? ^ i)

Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe.
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother.
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

Bushy. Despair not, madam.

Queen. Who shall hinder me?

1 will despair, and be at enmity

With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,

A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life.

Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter York.

Green. Here comes the duke of York.

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;

O, full of careful business are his looks !

Uncle,

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth.
Where nothing lives, but crosses, care, and grief.
Your husband he is gone to save far oif.
Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land;

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself;

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came.

York. He was ? — Why, so ! — go all which way

it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, ^-)

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.

Sirrah,

Get thee to Plashy, ^^) to my sister Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: —
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship :
To-day, as I came by, I called there; —
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is it, knave?

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died.

York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
I know not what to do : — I would to God,
(So my untruth ^^) had not provok'd him to it,)
The king had cut off my head with my brother's. — ^ ^)
What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland? — ^')
How shall we do for money for these wars ? —
Come, sister, — cousin, I would say: ^') pray, par-
don me. —
Go, fellow, \to the Servant] get thee home, provide

some carts,
And bring away the armour that is there. —

\_Exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
3'*) Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen; —
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again.
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd :
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you: — Go, muster up your men, ^9)
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.

I should to Plashy too;

But time will not permit: — All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.

\Exeunt York and Queen.

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power,
Proportionable to the enemy,
Is ail impossible.

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
Is near the hate of those love not the king.

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for
their love

XVII.

Act II.

KING RICHARD II.

347

Lies in their purses; and, whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con-
demn'd.

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the king.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol-
castle ;
The earl of VViltshire is already there.

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office
■*''' The hateful commons will perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all to pieces. —
Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No ; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain.
Vie three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.

Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling-
broke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
Is — numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry;
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.

Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and ever.

Green. Well, we may meet again.

Bagot. I fear me, never.

[Exeunt,

SCENE III.

The Wilds in Glostershire.

Enter Bolingbrokb and Northumberland
with Forces.

Baling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?

x^orth. Believe me, noble lord,
I am a stranger here in Glostershire.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways.
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company;
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is svveeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess:
And hope to joy, is little less in joy.
Than hope eujoy'd: by this the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done
By sight of what I have, your noble company.

Baling. Of much less value is my company.
Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter Harry PERcr.

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. —
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd
his health of you.

North. Why, is he not with the queen?

Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the court,
Broken his stajf of office, and dispers'd
The household of the king.

North. What was his reason?

He was not so resoly'd, when last we spake together.

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford ;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
I What power the duke of York had levied there;

Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.
I North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy ?

Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot.

L

Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.

North. Then learn to knpw him now; this is the
duke.

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service.
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm
To more approved service and desert.

Baling. 1 thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure,
I count myself in nothing else so happy.
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love.
It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war?

Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard:
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and

Seymour ;
None else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and WiLLOucHBr.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Baling. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love
pursues
A banish'd traitor; all my treasury
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd.
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

Boss. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years.
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

Enter Bbsklby.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.

Beric. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

Baling. My lord, ray answer is — to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England:
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my meaning.
To raze one title of your honour out : —
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
From the most glorious regent of this land, * '}
The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time, •*=)
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

Enter York, attended.

Baling. I shall not need transport my words by you;
Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle !

[Kneels.

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceivable and false.

Baling. My gracious uncle! —

York. Tut, tut!
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word — grace.
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why; — '*^) Why have they dar'd

to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom;
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,
And ostentation of despised arms?"*"*)
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind.
And in ray loyal bosom lies his power.

Kvn.

348

KING RICHARD II.

Act hi.

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth.
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men.
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine.
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault!

B'oling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;
On what condition stands it, and wherein?

York. Even in condition of the worst degree, —
In gross rebellion, and detested treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time.
In braving arms against thy sovereign.

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here-
ford :
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace,
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye; '*^)
You are my father, for, methinks in you
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father!
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be king of England,
It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman:
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down.
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father.
To rouse his wrongs, *'') and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery here, '*^)
And yet my letters-patent give me leave :
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold;
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law : Attornies are denied me ;
And therefore personally 1 lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.

Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. ^ ^)

Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great.

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, —
I have had feeling of my cousin's wiongs.
And labour'd all i could to do him right:
But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way.
To find out right with wrong, — it may not be;
And you, that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels ail.

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is
But for his own: and, for the right of that,
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid:
And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath,

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms ;
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess.
Because my power is weak, and all ill left:
But, if I could, by him that gave me life,
1 would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; —
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose you for this night.

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace, to go with us
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices.
The caterpillars of the commonwealth.
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.

York, It may be, I will go with you : — but yet
I'll pause;
For I am loath to break our country's laws.

Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are;
Things past redress, are now with me past care.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Camp in Wales.

Enter Salisbury and a Captain.

Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days,
And hardly kept our countrymen together.
And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welchman ;
The king reposeth all his confidence
In thee. ■*9}

Cap. 'Tis thought, the king is dead ; we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, ^ ")
And meteors fright the fixed stai's of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth.
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, —
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy.
The other, to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. —
Farewell ; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit.

Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west.
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest:
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes:
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.

Enter Bolingbrokk, York, Northumberland,

Pkrcy, Willoughby, Ross; Officers behind with

Bushy and GRiiiiN, prisoners.

Boling. Bring forth these men. —
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls,
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies,)
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold some causes of your death.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean.
You have, in manner, with your 'sinful hours.
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;
Broke the possession of a royal bed,
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ;
Near to the king in blood; and near in love.

Till you did make him misinterpret me,

Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries.
And sigh'd my English breath in foi'eign clouds.
Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my seignories,
Dispark'd my parks, ') and fell'd my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat, ^)
Raz'd out my impress, ^) leaving me no sign, —
Save men's opinions, and my living blood, —
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this.
Condemns you to the death: — See them deliver'd over
To execution and the hand of death.

KVII.

Act hi.

KING RICHARD II

349

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me,
Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell.
Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take
our souls,
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
Baling. My lord Northumberland, see them de-
spatch'd.

\Exeunt 'Korthumbesland, and others, with
Prisoners.
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house:
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.

York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.

Baling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away;
To tight with Glendower and his complices;
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Coatt of Wales. A Castle in view.

Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter King Ri-
chard, BIj>hop of Carlisle, Aumkrle, and
Soldiers.

K.Rich. Barkloughly pastle call you *) this at hand?

Aum. Yea, my lord : How brooks your grace the
air.
After late tossing ^) on the breaking seas?

K.Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy,

To stand upon my kingdom once again.

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand.

Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:

As a long-parted mother with her child

Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;

So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth.

And do thee favour with my royal hands.

Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth.

Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense:

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom.

And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,

\\ hich with usurping steps do trample thee.

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies:

And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower.

Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;

Whose double tongue may with a mortal toucli

Tiirow death upon thy sovereign's enemies. —

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;

This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king

Shall falter under foul rebellious arms. '■}

Bishop. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that made
you king.
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd.
And not neglected^ else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends.

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not.
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world.
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen.
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, ')
And darts his light through every guilty hole.
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins.
The clcak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?

So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, —

Who all this while hath revell'd in the night.

Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes, —

Shall see us rising in our throne the east.

His treasons will sit blushing in his face.

Not able to endure the sight of day.

But self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea

Can wash the balm from an anointed king:

The breath of worldly men cannot depose

The deputy elected by the Lord:

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd.

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay

A glorious angel: then, if angels fight.

Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right.

Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power?

Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord.
Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord.
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
O, call back yesterday, bid time return.
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men 1
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.

Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace
so pale?

K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ;
And, till so much blood thither come again.

Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.

K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not lung ?
Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st.
Is not the king's name forty thousand names?
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground.
Ye favourites of a king: Are we not high?
High be our thoughts : I know, my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who
Comes here?

Enter Scroop.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.

K.Rich. Mine ear is open, *) and my heart prepar'd ;
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us:
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;
The worst is — death, and death will have his day.

Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day.
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.

BTn.

350

KING RICHARD II.

Act III.

White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices.
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew '') against thy state ;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel.
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill.
Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed,
my lord.

K.Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re-
demption !
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my

heart!
Three Judasses, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : —
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands: those whom you

curse.
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound,
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.

Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire,
dead?

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power?

K. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no man speak :
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills :
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings : —
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd;
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd : — For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king.
Keeps death his court: and there the antic sits, ">)
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, —
As if this ttesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell, king !
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence; throw away respect.
Tradition, ■') form, and ceremonious duty.
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live with bread like you, feel Avant, taste grief.
Need friends : — Subjected thus.
How can you say to me — I am a king?

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present
woes, *-)

But presently prevent the ways to wail.

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,

Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,

And so your follies fight against yourself.

Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight:

And fight and die, is death destroying death;

Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.

Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him;
And learn to make a body of a limb.

K.Rich. Thou chid'st me well: — Proud Boling-
broke, I come
To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown;

An easy task it is, to win our own.

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye.

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small.
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : —
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke;
And all your northern castles yielded up.
And all yotir southern gentlemen in aVms
Upon his party.

K.Rich. Thou hast said enough.

Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth

[To AUMERtE.

Of that sweet way I was in to despair!

What say you now? What comfort have we now?

By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly.

That bids me be of comfort '^) any more.

Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away;

A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.

That power I have, discharge ; and let them go

To ear *'*) the land that hath some hope to grow.

For I have none : — Let no man speak again

To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

Aum. My liege, one word.

K.Rich. He does me double wrong,

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers, let them hence ; — Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.

\Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Wales. Before Flint Castle.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Bolingbroke and
Forces; York, Northumberland, and others.

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn.
The W elshmen are dispers'd : and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed.
With some few private friends, upon this coast.

North. The news is very fair and good, my lord;
Richard, not far from hence, hatji hid his head.

York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland,
To say — king Richard : — Alack the heavy day,
When such a sacred king should hide his head!

North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be brief.
Left I his title out.

York. The time hath been.

Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
For taking so the head, ' ^) your whole head's length.

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

York. Take not, good cousin, further than you
should.
Lest you mis-take : The heavens are o'er your head.

Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not "■)
Myself against their will. — But who comes here?

Bvn.

Act hi.

KING RICHARD II,

351

Enter Percy.

Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield?
Percy. The castle royally is inann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
Baling. Royally !
Why, it contains no king?
Percy. Yes, my good lord,

It doth contain a king; king Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
And with him are the lord Aumerle, and Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble lord, [To North.

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver.
Harry Bolingbroke

On both his knees, doth kiss king Richard's hand;
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart.
To his most royal person: hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power;
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd.
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted:
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power,
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen :
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land.
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much; while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. —

[Northumbehlam} advances to the Castle,
with a Trumpet.
Let's' march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
That from the castle's totter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks.

A Parle sounded, and angttered by another Trum-
pet within. Flouriih. Enter on the walls King
Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle,
Scroop, and Salisbury.

York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing discontented sun.
From out the fiery portal of the east;
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory, and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the Occident.
Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye.
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth,
Controlling majesty; Alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show!

K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,

[To BiORTHVMBGBIiAKD.

Because we thought ourself thy lawful king :
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.

And though you think, that all, as you have done.
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us,

And we are barren, and bereft of friends;

Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent.

Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf,

Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike

Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,

That lift your vassal hands against my head.

And thread the glory of my precious crown.

Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,)

That every stride he makes upon my land,

Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope

The purple testament of bleeding war;

But ere the crown he looks for live in peace.

Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons

Shall ill become the flower of England's face;")

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace

To scarlet indignation, and bedew

Her pasture's grass, with faithful English blood.

North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;
And by the honourable tomb he swears.
That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones;
And by the royalties of both your bloods.
Currents that spring from one most gracious head;
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt;
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said, —
His coming hither hath no further scope.
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
h)nfranchisement immediate on his knees;
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glittering arms he will commend to rust.
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
K.Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king

returns;

His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction:
With all the gracious utterance thou hast.
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. —
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not,

[To Aumerle.
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

Atim. No, good my lord ; let's fight with gentle words,
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.
K. Rich. O God ! O God ! that e'er this tongue of
mine.
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth ! ^ ^) O, that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been!
Or not remember what I must be now !
Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll giye thee scope

to beat.
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling-
broke.
K.Rich. What must the king do now? Must he
submit ?
The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd?
The king shall be contented : Must he lose
The name of King? o'God's name, let it go :
I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads;
My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage;

xvn.

352

KING RICHARD II.

Act III.

My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown;

My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood;

My scepter, for a palmer's walking-staff;

My subjects, for a pair of carved saints;

And my large kingdom for a little grave,

A little little grave, an obscure grave : —

Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,

Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet

May hourly trample on their sovereign's head: ")

For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live;

And, buried once, why not upon my head?

Aumerle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted cousin! —
We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes.
And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
As thus ; — To drop them still upon one place.
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
Within the earth ; and, therein laid, — There lies
Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping

eyes ?
Would not this ill do well ? — Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you mock at me. —
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland,
What says king Bolingbroke? will his majesty
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says — ay.

North. My loi-d, in the base court-") he doth attend
To speak with you; raay't please you to come down?

K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering
Pha;ton,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

[North, retires to Boling.
In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.
In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down

king !
For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should
sing. [Exeunt, from above.

Boling. What says his majesty?

North. Sorrow and grief of heart

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man:
Yet he is come.

Enter King Richard, and his Attendants, below.

Boling. Stand all apart,

And show fair duty to his majesty.

My gracious lord, — [Kneeling.

K. Rich. B^air cousin, you debase your princely knee.
To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love,
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy.
Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least, [touching his own head,] although
your knee be low:

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
As my true service shall deserve your love.

K.Rich. Well you deserve: — They well deserve
to have,
That know the strong'st and surest way to get. —
Uncle, give me your hand; nay, dry your eyes;
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. —
Cousin, I am too young to be your father.
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
For do we must, what force will have us do. —
Set on towards London: — Cousin, is it so?

Boling. Yea, my good lord.

K. Rich. Then I must not say, no.

[Flouriah, Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Langley. The Duke o/ York's Garden.
Enter the Queen and two Ladies,

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this
garden.
To drive away the heavy thought of care?

1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls.

Queen. 'Twill make me think,

The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune
Runs 'gainst the bias.

1 Lady. Madam, we will dance.

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight.
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.

1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales.

Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ?

1 Lady. Of either, madam.

Queen. Of neither, girl:

For if of joy, being altogether wanting.
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had.
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy :
For what I have, I need not to repeat;
And what I want, it boots not to complain.

1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing.

Queen. 'Tis well, that thou hast cause ;

But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou
weep.

1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good.
And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the gardeners:
Let's step into the shadow of these trees. —

Enter a Gardener, and two Servants.

My wretchedness unto a row of pins.
They'll talk, of state: for every one doth so
Against a change: Woe is Iwerun with woe.-')

[Queen and Ladies retire.

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks.
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. —
Go thou, and like an executioner.
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays.
That look too lofty in our commonwealth:

All must be even in our government.

You thus employ'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion.
Showing, as in a model, our tirm estate?
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up.
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd.
Her knots disorder'd, --) and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?

Gard. Hold thy peace: —

He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
The weeds, that hi« broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up.
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke;
I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

1 Serv. What, are they dead?

Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke

Hath seiz'd the wasteful'king. — Oh! what pity is it,
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land,
As we this garden! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;

Hvn.

Act JV.

KING RICHARD II.

353

Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood.
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men.
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown.
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

1 Sen. What, think you then, the king shall be
depos'd?

Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd,
'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.

Queen. O, I am press'd to death, *^)

Through want of speaking! — Thou, old Adam's
likeness, [Coming from her concealment.

Set to dress this garden, how dares
Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a second fail of cursed man?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth.
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy bave I,
To breathe this news: yet, what 1 say, is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself.
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers.
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
Post yoo to London, and you'll find it so:
I speak no more than every one doth know.

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knows it? O, thou thlnk'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go.
To meet at London London's king in woe. —
What, was I bom to this! that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
\Exeunt Quebn and Ladies.

Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no
worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. —
-*) Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place,
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace :
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen.
In the remembrance of a weeping que«i. [Cxetnrf.

SCENE I.

ACT IV.

London. Westminster Hall.

The Lords spiritual on the right tide of the Throne;
the Lords temporal on the left ; the Commons below.
£nfer Bolingbroke, Aumbrlb, Slrrey, ' ) Northum-
BBRLAND, Pbrcy, Fitzwatbr, flno/Aer L ord. Bishop
of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, and At-
tendants. Officers behind, with Bacot.

Boling. Call forth Bagot :

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death;
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end.

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.

Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted,
I heard you say. — It not my arm of length.
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head?
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say, that you had rather refiise
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns.
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how blest this land would be,
Li this your cousin's death.

Aum. Princes, and noble lords.

What answer shall I make to this base man?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars.
On equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd

With the attainder of his sland'rous lips.

There is my gage, the manual seal of death.
That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false,
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up.

Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so.

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies.
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it.
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest; *)
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart.
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day.

Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.

Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true.
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust;
And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
To prove it on thee to the extremest point
Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st.

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off.
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! • ' '

Lord. I take the earth to the like, 3) forsworn
Aumerle ;
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be hoUa'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw
at all:
I have a thousand spirits in one breast.
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: *) you were in presence
then;
And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven, itself is true.

Fits. Surrey, thou liest.

Surrey. Dishonourable boy!

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword.
That it shall render vengeance and revenge.
Till thou, the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's scull.
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,

xvn. 23

354

KING RICHARD II.

Act IV.

And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies.
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,

To tie thee to my strong correction.

As I intend to thrive in this new world, *)
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
Besides, 1 heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.

Altai. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage.
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this.
If he may be repeal'd to try his honour.

Baling. These dift'erences shall all rest under gage.
Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be.
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again
To all his land and signories ; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. —
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross.
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
And, toil'd witli works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy ; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth.
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.

Baling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead'^

Car. As sure as I live, my lord.

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to
the bosom
Of good old Abraham! — Lords appellants.
Your differences shall all rest under gage,
Till we assign you to your days of trial.

Enter York attended.

YorTc. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing soul
Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields
To the possession of thy royal hand :
Ascend his throne, descending now from him, —
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth!

Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.

Car. Marry, God forbid ! —
Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard; then true nobless '') would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king?
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear.
Although apparent guilt be seen in them:
And shall the figure of God's majesty.
His captain, steward, deputy elect,
Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath.
And he himself not present? O, foi'bid it, God,')
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
I speak to subjects, . and a subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king.
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
And if you crown him, let me prophesy, —
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels.
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny.
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls.

O, if you rear *) this house against this house,

It will the woefuUest division prove.

That ever fell upon this cursed earth;

Prevent, resist it, let it not be so.

Lest child, child's children, cry against you — woe!

North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your

pains,
Of capital treason we arrest you here : —
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial. —
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit?

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may surrender; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.

York. I will be his conduct. ') [Exit.

Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest.
Procure your sureties for your days of answer: —
Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle.
And little look'd '") for at your helping hands.

Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers
bearing the Crown.

K.Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee: — ^ »)
Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: ^^) Were they not mine?
Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me?
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve.
Found truth in all, but one ; I, in twelve thousand,

none.
God save the king! — Will no man say, amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well, then, amen.
God save the king! although I be not he;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. —
To do what service am I sent for hither?

York. To do that office, of thine own good will,

Which tired majesty did make thee offer,

The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, seize
the crown;
Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. * ^}
Now is the golden crown like a deep well.
That owes two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing ^'*) in the air.
The other down, unseen, and full of water:
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign.

K.Rich. My crown, I am, but still my griefs are
mine ;
You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your
crown.

K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares
down.
My care is — loss of care, by old care done; '*)
Your care is — gain of care, by new care won.
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.

Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown?

K.Rich. Ay, no; — no, ay; — for I must no-
thing be ;
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me how I Avill undo myself: —
I give this heavy weight from off my head.
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand.
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm, ^*)

HVU.

J

Act IV.

KING RICHARD II.

355

With mine own hands I give away my crown,

With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,

With mine own breath release all duteous oaths: *')

All pomp and majesty I do forswear;

My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;

My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny:

God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!

God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee! ' *}

Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit,

And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!

God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says.
And send him many years of sunshine days!

What more remains?

North. No more, but that you read

[Offering a paper.
These accusations, and these grievous crimes.
Committed by your person, and your followers.
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the sonb of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd,

K.Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st.
There should'st thou find one heinous article, —
Containing the deposing of a king.
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, —
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven : —
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, ' ')
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, —
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands.
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.

North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles.

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see :
And yet salt water blinds them not so much.
But they can see a sort -°) of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest:
For I have given here my soul's consent.
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave;
Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.

North. My lord, — - —

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, ^ ') in-
sulting man.
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, —
No, not that name was given me at the font, —
But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day.
That I have worn so many winters out.
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery king of snow.
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops! —
Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly

good,)
An if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight;
That I may show me what a face I have,
Since it is a bankrupt of his majesty.

Baling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.

[Exit an Attendant.

North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth
come,

K.Rich. Fiend! thou toiment'st me ere I come to
heU.

Baling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.

North. The commons will not then be satisfied.

K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough,

Kvn.

When I do see the very book indeed

Where all my sins are writ, and that's — myself.

Re-enter Attendant with a glast.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine.
And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glass.
Like to my followers in prosperity.
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face.
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face.
That, like the sun,. did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies.
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glorj' shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;

[Dashea the gla»* against the ground.
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. —
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, —
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

Baling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.

K.Rich. Say that again.

The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see: —
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief.
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king.
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon.
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

Baling. Name it, fair cousin.

K.Rich. Fair cousin? Why, 2-] 1 am greater than
a king:
For, when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.

Baling. Yet ask.

K.Rich. And shall I have?

Baling. You shall.

K.Rich. Then give me leave to go.

Baling. Whither?

K.Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your
sights.

Baling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich. O , good ! Convey ? — Conveyers are
you all, ^3)
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

[Exeunt K. Riciiard, tome Lords, and a Gaard.

Baling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves.

[Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of CaklisIiK,
and AuMEBLE.

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

Car. The woe's to. come; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein.
You shall not only take the sacrament
To bury ^*) mine intents, but to effect -*)
Whatever I shall happen to devise: —
I see your brows are full of discontent.
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears;
Come home with me to supper; I will lay
A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [£xeiiiit.

23

356

KING RICHARD II.

Act V.

ACT V.

Scene I. Loudon. A Street leading to the
Tower.

Enter Queen, and Ladies.

Queen. This way the king will come ; this is the way
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, ')
To whose flint bosoin my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter King Richard, and Guards.

But soft, but see, or rather do not see.
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew.
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. —
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn.
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

K.Rich. Join not with grief, -) fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity ; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd, and weaken'dV Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw.
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts? ^)

K.Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but
beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France:
Think, 1 am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid:
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, *)
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue.
And, in compassion, weep the fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black.
For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter Northumberland, attended.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd;

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.

And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where-withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,

The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think.
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;

And he shall think, that thou, which know'stthe way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again.
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both.
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.

K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ? — Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then, betwixt me and my married wife. —
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. —
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas, *) or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part?

K.Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart
from heart.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me.

North. That were some love, but little policy.

Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than — near, be ne'er the near'. '-)
Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans.

Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans.

K.Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way
being short.
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief.
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy. heart.

[Theij Jciss.

Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again.
So, now I have mine own again, begone.
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K.Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay :
Once more, adieu ; the rest let sori-ow say. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room in the Duke 0/ York's Palace.

Enter York, and his Duchess.

Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest
When weeping made you break the story off"
Of our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave?

Duch. At that sad stop, ray lord.

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, —
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed.
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, —
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling-
broke !
You would have thought the very windows spake.
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage ; and that all the walls,
With painted imag'ry, had said at once, — ^)
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning.
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen:
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

HVII.

Act V.

KING RICHARD II.

357

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the
while V

York. As in a theatre ^) the eyes of men.
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage.
Are idly bent on hija that enters next.
Thinking his prattle to be tedious :
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred bead;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, —
His face still combating with tears and smiles.
The badges of his grief and patience, —
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted.
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now.
Whose state and honour I for aje allow.

Enter Aumbrlb.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.

York. Aumerle that was; ')

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend.
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now.
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor 1 greatly care not:
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

York. Well, bear you w ell in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and
triumphs ?

Aum. For ought I know, my lord, they do.

York. You will be there, I know.

Aum. If God prevent it not ; 1 purpose so.

York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy
bosom ?
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter then who sees it:

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.

Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
It is a matter of small consequence.
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

Tort. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear, •

Duch. WTiat should you fear?

'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. —
Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not
show it.

York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

[Snatchet it, and reads.
Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor ! slave !

Duch. What is the matter, my lord?

York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant]
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy! what treachery is here?

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I say ; saddle my horse : —
Now by mine honour, by my' life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant.

Duch. What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Duch. I will not peace: — What is the matter,
son?

Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer?

Re-enter Servant, vfith boott.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art
amaz'd:
Hence, villain : never more come in my sight. —

[To the Ser^-ant.

York. Give me my boots, I say.

Duch. VVhy, York, what wilt thou do ?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age.
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

York. Thou fond mad woman.
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament.
And interchangeably set down their hands.
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch. He shall be none;

We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him ?

York. Away,
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.

Duch. Had'st thou groan'd for him.

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. ' ")
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect.
That I have been disloyal to thy bed.
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind :
He is as like thee as a man may be.
Not like to me, or any of my kin.
And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit.

Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse;
Spur, post; and get before him to the king.
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York ;
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone. [Exmni.

SCENE III.

Windsor. A Room in the Castle.

Enter Bolikgbboke, a«King; Percy, and other
Lords.

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son?
'Tis full three months, since I did see him last: —
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there.
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent.
With unrestrained loose companions;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes.
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy.
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince ;
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.

Boling. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the stews;
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove.
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

svn.

358

KING RICHARD II

Act V.

Baling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through both
I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Enter Admerle, hastily.

Aum. Where is the king?

Baling. What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ?

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your
majesty.
To have some conference with your grace alone.

Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here
alone. — [Exeunt Percy and Lords.

What is the matter with our cousin now?

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

[Kneels.
My tongue cleave to my roof vdthin my mouth.
Unless a pardon ere I zise, or speak.

Baling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?
' *) If but the first, how heinous ere it be.
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key.
That no man enter till my tale be done.

Baling. Have thy desire. [Abmerle locks the door.

York. [Within.'] My liege, beware; look to thyself;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

Baling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
Thou hast no cause to fear.

Yark. [Within.l Open the door, secure, fool-hardy
king:
Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.

[BoLiNGBROKE opeus the door.

Enter York.

Baling. What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

Yark. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past:
I do repent me; read not my name there.
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

Yark. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. —
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

Baling. O heinousj strong, and bold conspiracy ! —
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, ^-) and silver fountain.
From whence this stream through muddy passages.
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. ^ ^)

Yark. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame.
As thriftless sons their scraping father's gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath.
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

Duch. [IFithin.] What ho, my liege! for God's sake
let me in.

Baling. What shrill - voic'd suppliant makes this
eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door;
A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.

Baling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious thing.

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. — **)
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ;
I knov/ she's come to pi'ay for your foul sin.

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray.
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
This let alone, will all the rest confound.

Enter Duchess.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man;
Love, loving not itself, none other can.
York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make
here ?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle
liege. [KneeU.

Baling. Rise up, good aunt.

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech:

For ever will I kneel upon my knees.
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy.
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee.

[Kneels.

York. Against them both, my true joints bended be.

[Kneels.
Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!

Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast :
He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow :
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.

Baling. Good aunt, stand up.

Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up ;

But, pardon, first; and afterwards stand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach.
Pardon — should be thy first word of the speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till now;
Say — pardon, king; let pity teach thee how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet.

York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez
may. ^^)

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord.
That set'st the word itself against the word! —
Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land ;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there :
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce.
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.

Baling. Good aunt, stand up.

Duch. I do not sue to stand,

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Baling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee !
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;
Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain.
But makes one pardon strong.

Baling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Duch. A god on earth thou art.

Baling. But for our trusty brcther-in-law, **) and
the abbot.
With all the rest of that consorted crew, —
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heela. —

Kvn.

Act V.

KING RICHARD II.

359

Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu :
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son; — I pray God make
thee new. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Exton, and a Servant.

Exlon. Didst thou not mark the king, what words
he spake?
Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear ?
Was it not so?

Serv. Those were his very words.

Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it
twice.
And urg'd it twice together; did he not?

Serv. He did.

Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me ;
As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart:
Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go;
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle.

Enter King Richard.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare
This prison, where I live, unto the world :
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it; — Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to ray soul;
My soul, the father: and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts.
And these same thoughts people this little world; ' ^)
In humours, like the people of this world.
For no thought is contented. The better sort, —
As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word : ' *)

As thus, — Come, little one* ; and then again, —
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, —
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, —
That many have, and others must sit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of ease.
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people.
And none contented: Sometimes am I a king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar.
And so I am: Then crushing penury
Persuades me I Avas better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by.
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing : — But, whate'er I am.
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is.
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing. — Music, do I hear? [Muaic.

Ha, ha! keep time: — How sour sweet music is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear.
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But, for the concord of my state and time.
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock;
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, ")
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is.
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart.
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours: — but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy.
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock. '")
This music mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have hoipe madmen to their wits.
In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richai'd
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. -')

Enter Groom.

Groom. Hall, royal prince!

K.Rich. Thanks, noble peer;

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither.
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king.
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes jnaster's face. --)
O, how It yearn'd my heart, when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation day.
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him?

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.

K.Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his
back!
That jade hath eat bread from my royal band;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Of that proud man, that did usurp his back?
P'orgiveness, horse! why did I rail on thee.
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Was born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. * *)

Enter Keeper, with a dish.

Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay.

[To the Groom.

K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

Chroom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart

shall say. [Exit.

Keep. My lord, wIH't please you to fall to?

K.Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who

Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich. The devil take Henry Lancaster, and thee!

Patience is stale, and I am weary of It.

[Beat9 the Keeper.
Keep. Help, help, help!

xvn.

360

KING RICHARD II,

Act V.

Enter Exton, and Servants, armed.

K.Rich. How now? what means death in this
rude assault?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

[Snatching a weapon, and killing one.
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, then Exton strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

[Dies.
Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood:
Both have I spilt; O, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me — I did well,
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear; —
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VL

Windsor. A Room in the Castle.

Flourish. Enter Bolingbrokb, and York, «w/A
Lords and Attendants.

Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear.
Is — that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ;
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
The next news is, — I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent :
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper.

Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains ;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitz water.
Fitz. My lord, I have firom Oxford sent to London

The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right uoble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Pkrcv, with the Bishop of Carlisle.

Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster,
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy.
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.

Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom: —
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room.
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been.
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter Exton, with Attendants hearing a Coffin.

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast
wrought
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand.
Upon my head, and all this famous land.

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this
deed.

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need.
Nor do I thee: though 1 did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour :
With Cain go wander through the shade of night.

And never show thy head by day nor light.

Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe.

That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow t

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament.

And put on sullen black, incontinent;

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : —

March sadly after; grace my mournings here.

In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt.

xvn.

KING

XVIII.
HENRY

PARTI.

IV.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

King Henry the Fourth.

Hr^ry Prince of Wales, ) g^^^ ,^ ,;^^ ^
Prince John o/ Lancaster, ') ) "

Earl o/VVkstmorbland, \ p^^^^ ,^ ^^^ jy„^

Sir >> ALTER l5LL>T, S °

Thomas Pkrcy, Earl of VVorcester.
Henrt Pkrcf, Earl o/ Northumberland.
Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, Am Son.
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
Scroop, Archbishop of York.
Sir Michael, a Friend of the Archbishop.
Archibald, E^rl of Douglas.
Owen Glbndower.

Sir Richard Vehnom.

Sir John Falstaff. A.

PoiNs. >^

Gadshill.

Peto.

Bardolph.

Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur, mnd Sitter to

Mortimer.
Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and Wife

to Mortimer.
Mistress Quickly, Hostets of a tavern tnEastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberiain, Draw-
ers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.

Scene — EIngland.

ACT I.

SCENE L London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter
Bldkt, and others.

K. Henry.
So shaken as we are, so wan with care.
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils -)
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty Erinnys ^) of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes.
Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven.

All of one nature, of one substance bred,

Did lately meet in the intestine shock

And furious close of civil butchery.

Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,

March all one way; and be no more oppos'd

Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies ;

The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife.

No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends.

As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,

(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross

We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)

Forthwith a power of English shall we levy:

Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb

To chase these pagans, in those holy fields.

Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet.

Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd

For our advantage, on the bitter cross.

But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old.

And bootless 'tis to tell you — we will go;

Therefore we meet not now: — *) Then let me hear

Of yoo, my geotie cousin Westmoreland,

What yesternight our council did decree.
In forwarding this dear expedience. ^)

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,*
And many limits *) of the charge set down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was, — that the noble Mortuner,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
■') And a thousand of his people butchered :
Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse.
Such beastly, shameless transformation.
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be.
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.

K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broU
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.

West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious
lord ;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there.
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, ^)
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met.

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery, . ^
And shape of likelihood, the news wastold;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse.
Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend.
Sir Walter Blunt, new-lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil ')
Betwixt that Hohnedon and this seat of ours
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglas is discomfited ;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights.

Kvm.

362

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act I.

Balk'd in their own blood, ' ") did sir Walter see
On Holinedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the earl ' ') of File, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A callant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?

Weit. In faith,
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

K. Hen. Yea, there thou niak'st ine sad, and mak'st
me sin
In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son: "}
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straitest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd.
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay.
And call'd mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts : — What think you, coz',
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, *^)
Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd,
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.

West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects; '*)
Which makes him prune himself, ' '^) and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K.. Men. But I have sent for him to answer this:
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered. ^'')

Wt%t. I will, my liege. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The tame. Another Room in the Palace.

Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Falstaff.

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of
old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and
sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast
forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st
truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with
the time of the day? unless hours were cups of
sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of
bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and
the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame
colour'd taffata ; I see no reason, why thou should'st
be so superfluous to demand the time of the day?

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for
we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven
stars: and not by Phoebus, — he, that wand'ring
knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when
thou art king, — as God save thy grace, (majesty,
I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,)

P. Hen. What! none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve
to be prologue to an egg and butter.

P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king,
let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be
called thieves of the day's beauty: let us be —
Diana's foresters^ gentlemen of the shade^ minions

of the moon : And let men say, we be men of good
government; being governed as the sea is, by our
noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose
countenance we — steal.

P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too :
for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth
ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the
sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: A purse
of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night,
and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning;
got with swearing — lay by; '') and spent with
crying — bring in: ^^) now, in as low an ebb as
the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high
a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is
not my hostess of the tavern a very sweet wench?

P. Hen. As the honey of Hyhla, my old lad of the
castle. And is not a buff jerkiu a most sweet robe
of durance ? ' '>)

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy
quips, and thy quiddities ? what a plague have I to
do with a bulF jerkin ?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my
hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning,
many a time and oft.

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Fal. No; I'll give thee tliy due, thou hast paid
all there.

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin
would stretch; and, where it would not, I have
used my credit.

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here
apparent that' thou art heir apparent, — But, 1
pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing
in England when thou art king? and resolution thus
fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father
antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king,
hang a thief.

P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I ? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll be a brave
judge.

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so be-
come a rare hangman.

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps
with my humour, as well as waiting in the court,
I can tell you.

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? -°)

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hang-
man hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as me-
lancholy as a gib cat, - ') or a lugged bear.

P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute.

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. ' *)

P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare -^) or the
melancholy of Moor-ditch? -*)

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similies; and
art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — sweet
young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me
no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and
I knew where a commodity of good names were to
be bought : An old lord of the council rated me the
other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked
him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I re-
garded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in
the street too.

P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out
in the street, and no man regards it.

Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration: *^) and art,
indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done
much harm upon me, Hal, — God forgive thee for
it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and
now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better

Kvin.

Act I.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

363

than one of the wicked. I must give over this life,
and I will give it over \ by the Lord, an I do not,
I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's
son in Christendom.

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow,
Jack?

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do
not, call me yiilain, and batfle me.

P. Htn. I see a good amendment of life in thee;
from praying, to purse-taking.

Enter Poins, at a distance.

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin
for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins! — Now
shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. -')
O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in
hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omni-
potent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man.

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned.

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says
monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-and-
Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about
thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-friday last,
for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg ?

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil
shall have his bargain ; for he was never yet a
breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due.

Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word
with the devil.

P. Hen. Else he had been damn'd for cozening
the devil.

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning,
by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are pil-
grims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and
i traders riding to London with fat purses: I have
i visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves;
Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke
supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do
it as secure as sleep : If you will go, I will stuff
your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry
at home, and be hang'd.

Fal. Hear me, Yedward ; If I tarry at home, and
go not, I'll hang you for going.

Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen. Who, I rob? la thief? not I, by my faith.

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.-')

P. Hen. Well, then, once, in my days I'll be a
madcap.

Fal. Why, that's well said.

P. Hen. VVell, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when
thou art king.

P. Hen. I care not.

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and
me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for
this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persua-
sion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou
speakest may move, and what he hears may be be-
lieved, that the true prince may (for recreation
sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of
the time want countenance. Farewell: You shall
find me in Eastcheap.

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell,
All-hallown summer.-*) [Exit Falstaff.

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with
us to-morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I can-
not manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and
Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already
way-laid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and

when they have the booty, if you and I do not
rob them, cut this head from my shoulders.

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in set-
ting forth?

Point. Why, we will set forth before or after
them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein
it is at our pleasure to fail ; and then will they ad-
venture upon the exploit themselves: which they
shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon
them.

P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us,
by our horses, by our habits, and by every other
appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie
them in the wood ; our visors we will change, after
we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buck-
ram for the nonce, ^') to immask our noted outward
garments.

P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us.

Poins. Well, for two of thein, I know them to be
as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for
the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason,
I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be,
the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue
will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty,
at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows,
what extremities he endiured ; and, in the reproof ^ ")
of this, lies the jest.

P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee ; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in
Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell.

Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poms.

P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness ;
Yet herein will I imitate the sun:
W^ho doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world.
That, vvhen he please again to be himself.
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But, when they seldom come, they wlsh'd-for come.
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off.
And pay the debt I never promised.
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; ^')
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault.
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes.
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit.

SCENE m.

The same. Another Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcbstbb,
Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.

K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate.
Unapt to stir at these indignities.
And you have found me; for, accordingly.
You tread upon my patience: but, be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition; ■*-)
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down.
And therefore lost that title of respect.
Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud.

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The scourge of greatness to be used on itj

zvm.

364

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act I.

And that same greatness too which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
Horth. My lord, — —

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see ^^)
danger
And disobedience in thine eye: O, sir.
Your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier ^^) of a servant brow.
You have good leave ^^) to leave us; when we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you, —

[^Exit Worcester.
You were about to speak. [To North.

North. Yea, my good lord.

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded.
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took.
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied.
As is deliver'd to your majesty :
Either envy, therefore, or misprision
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But, I remember, when the fight was done.
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil.
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
B^esh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
He was perfumed like a milliner;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, ^^) which ever and anon

He gave his nose, and took't away again;

Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,

Took it in snuff: — ^ ^) and still he smil'd and talk'd;

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by.

He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse

Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holiday and lady terms

He question'd me; among the rest, demanded

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all sniarting, with my wounds being cold.

To be so pester'd with a popinjay, ^^)

Out of my grief ^ ') and my impatience,

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what;

He should or he should not; — for he made me mad.

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet.

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman.

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the

mark !)
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was.
That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth.
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns.
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
1 answer'd indirectly, as I said;
And, I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation.
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

Blunt, The circumstance consider'd, good my lord.
Whatever Harry Percy then had said.
To such a person, and in such a place.
At such a time, with all the rest re-told.
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners;
But with proviso, and exception, —
That we, at our own charge, shall ransome straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;

Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower;
Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears, *")
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend,
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransome home revolted Mortimer.

Hot. Revolted Mortimer!
He never did fall off, my sovereign Hege,
But by the chance of war ; — To prove that true.
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank.
In single opposition, hand to hand.
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment ■* ' ) with great Glendower:
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they

drink, *^-)
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then affrighted with their bloody looks.
Ran feai'fully among the trembling reeds.
And hid his crisp head "") in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did bare and rotten policy
Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt.

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost
belle him.
He never did encounter with Glendower;
I tell thee.

He durst as well have met the devil alone.
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
**) Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displease you. — My lord Northumber-
land,
We license your departure with your son: —
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.

[Eseunt King Henry, Blurt, and Train.

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them: — I will after straight,
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart.
Although It be with hazard of ray head.

North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause
awhile ;
Here comes your uncle.

Re-enter Wokcestes.

Hot. Speak of Mortimer?

'Zounds, I will speak of him: and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him :
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins.
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i'the dust.
But I will lilt the down-trod Mortimer
As high i'the air as this unthankful king.
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew
mad. [To Worcbstkb.

Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone?

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
And when I urg'd the ransome once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale;
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, ^^)
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

xvin.

Act I.

KING HENRY IV. PART I

365

War. I cannot blame him: Was he not proclaim'd,
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood V

Sorth. He was; I heard the proclamation:
And then it was, when the unhappy king
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth
Upon his Irish expedition;
From whence he, intercepted, did return
To be depos'd, and, shortly, murdered.

Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's
wide mouth
Live scandalized, and foully spoken of.

Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did King Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?

Korth. He did; myself did hear it.

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king.
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd.
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man;
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot
Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be.
That you a world of curses undergo;
Being the agents, or base second means.
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? —
O, pardon me, that I descend so low,
To show the line, and the predicament.
Wherein you range under this subtle king. —
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days.
Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power.
Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, —
As both of you, God pardon it! have done, —
To put down Richaid, that sweet lovely rose.
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?*')
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken.
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
By him, for whom these shames ye undeovent?
No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves.
Into the good thoughts of the world again:
Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd "* ' ) contempt.
Of this proud king; who studies day and night.
To answer all the debt he owes to you.
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore, I say,

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no mbre;

And now I will unclasp a secret book.
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous;
As full of peril, and advent'ious spirit.
As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud.
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

Hot. If he fall in, good night: — or sink or swim: —
Send danger from the east unto the west.
So honour cross it from the north to the south,
And let them grapple; — O! the blood more stirs,
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare,
ft ^orth. Imagination of some great exploit
■ Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
f Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap,
I To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep.
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear.
Without corrival, all her dignities :
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! ■*^)

Wor. He apprehends a world of tigures here, *')
But not the form of what he should attend —
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

I Hot. I cry you mercy.
Wor. Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners,

Hot. ril keep them all;

By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them :
No, if a Scot could save his soul, he shall not:
I'll keep them, by this hand.

Wor. You start away.

And lend no ear unto my purposes. —
Those prisoners you shall keep.

Hot. Nay, 1 will; that's flat: —

He said, he would not ransorae Mortimer;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep.
And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer!
Nay,

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.

Wor. Hear you.

Cousin; a word.

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy.
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, — * °)
But that I think his father loves him not.
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you.
When you are better temper'd to attend.

North. W^hy, what a wasp-stung * ' } and impatient
fool
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood;
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own?

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd
with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when 1 hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time, — What do you call the place?
A plague upon't ! — it is in Gloucestershire;
'Twas where the mad- cap duke his uncle kept;
His uncle Y'ork; — where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.

Korth. At Berkley castle.

Hot. You say true :

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look, — when hig infant fortune came to age,
And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and, kind cougitiy
O, the de\"il take such cozeners! God for-
give me! —
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ;
We'll stay your leisure.

Hot. I have done, i'faith.

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransome straight.
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers in Scotland; which, — for divers reasons.
Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd.
Will easily be granted. — You, my lord, — *-)

[To NORTHUXBEBLAKI*.

Your son in Scotland being thus employed, —
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate, well beloy'd.
The archbishop.

Hot. Of York, is't not?

Wor. True; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation, *^)
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is nuninated, plotted, and set down;
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well.

North. Before the game's a- foot, thou still let'st slip. * *)

xvm.

366

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act II.

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot: —
And then the power of Scotland, and of York, —
To join with Mortimer, ha?

Wor. And so they shall.

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aini'd.

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed.
To save our heads by raising of a head: ^*)
For, bear ourselves as even as we can.
The king will always think him in our debt; ^')
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And see already, how he doth begin
To make us strangers to his looks of love.

Hot. He docs, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him.

Wor. Cousin, *') farewell; — No further go in this,
Than I by letters shall direct your course.
When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,)
I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer;
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once,
(As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet.
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I
trust.

Hot. Uncle, adieu: — O, let the hours be short.
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport!

[Exeunt.

ACT n.

SCENE I. Rochester. An Inn Yard.
Enter a Carrier, with a Lantern in his hand.

1 Car. Heigh ho! An'fc be not four by the day,
I'll be hanged: Charles' wain ') is over the new
chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

Ost. [IFithin.] Anon, anon.

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, -) put
a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung
in the withers out of all cess. ^)

Enter another Carrier.

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank *) here as a
dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades
thebots:^) this house is turned upside down, since
Robin ostler died.

1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price of
oats rose; it was the death of him.

2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house in
all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

1 Car. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er
a king in Christendom could be better bit than I
have been since the first cock.

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden,
and then we leak in your chimney; and your cham-
ber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. <')

1 Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged,
come away.

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes
of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

1 Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkies in my pannier are
quite starved. — What, ostler! — A plague on
thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst
not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink,
to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. —
Come, and be hanged: — Hast no faith in thee?

Enter Gadshili-. ')
Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
1 Car. I think it be two o'clock.
Gad$. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my
gelding in the stable^

1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth
two of that, i'faith.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine.

2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell? — Lend me thy lan-
tern, quoth a ? — marry, I'll i^ee thee hanged first.

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to
come to London?

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle,
I warrant thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll
call up the gentlemen; they will along with company,
for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers.

Gads. What, ho! chamberlain!

Cham, [inthin.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. ®)

Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth
the chamberlain: for thou variest no more from
picking of purses, than giving direction doth from
labouring; thou lay'st the plot how.

Enter Chamberlain.

Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds
current, that I told you yesternight: There's a
franklin ') in the wild of Kent, hath brought three
hundred marks with him in gold : I heard him tell
it to one of his company, last night at supper; a
kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge
too, God knows what. They are up already, and
call for eggs and butter : They will away presently.

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas'
clerks, ' •') I'll give thee this neck.

Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that
for the hangman; for, I know, thou worship'st saint
Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman?
if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows : for, if
I hang, old sir John hangs with me; and, thou
knowest, he's no starveling. Tut! there are other
Trojans ' ') that thou dreamest not of, the which,
for sport sake, are content to do the profession some
grace; that would, if matters should be looked into,
for their own credit sake, make all whole. I am
joined with no foot land-rakers, ^*) no long-staff,
sixpenny strikers; none of these mad, mustachio
purple-hued malt-worms: but with nobility, and
tranquillity; burgomasters and great.,oneyers; •^)
such as can hold in; such as will strike sooner than
speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner
than pray: '*) And yet I lie; for they pray conti-
nually to their saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather,
not pray to her, but prey on her: for they ride up
and down on her, and make her their boots.

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? will
she hold out water in foul way?

Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored
her.'*) We steal as in a castle,'^) cock-sure; we
have the receipt of fern-seed, *') we walk invisible.

Cham. Nay, by my faith; I think you are more
beholden to the night, than to fern-seed, for your
walking invisible.

Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share
in our puixhase, ^ **) as I am a true man.

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a
false thief.

Gads. Go to; Homo is a common name to all men.
Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable.
Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Road by Gadshill.

Enter Prince HiiNRy and Potns; Bardolph and
Pbto, at some distance.

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed

Kvni.

Act II.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

367

I

Falstafifs horse , and he frets like a gummed
velvet.
P. Hen. Stand close.

Enter Falstaff.

Faf. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!
P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidnej ed rascal ; What a
brawling dost thou keep?

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?

P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill;
I'll go seek hiin. [Pretends to «eet Poisa.

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thiefs company:
the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I
know not where. If I travel but four foot by the
squire •') further afoot, I shall break my wind.
Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all
this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I
have forsworn his company hourly any time this
two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with
the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given
me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged ;
it could not be else; I have drunk medicines, —
Poins! — Hal! — a plague upon you both! —
Bardolph ! — Peto ! — I'll starve, ere I'll rob a
foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as
drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I
am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth.
Eight yards of uneven ground, is threescore and
ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted vil-
lains know it well enough: A plague upon't, when
thieves caiuiot be true to one another! [They whistle.]
Whew! — A plague upon you all! Give me my
horse, you rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged.

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine
ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear
the tread of travellers.

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again,
being down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh
so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's
exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt ^'*)
me thus?

P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art
uncolted.

Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my
horse, good king's son.

P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler!

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent
garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have
not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes,
let a cup of sack be my poison: When a jest is so
forward, and afoot too, — I hate it.

Enter Gadsuill.
Gads. Stand.

Fal. So I do, against my will.
Point. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice.

Enter Bardolph.

Bard. What news?

Gads. Case ye, case ye; on with your visors;
there's money of the king's coming down the hill;
'tis going to the king's exchequer.

Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's
tavern.

Gads. There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hanged.

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar-
row lane; Ned Poins, and I will walk lower: if
they 'scape from your encounter, then they light
on us.

Peto. How many be there of them?

Gads. Some eight, or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch?

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand-
father: but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the
hedge ; when thou need'st him, there thou shalt find
him. Farewell, and stand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.

P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises?

Poins. Here, hard by; stand close.

[Exeunt P. Henry and Poms.

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, - ■)
say I; every man to his business.

Enter Travellers.

1 Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our
horses down the hill : we'll walk a foot awhile, and
ease our legs.

Thieves. Stand.

Trav. Jesu bless us!

Fal. Strike; down with them; cut the villains*
throats: Ah! whorson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves!
they hate us youth : down with them ; fleece them.

1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for
ever.

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied --) knaves; Are ye un-
done? No, ye fat chuffs; -^) I would, your store
were here! On, bacons, on? What, ye knaves?
young men must live: You are grand-jurors; are
ye? We'll jure ye, i' faith.

[Exeunt Fals. &c. driving the Travellers ottt.

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men: -'*)
Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go mer-
rily to London, it w ould be argument for a w eek, * *)
laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.

Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming.

Re-enter Thieves.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to

horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not

two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring:

there's no more valour in that Poins, than in a

wild-duck.

P. Hen. Y'^our money. [Rushing out upon them.

Poins. Villains.

[Js they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
them. Falstai'I', after a blow or two, and the
rest, run away, leaving their booty behind them.]
P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:
The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear
So sti-ongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death.
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd! [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

Warkworth. A Room in the CastU.

Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.'^'')

But, for mine own part, my lord, 1 could

he well contented to be there, in respect of the
love I hear your house. — He could be contented, —
Why is he not then? In respect of the love he
bears our house: — he shows in this, he loves his
own barn better than he loves our house. Let me
see some more. The purpose you undertake, is
dangerous,- — Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous
to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you.

XVllI.

368

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act JI.

my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck
this flower, safety. The purpose you undertake, is
dangerous; the friends you have named, uncer-
tain; the time itself, unsorted; and your whole
plot too light, for the counterpoise of so great an
opposition. — Say you so, say you so V 1 say unto
you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and
you lie. What a lack-brain is thisV By the Lord,
our plot is a good plot as ever was laid ; our friends
true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and
full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good
friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is thisV Why,
my lord of York commends the plot, and the ge-
neral course of the action. 'Zounds, an I were now
by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's
fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself?
Loi'd Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and
Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Dou-
glas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in
arms by the ninth of the next month? and are they
not, some of them, set forward already? What a
pagan rascal is this? an infidel? Ha! you shall see
now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will
he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings.
O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for
moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honour-
able an action! Hang him! Let him tell the king:
We are prepared: I will set forward to-night.

Enter Lady Percy.
How now, Kate?- I must leave you within these
two hours.

Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus atlone?
For what oftence have I, this fortnight, been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth;
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy ?
In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars :
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ;
Cry, Courage! — to the field! And thou hast talk'd
Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets;
Of basilisks, -'') of cannon, culverin;
Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain.
And all the 'currents - ^) of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestir'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy br^jw,
Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream:
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd.
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
O$asome great sudden haste. O, what portents are

these ?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.

Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone?

Enter Servant.

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the
sheriff?

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.

Hot. What horse, a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?

Serv. It is, my lord.

Hot. That roan shall be my throne.

Well, I will back him straight: O esperance! — **)
Bid Butler lead him forth into the ptirk. [£'xit Servant.

Lady. But hear you, my lord.

Hot. What say'st, my lady? ^o)

Lady. What is it carries you away ?

Hot. My horse, 3')

My love, my horse.

Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen,
As you are toss'd with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title; and hath sent for you.
To line his enterprize: But if you go

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

Hot. Away,
Away, you trifler! — Love? — I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world.
To play with mammets, ^-) and to tilt with lips:
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse! —
What say'st thou, Kate? what would'.st thou have
with me?

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for, since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no.

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am o'horse back, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout :
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude.
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no further wise,
Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are;
But yet a woman : and for secrecy,
No lady closer; for I well believe,
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate !

Lady. How! so far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate?
Whither I go, thither shall you go too:
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. —
Will this content you, Kate?

Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar'* Head
Tavern.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room,
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins. Where hast been, Hal?

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst
three or four score hogsheads. 1 have sounded the
very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn
brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them
all by their christian names, as — ■ Tom, Dick, and
Francis. They take it already upon their salvation,
that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am
the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no
proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, ^3) a
lad of mettle, a good boy, — by the Lord, so they
call me; and when I am king of England, I shall
command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They
call — drinking deep, dying scarlet : and when you
breathe in your watering, they cry — hem! and
bid you play it off. — To conclude, I am so good

Kvm.

Act II.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

369

a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can
drink with any tinker in his own language during
my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much ho-
nour, that thou wert not with me in this action.
But, sweet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned,
I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even
now into ray hand by an under-skinker;^*) one that
never spake other English in his life, than — Eight
ihillings and sixpence, and You are welcome; with
this shrill addition, — Anon, anon, sir! Score a
pint of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But,
Ned, to drive away the time till B'alstaff come, I
pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I
question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me
the sugar ; and do thou never leave calling — Fran-
cis, that his tale to me may be nothing but — anon.
Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent.

Poins. Francis!

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.

Point. Francis! [Exit Poiiis.

Enter Francis. '*)

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the
pomegranate, ^^) Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

Fran. Forsooth, live year, and as much as to^ —

Poins. [fTithin.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Five years ! by'rlady, a long lease for the
clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so
valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture,
and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O Lord, sir! I'll be sworn upon all the
books in England, I could find in my heart —

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me see, — About Michaelmas next I
shall be —

Poins. [fTithin.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord.

P. Hen, Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the sugar
thou gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't not?

Fran. O Lord, sir! I would, it had been two.

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound :
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to-mor-
row, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed,
Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, —

Fran. My lord?

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin,^ ') crystal
button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-
garter, ^8) smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch, —

Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard^') is your
only drink: for, look you, Francis, your white can-
vas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot
come to so much.

Fran. What, sir?

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

P. Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not hear
them call?

[Here they both call him; the Drawer stands
amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What ! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a
calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fean.]

My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are
at the door; Shall I let them in?
P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the
door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins!

Re-enter Poins.

Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves,
are at the door; Shall we be merry?

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark
ye; What cunning match have you made with this
jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue?

P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have showed
themselves humours, since the old dajs of goodman
Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock
at midnight. [Re-enter Fbancis with wine.] What's
o'clock, Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! —
His industry is — up stairs, and down stairs; his
eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet
of Percy's mind, *") the Hotspur of the north; he
that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a
breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, —
Fye upon this quiet life! I want work. O my
sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed
to-day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he;
and answers. Some fourteen, an hour after; a trifle,
a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy,
and that damned brawn shall play dame Mortimer
his wife. jRtco, ^i) says the drunkard. Call in
ribs, call in tallow.

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto.

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven-
geance too ! marrv, and amen ! — Give me a cup of
sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew ne-
ther-stocks, *-) and mend them, and foot them too.
A plague of all cowards! — Give me a cup of sack,
rogue. — Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks.

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of
butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the
sweet tale of the son! '*3) if thou didst, then behold
that compound.

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too : There
is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous
man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack
with lime in it: a villainous coward. — Go thy
ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood,
good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the
earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not
three good men unhanged in England; and one of
them is fat, and grows old; God help the while!
a bad world, I say! I would I were a weaver! I
could sing psalms or any thing: A plague of all
cowards, 1 say still.

P. Hen. How now, woolsack? what mutter you?

Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of
thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all
thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese,
I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince
of Wales!

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man ! what's
the matter?

Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that;
and Poins there?

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me
coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere
I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand
pound, I could rim as fast as thou canst. You are

XVlil.

24

370

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act II.

straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who
sees your back: Call you that, backing of your
friends V A plague upon such backing ! give me them
that will face iiie. Give me a cup of sack: — I
am a rogue, if I drunk to-day.

P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since
thou drunk'st last.

Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards,
still say I. [He drinks.

P. Hen. What's the matter?

Fal. What's the matter? there be four of us here
have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. Hen. Where is it. Jack? where is it?

Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred
upon poor four us.

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man?

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword
with a dozen of thein two hours together. I have
'scap'd by miracle. 1 am eight times thrust through
the doublet; four, through the hose; my buckler
cut through and through; my sword hack'd like a
hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since
I was a man : all would not do. A plague of all
cowards !■ — Let them speak : if they sjieak more
or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons
of darkness.

P. Hen. Speak, sirs; how was it?

Gads. We four set upon some dozen,

Fal. Sixteen, at least, my loi'd.

Gads. And bound them.

Peto. No, no, they were not bound.

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of
them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh
men set upon us,

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the
other.

P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all?

Fal. All? I know not what ye call, all; but if I
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of
radish: if there were not two or three and fifty
upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged
creature.

Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some of
them.

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for : I have peppered
two of them : two, I am sure, I have paid ; two
rogues in buckram suits. 1 t«ll thee what, Hal, —
if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse.
Thou knowest my old ward ; — here- I lay, and
thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let
drive at me, —

P. Hen. What, four? thou said'st but two, even
now.

Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four.

Poins. Ay, ay, he said foia\

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust
at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their
seven points in my target, thus.

P. Hen. Seven? why, there were but four, even
now.

Fal. In buckram.

Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.

Fal. Seven by these hilts, or 1 am a villain else.

P. Hen. Pr'ythee let him alone; we shall have
more anon.

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack.

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These
nine in buckram, that I told thee of,

P. Hen. So two more already.

Fal. Their points being broken,

Poins. Down fell their hose. '*")

Fal. Began to give me ground : But I followed me
close, came in foot and hand; and, with a thought,
seven of the eleven I paid.

P. Hen. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown
out of two !

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbe-
gotten knaves, in Kendal '*^) green, came at my
back, and let drive at me; — for it was so dark,
Hal, that thou could'st not see thy hand.

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets
them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why,
thou clay-brained guts; thou knotty-pated fool: thou
whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech, *')

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not
the truth, the truth?

P. Hen. Why, how could'st thou know these men
in Kendal gteen, when it was so dark thou could'st
not see thy hand? come tell us your reason; What
sayest thou to this?

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Fal. What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the
strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would
not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on
compulsion! if reasons were as plenty as blackber-
ries, I would give no man a reason upon compul-
sion, I.

P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-
breaker, this huge hill of flesh;

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, — O, for
breath to utter what is like thee! — you tailor's
yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing
tuck;

P. Hen. Well breathe a while, and then to it
again: and when thou hast tired thyself in base
comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins. Mark, Jack.

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four; you

bound them, and were masters of their wealth.

Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. —
Then did we two set on you four: and, with a word,
out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea,
and can show it you here in the house: — and,
Falstaff', you carried your guts away as nimbly,
with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and
still ran and I'oared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What
a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast
done; and then say, it was in fight? What trick,
what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now
find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent
shame?

Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack; What trick hast
thou now ?

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: Was it for
me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon
the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as va-
liant as Hercules: but beware instinct; the Hon
will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great
matter; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think
the better of myself, and thee, during my life; I,
for a valiant lion, and thou, for a true prince. But,
by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the mo-
ney. Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-
night, pray to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts
of gold. All the titles of good fellowship come to
you! VVhat, shall we be merry? shall we have a
play extempore?

P. Hen. Content ; — and the argument shall be,
thy running away.

Fal. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.

Kvni.

Act II.

KING HENRY IV. PART I

371

Enter Hostess.

J7$. My lord the prince,

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess? what
say'st thou to me?

Hott. Majrry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the
court at door, would speak with you: he says, he
comes from your father.

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal
roan, *') and send him back again to my mother.

Fal. What manner of man is he?

Hoit. An old man.

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid-
night? — Shall I give him his answer?

P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do. Jack.

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit.

P. Hen. Now, sirs; by'r-lady, 'you fought fair; —
so did you, Peto; — so did you, Bardolph: you
are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will
not touch the true prince; no, — fye!

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, How came Fal-
stafTs sword so hacked?

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and said,
he would swear truth out of England, but he would
make you believe it was done in fight; and per-
suaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-
grass, to make them bleed; and then to beslubber
our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood
of true men. I did that I did not this seven year
before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.

P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen
years ago, and were taken with the manner, **)
and ever since thou hast blush'd extempore: Thou
hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou
ran'st away; What instinct hadst thou for it?

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you
behold these exhalations?

P. Hen. I do.

Bard. What think you they portend?

P. Hen. Hot livers, and cold purses. ■*')

Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. *")

Re-enter Falstapf.
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How
now, my sweet creature of bombast? *') How long
is't ago. Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?

Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years,
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I
could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring:
A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up
like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad:
here was sir John Bracy from your father; you
must to the court in the morning. That same mad
fellow of the North, Percy ; and he of Wales, that
gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer
cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon
the cross of a Welsh hook, — ^-) What, a plague,
call you him?

Point. O, Glendower.

Fal. Owen, Owen; the same; — and his son-in-
law, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'horse-
back up a hill perpendicular.

P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his
pistol *^) kills a sparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it.

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow.

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him;
he will not run.

P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to
praise him so for running?

HViil,

Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he will
not budge afoot.

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps ^*)
more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy fa-
ther's beard is turned white with the news; you may
buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel. **)

P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot
June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy
maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sajest true; it is like,
we shall have good trading that way. — But, tell
me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou being
heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three
such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that
spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou
not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Hen. Not a whit i'faith ; I lack some of thy
instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow,
when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me,
practise an answer.

P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine
me upon the particulars of my life.

Fal. Shall I? content: — This chair shall be my
state, **■) this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion
my crown. *')

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy
golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious
rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown !

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out
of thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a
cup of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it
may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in
passion, and I will do it in king Canibyses' * '') vein.

P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. *')

Fal. And here is my speech: — Stand aside, no-
bility.

Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith.

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears
are vain.

Hott. O the father, how he holds his countenance!

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen.
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.

Hott. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these har-
lotry players, as I ever see.

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-
brain. — *") Harry, I do not only marvel where
thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art ac-
companied : for though the camomile, ' * ) the more
it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the
more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou
art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly
my own opinion: but chiefly a villainous trick of
thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip,
that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me,
here lies the point; — Why, being son to me, art
thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of
heaven prove a micher, <"-) and eat blackberries? a
question not to be asked. Shall the son of England
prove a thief, and take purses? a question to be
asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast
often heard of, and it is known to many in our land
by the name of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers
do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou
keepest; for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in
drink, but in tears ; not in pleasure, but in passion ;
not in words only, but in woes also; — And yet
there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted
in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your ma-
jesty?

24*

372

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act II.

Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent;
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble
carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or,
by'r-lady, inclining to three-score; and now I re-
member me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should
be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, 1
see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be
known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then,
peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that B^al-
staff : him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me
now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou
been this month?

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou
stand for me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely,
so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me
up by the heels for a rabbet-sucker,'^) or a poul-
ter's hare.
P. Hen. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand: — judge, my masters.
P. Hen. How, Harry? whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are griev-
ous.

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I'll
tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith.

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy ? hence-
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried
away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in
the likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy
companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk
of humours, that bolting-hutch '*) of beastliness,
that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard
of sack, '5) that stuffed cloak bag of guts, that
roasted Manningtree ox'"'') with the pudding in his
belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that
father ruffian, that vanity in years! Wherein is he
good, buit to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat
and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein
cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in vil-
lainy ? wherein villainous, but in all things ? wherein
worthy, but in nothing?

Fal. I would your grace would take me with you ; <* ')
Whom means your grace?

P. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of
youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
P. Hen. I know, thou dost.

Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than
in myself, were to say more than I know. That
he is old, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do
witness it: but that be is, ^(saving your reverence,)
a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and
sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be
old and merry be a sin, then many an old host
that I know, is damned : if to be fat be to be hated,
then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my
good lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish
Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Fal-
staif, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstatt', and
therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Fal-
staff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish
not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack,
aiid banish all the world.
P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.

[^Exeunt Hastesa, Fbancis, and BjlRdolfh.

Re-enter Bardolph, running.

Bard. O, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a
most monstrous watch, is at the door.

Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

svin

Re-enter Hostess, hastily.

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord! ■

Fal. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle-
stick: What's the matter? <'^}

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the
door: they are come to search the house; Shall I
let them in?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a true piece
of gold, a counterfeit; thou art essentially mad,
without seeming so.

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct.

Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the
sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter : if I become not a
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring-
ing up! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with
a halter, as another.

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras ; — * ')
the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a
true face, and good conscience.

Fal. Both which I have had : but their date is out,
and therefore I'll hide me.

[Exeunt all but the Pbincb and Poins,

P. Hen. Call in the sheriff.

Enter Sheriff and Carrier,
Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me?

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath foUow'd certain men unto this house.
P. Hen. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord ;
A gross fat man.
Car. As fat as butter.

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here ; ' <>)
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee.
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time.
Send him to answer thee, or any man.
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal:
And so let me entreat you leave the house.

Sher. 1 will, my lord: There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men.
He shall be answerable; and so, farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; Is it not?
SAer. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
[Exeunt Sheriif and Carrier.
P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's.
Go, call him forth.

Poins. Falstaff! — fast asleep behind the arras,
and snorting like a horse.
P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath : Search
his pockets. [Poins searches.] What hast thou found ?
Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.
P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them.
Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d.
Item, Sauce, 4d.
Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.
Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth of
bread to this intolerable deal of sack! — What there
is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advantage :
there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the
morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place
shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a
charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a
march of twelve-score. ' ') The money shall be paid
back again with advantage. Be with me betimes
in the morning; and so good morrow, Poins.
Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt.

Act III.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

373

ACT m.

Scene I. Bangor. A Room in the
Archdeacon's Houae.

Elnter Hotspur, Worcbstbr, Mortimer, and
Glemdowbr.

Mart. These promises are fair, the parties sure.
And our induction *) full of prosperous hope.
Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, —
Will you sit down?

And, uncle Worcester: — A plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.

Glend. No, here it is.

Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur:
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and, with
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven.
Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glend. I cannot blame hims at my nativity.
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes.
Of burning cressets; ^) and, at my birth.
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot. Why, so it would have done

At the same season, if your mother's cat had
But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been bom.
Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind.
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth

did tremble.
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens
on fire.
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseaised nature ^) oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb ; which, for enlargement stri\-ing.
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples "*) down
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth.
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature.
In passion shook.

Glend. Cousin, of many men

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again, — that at my birth.
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do show,
I am not in the roll of common men.
W'here is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, —
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son.
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art.
And hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh: —
I will to dinner.
Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hot. Why, so can I; or so can any man:
But will they come, when you do call for them?

Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command
The devil.

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil.
By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither.
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil.

Mort. Come, come.
No more of this unprofitable chat.

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made
head
Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye,
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him,
Bootless hoaie, and weather-beaten back.

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too!
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?

Glend. Come, here's the map ; Shall we divide oar
right.
According to our three-fold order ta'en?

Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits, very equally:
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto.
By south and east, is to my part assign'd:
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore.
And all the fertile land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower: — and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn:
Which being sealed interchangeably,
(A business that this night may execute,)
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth.
To meet your father, and the Scottish power.
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet.
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days : —
Within that space, [to GiiKkd.] you may have drawn

together
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.

Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords.
And in my conduct shall your ladies come:
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave :
For there will be a world of water shed.
Upon the parting of your Avives and you.

Hot. Methinks, my moiety,.^) north from Barton
here.
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See, how this river comes me cranking in.
And cuts me, from the best of all my land,
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. ^)
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly:
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see, it doth.

Mort. Yea,
But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me ap
With like advantage on the other side;
Gelding the opposed continent as much.
As on the other side it takes from you.

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here.
And on this north side win this cape of land;
And then he runs straight and even.

Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it.

Glend. I will not have it alter'd.

Hot. Will not yoa?

Glend. No, nor yoa shall not.

Hot. Who shall say me nay ?

Glend. Why, that wiU I.

Hot. Let me not understand you then,

Speak it in Welsh.

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
For I was train'd up in the English court: ')•
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty, lovely well.
And gave the tongue *) a helpful ornament;
A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad oft with aU my heart;
I had rath^ be a kitten, and cry — mew.

Kvm.

374

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act III.

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers:

I had rather hear a brazen canstick ') turn'd,

Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree;

And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,

Nothing so much as mincing poetry;

'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling fiag.

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

Hot. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by
night :
I'll haste the writer, '") and, withal.
Break with your wives of your departure hence:
I am afraid, my daughter will run mad,
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. {Exit.

Mort. Fj e, cousin Percy ! how you cross my father !

Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me,
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, ^')
Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies;
And of a dragon and a finless fish,
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
A couching lion, and a ramping cat.
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, —
He held me, but last night,*-) at least nine hours.
In reckoning up the several devils' names.
That were his lackeys: I cried, humph, — and

well, — go to, —
But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious
As is a tired horse, a railing wife;
Worse than a smoky house: — I had rather live
With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far.
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me.
In any summer-house in Christendom.

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman:
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments; *^) valiant as a lion,
And wond'rous affable; and as bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect.
And curbs himself even of his natural scope.
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive,
Might so have tempted him as you have done.
Without the taste of danger and reproof;
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;
And since your coming hither, have done enough
To put him (juite beside his patience.
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,)
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, '*) and disdain:
The least of which, haunting a nobleman,
Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides.
Beguiling them of commendation.

Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your
speed !
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

Re-enter Glbndower, with the Ladies.

Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me, —
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Glend. My daughter weeps: she will not part
with you.
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

Mort. Good father, tell her, — that she, and my
aunt Percy,
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

[Glendower speaks to his Daughter in Welsh,
and she answers him in the same.

Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd
hai'lotry.
One no persuasion **) can do good upon.

[Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.

Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
Which thou poorest down from these swelling heavens,
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame.
In such a parley would I answer thee.

[Lady M. speaks.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation: '')
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division, to her lute. *')

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[Lady M. speaks again.

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this.

Glend. She bids you
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down, *^)
And rest your gentle head upon her lap.
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you.
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep.
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep, ")
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing :
By that time will our book, - ") I think, be drawn.

Glend. Do so;
And those musicians that shall play to you.
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;
- ') Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:
Come, quick, quick ; that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.

Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and then
the Music plays.

Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh ;
And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous.
By'r-lady, he's a good musician.

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical ;
for you ai'e altogether governed by humours. Lie
still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear lady, my brach, howl in
Irish.

Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken?

Hot. No.

Lady P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.

Lady P. Now God help thee!

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.

Lady P. What's that?

Hot. Peace! she sings.

A Welsh Song, sung by Lady M.

Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! 'Heart, you swear
like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth;
and. As true as I live ; and, As God shall mend me ;
and. As sure as day:

And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. *^)
Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art,

XVIII.

Act hi.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

375

A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth,
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread.
To velvet-guards, -^) and sunday-citizens.
Come, sing.

Lady P. I will not sing.

Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-
breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll
away within these two hours; and so come in when
you will. [Exit.

Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer ; you are as slow.
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go.
By this our book's drawn; -•*) we'll but seal, and then
To horse immediately.

Mort. With all my heart. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henht, Prince of Wales, and Lords.

K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the prince of Wales

and I,
Must have some conference: -*) But be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you. —

[Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God will have it so.
For some displeasing service I have done.
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost, in thy passages of life.
Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate, and low desires.
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts.
Such barren pleasures, rude society.
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to.
Accompany the greatness of thy blood.
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse.
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg, ^*)
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, —
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, —
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular.
Find pardon on my true submission.

K. Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder,
Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, * '')
Which by thy younger brother is supplied;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood:
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man
Prophetically does forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been.
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men.
So stale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown.
Had still kept loyal to possession; -^)
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir.
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at:
That men would tell their children. This it he;
Others would say, — Where? which it Bolingbroke ?
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,

I-

And dress'd myself in such humility.

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts.

Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths.

Even in the presence of the crowned king.

Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new;

My presence, like a robe pontifical.

Ne'er seen, bnt wonder'd at: and so ray state.

Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast;

And won, by rareness, such solemnity.

The skipping king, he ambled up and down

With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits, - '')

Soon kindled, and soon buru'd: carded his state; ^'')

Mingled his royalty with capering fools;

Had his great name profaned with their scorns:

And gave his countenance, against his name, ^ ' )

To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push

Of every beardless vain comparative: *-)

Grew a companion to the common streets.

Enfeoffed himself to popularity: ^^)

That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes.

They surfeited with honey; and began

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little

More than a little is by much too much.

So, when he had occasion to be seen.

He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes.

As, sick and blunted with community.

Afford no extraordinary gaze.

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes:

But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down.

Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect

As cloudy men use to their adversaries;

Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.

And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou:

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege.

With vile participation; not an eye

But is a-weary of thy common sight.

Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;

Which now doth that I would not have it do.

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord.
Be more myself.

K. Hen. For all the world.

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;
And even as I was then, is Percy now.
Now by my scepter, and my soul to boot.
He hath more worthy interest to the state.
Than thou, the shadow of succession:
For, of no right, nor colour like to right.
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm:
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws;
And, being no more in debt to years than thou.
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on.
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds.
Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms.
Holds from all soldiers chief majority.
And qtilitary title capital.

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ?
Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes.
This infant warrior in his enterprizes
Discomfited great Douglas: ta'en him onoe^
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him.
To till the mouth of deep defiance up.
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate ^*) against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes.

376

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act III.

Which art my near'st and dearest ^^) enemy?
Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear,

Base inclination, and the start of spleen,

To fight against me under Percy's pay,

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,

To show how much degenerate thou art.

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so;
And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head.
And, in the closing of some glorious day.
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood.
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown.
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight.
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up.
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time.
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths.
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this : —
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein.

Enter Blunt.
How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, — '')
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met.
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.'

K.Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
With Mm my son, lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old : —
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march:
Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glostershire ; by which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, ^'') while men delay.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar't Head
Tavern.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since
this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle?
Why my skin hangs about me like an old lady's
loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-john.
Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in

some liking; 3 8) j shall be out of heart shortly, and
then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have
not forgotten what the inside of a church is made
of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the in-
side of a church! Company, villainous company,
hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live
long.

Fal. Why, there is it : — come, sing me a bawdy
song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given,
as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore
little; diced, not above seven times a week; went
to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter —
of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or
four times; lived well, and in good compass: and
now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you
must needs be out of all compass; out of all rea-
sonable compass, sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my
life: Thou art our admiral, ^') thou bearest the
lantern in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee;
thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it
as many a man doth of a death's head, or a me-
mento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon
hell-tire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there
he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert
any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy
face; my oath should be By this fire: but thou art
altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the
light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When
thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my
horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an igtiis
fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase
in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an
everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thou-
sand marks in links and torches, walking with thee
in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the
sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought
me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's
in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of
yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years;
Heaven reward me for it!

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly !

Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be heart-
burned.

Enter Hostess.
How now, dame Partlet '*°) the hen? have you
inquired yet, who picked my pocket?

Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John?
Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have
searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man
by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe
of a hair was never lost in my house before.

Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and
lost many a hair : and I'll be sworn, my pocket was
picked: Go to, you are a woman, go.

Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so
in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Host. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir John :
I know you, sir John : you owe me money, sir John,
and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I
bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them away
to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of
eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides,
sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money
lent you, four and twenty pound.

Bynz.

Act hi.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

377

Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.

Hotl. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call
you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his
cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make
a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in
mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I
have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth
forty mark.

Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell lum,
I know not how oft, that that ring was copper.

Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, *') a sneak-cup;
and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a
dog, if he would say so.

Enter Prince Hbnry and Poins, marching. Fal-

8TAFF meets the Prince, playing on hit truncheon,

like a fife.

Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door,
i'faith? must we all march?

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion.

Ho$t. My lord, I pray you, hear me.

P. Hen. What say est thou, mistress Quickly? How
does thy husband ? I love him well, he is an honest
man.

Host. Good my lord, hear me.

Fal. Pr'ythee let her alone, and list to me.

P. Hen. What sayest thou. Jack?

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the
arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is
turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets.

P. Hen. VVhat didst thou lose. Jack?

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four
bonds of forty pounds a-piece, and a seal-ring of
my grandfather's.

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard
your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most
vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is;
and said, he would cudgel you.

P. Hen. What! he did not?

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood
in me else.

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed
prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn-
fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be"*-)
the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you
thing, go.

Host. Say, what thing? what thing?

Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on.

Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would
thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's ^vife:
and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave,
to call me so.

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast
to say otherwise.

Host. Say, what beast, thon knave thou?

Fal. What beast? why an otter?

P. Hen. An otter, sir John! why an otter?

Fal. Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man
knows not where to have her.

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou
or any man knows where to have me, thou knave

thou!

P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slan-
ders thee most grossly.

Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this

other day, you ought him a thousand pound?

P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love

is worth a million; thou owest me thy love.
Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said,

he would cudgel you.

Fal. Did I, Bardolph?

Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so.

Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper.

P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: Darest thou be as good
as thy word now?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but
man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee,
as I fear the roaring of lion's whelp.

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion?

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lioni
Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father ?
nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break!

P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall
about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for
faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it
is all filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an
honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou
whoreson, impudent, embossed '*^) rascal, if there
were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings,
memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-
worth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded;
if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries
but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand
to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thon not
ashamed ?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the
state of innocency, Adam fell: and what should
poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy ? Thou
seest, I have more flesh than another man; and
therefore more frailty. — -~ You confess then, you
picked my pocket?

P. Hen. It appears so by the story.

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : Go make ready break-
fast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish
thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any
honest reason : thou seest, I am pacified. — Still ? —
Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal,
to the news at court ; for the robbery, lad, — How
is that answered?

P. Hen. O my sweet beef, 1 must still be good
angel to thee: — The money is paid back again.

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a
double labour.

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and
may do any thing.

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou
doest, and do it with unwashed hands too.'**)

Bard. Do, my lord.

P. Hen. I have procured thee. Jack, a charge of foot.

Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall
I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief,
of the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts! I am
heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for
these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I
laud them, I praise them.

P. Hen. Bardolph.

Bard. My lord.

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster,
My brother John; this to my lord of Westmoreland.^
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse: for thou, and I,

Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.

Jack,

Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-halT:

At two o'clock i'the afternoon:

There shalt thou know thy charge; and there rec^ve

Money, and order for their furniture.

The land is burning; Percy stands on high;

And either they, or we, must lower lie.

[Exeunt Pkikcs, Foiifs, and Babdoub.

Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my

breakfast; come: —
O, I could vrish, this tavern were my drum. [Exit.

svm.

378

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act IV.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, cmJ? Douglas.

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : If speaking truth,
In this fine age, were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Douglas have.
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the world.
By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy ^)
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to the word; approve me, lord.

Doug. Thou art the king of honour:
No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard -) him.

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well: —

Enter a Messenger, with letters.

What letters hast thou there? — I can but thank you.

Mess. These letters come from your father, —

Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself?

Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous sick.

Hot. 'Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick.
In such a justling time? Who leads his power?
Under whose government come they along?

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.

Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?

Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth;
And at the time of my departure thence.
He was much fear'd by his physicians.

Wor. I would, the state of time had first been
whole.
Ere he by sickness had been visited;
His health was never better worth than now.

Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth infect
The very life-blood of our enterprize;

'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.

He writes me here, — that inward sickness —

And that his friends by deputation could not

So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet.

To lay so dangerous and dear a trust

On any soul remov'd, ^) but on his own.

Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, —

That with our small conjunction, we should on,

To see how fortune is dispos'd to us;

For, as he writes, there is no quailing'') now;

Because the king is certainly possess'd

Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: —
And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want
Seems more than we shall find it : — Were it good.
To set the exact wealth of all our states
All at one cast? to set so rich a main
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
It were not good: for therein should we read
The very bottom and the soul of hope;
The very list, ^) the very utmost bound
Of all our fortunes.

Doug. 'Faith, and so we should;

Where now remains'") a sweet reversion:
We may boldly spend upon the hope of what
Is to come in:
A comfort of retirement ') lives in this.

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto.
If that the devil and mischance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our aff'airs.

Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here.
The quality and hair *) of our attempt
Brooks no division: It will be thought

By some, that know not why he is away.

That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike

Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence;

And think, how such an apprehension

May turn the tide of fearful faction,

And breed a kind of question in our cause:

For, well you know, we of the olfering side ^)

Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement;

And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence

The eye of reason may pry in upon us :

This absence of your father's draws a curtain, *<*)

That shows the ignorant a kind of fear

Before not dreamt of.

Hot. You strain too far.

I, rather, of his absence make this use; —
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion,
A larger dare to our great enterprize.
Than if the earl were here: for men must think.
If we, without his help, can make a head
To push against the kingdom; with his help.
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. —
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole —

Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a word
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul.

Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord.
The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John.

Hot. No harm: What more?

Ver. And further, I have learn'd, —

The king himself in person is set forth.
Or hitherwards intended speedily.
With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son.
The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that dafTd the world aside.
And bid it pass?

Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms.

All plum'd like estridges, that wing the wind;
Bated like eagles having lately bath'd; ")
Glittering in golden coats, like images;
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on.
His cuisses ' ^) on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, —
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat.
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch ' ^) the world with noble horsemanship.

Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in
March,
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come;
They come like sacrifices in their trim.
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war.
All hot, and bleeding, will we off'er them:
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit.
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh.
And yet not ours: — Come, let me take my horse,
Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt.
Against the bosom of the prince of Wales:
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse.
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. —
O, that Glendower were come !

Ver. There is more news:

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along.
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.

Doug. That's the worst tidings, that I hear of yet.

XVIII.

Act IV.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

379

Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.

Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto ?

F#r. To thirty thousand.

Hot. Forty let it be;

My father and Glendower being both away.
The powers of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us make a muster speedily :
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.

Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year, i

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A public Road near Coventry.

Enter Falstakf and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me
a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through;
we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night.

Bard. Will you give me money, captain?

Fal. Lay out, lay out.

Bard. This bottle makes an angel.

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and if it
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.

Bard. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit.

Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a
souced gurnet.*'*) I have misused the king's press
damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred
and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds.
I press me none but good householders, yeomen's
sons: inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as
had been asked twice on the bans; such a commo-
dity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the de^al
as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver,
worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I
pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with
hearts in their bellies no bigger than pin's heads,
and they have bought out their ser\'ices; and now
my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals,
lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as rag-
ged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the
glutton's dogs licked his sores : and such as, indeed,
were never soldiers; but discarded unjust serving-
men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted
tapsters, and ostlers trade- fallen; the cankers of a
calm world, and a long peace; ten times more dis-
honourable ragged than an old faced ancient: '*)
and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that
have bought out their services, that you would think,
that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals,
lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff
and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and
told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed
the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare-
crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them,
that's flat; — Nay, and the villains march wide
betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves '*) on; for,
indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There's
but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the
half-shirt is two napkins, tacked together, and
thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat
without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth,
stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-
nose inn-keeper of Daintry: ") But that's all one;
they'll find linen enough on every hedge.

Enter Prince Hbnry and Westmorbland.

P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt?

Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a

devil dost thou in Warwickshire ? — My good lord

of Westmoreland, I cry your mercy ; I thought your
honour had already been at Shrewsbury.

Went. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I
were there, and you too; but my powers are there
already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all;
we must away all night.

Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant as a
cat to steal cream.

P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed ; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me.
Jack; Whose fellows are these that come after?

Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.

P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals.

Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; '*) food for
powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well
as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.

Wett. Ay, but, sir John, rocthinks they are ex-
ceeding poor and bare; too beggarly.

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not where
they had that ; and for their bareness, — I am sure,
they never learned that of me.

P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn ; unless you call three
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste;
Percy is already in the field.

Fal. What, is the king encamped?

Wett. He is, sir John; I fear, we shall stay too long.

Fal. Well,
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of

a feast.
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter Hotspur, W'orckster, Douglas, and
Vbhnon.

Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.

Wor. It may not be.

Doug. You give him then advantage.

Ver. Not a w hit

Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply?

Ver. So do we.

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtfiiL

Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.

Ver. Do not, my lord.

Doug. You do not counsel well;

You speak it out of fear, and cold heart.

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,
(And I dare well maintain it with my life,}
If well-respected honour bid me on,
I hold as little counsel with weak fear.
As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives: — *')
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle,
Which of us fears.

Doug. Yea, or to-night.

Ver. Content.

Hot. To-night, say I.

Ver. Come, come, it may not be,

I wonder much, being men of such great leading, - •*)
That you foresee not what impediments
Drag back our expedition: Certain horse
Of my cousin' Vernon's are not yet come up;
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; ,
And now their pride and mettle is asleep.
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull.
That not a horse is half the half himself. **)

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy
In general, journey-bated, and brought low;
The better part of ours is full of rest.

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours:
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.

[Tke Trumpet *ound» a Parley

xvm.

380

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act IV.

Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king,

If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect.

Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would to
God,
You were of our determination !
Some of us love you well: and even those some
Envy your great deserving, and good name;
Because you are not of our quality, ^^)
But stand against us like an enemy.

Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so,
So long as, out of limit, and true rule.
You stand against anointed majesty !
But, to my charge. — The king hath sent to know
The nature of your griefs; -^) and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil peace
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
Audacious cruelty: If that the king
Have any way your good deserts forgot, ->—
Which he confesseth to be manifold, —
He bids you name your griefs ; and, with all speed,
You shall have your desires, with interest;
And pardon absolute for yourself and these.
Herein misled by your suggestion.

Hot. The king is kind ; and, well we know, the king
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
My father, and my uncle, and myself.
Did give him that same royalty he wears:
And, — when he was not six and twenty strong,
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, —
My father gave him welcome to the shore:
And — when he heard him swear, and vow to God,
He came but to be duke of Lancaster,
To sue his livery, ^*) and beg his peace;
With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — .
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd.
Swore him assistance, and perforra'd it too.
Now, when the lords and barons of the realm
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
The more and less-*) came in with cap and knee;
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages;
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes.
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths.
Gave him their heirs; as pages foUow'd him.
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes.
He presently, — as greatness knows itself, —
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor.
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg;
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees.
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth:
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face,
This seeming brow of justice, did he win
The hearts of all that he did angle for.
Proceeded further; cut me off the heads
Of all the favourites, that the absent king
In deputation left behind him here.
When he was personal in the Irish war.

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this.

Hot. Then, to the point. — —

In short time after, he depos'd the king;
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life;
And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: ^*)
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March
(Who is, if every owner were well plac'dj
Indeed his king), to be incag'd in Wales,
There without ransome to lie forfeited:
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories;
Sought to entrap me by intelligence;

Bvm

Rated my uncle from the council-board;
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong:
And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out
This head of safety ; ^ ' ) and, withal, to pry
Into his title, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance.

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king?

Hot. Not so, sir Walter; we'll withdraw awhile.
Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd
Some surety for a safe return again.
And in the morning early shall mine uncle
Bring him our purposes; and so farewell.

Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and love.

Hot. And, may be, so we shall.

Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do! \Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

York. A Room in the Archbishop'* House.

Enter the Archbishop of York, and a
Gentleman.

Arch. Hie, good sir Michael; bear this sealed
brief, ^8)
With winged haste, to the lord mareshal;
This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest
To whom they are directed: if you knew
How much they do import, you would make haste.

Gent. My good lord,
I guess their tenor.

Arch. Like enough, you do.

To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day.
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must 'bide the touch: For, sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly given to understand,
The king, with mighty and quick-raised power.
Meets with lord Harry : and I fear, sir Michael, —
What with the sickness of Northumberland,
(Whose power was in the first proportion,) -')
And what with Owen Glendower's absence, thence,
(Who with them was a rated sinew too, ^")
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,) —
I fear, the power of Percy is too weak
To wage an instant trial with the king.

Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear;
there's Douglas,
And Mortimer. ^ ' )

Arch. No, Mortimer's not there.

Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry
Percy,
And there's my lord of Worcester; and a head
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.

Arch. And so there is : but yet the king hath drawn
The special head of all the land together; —
The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster,
The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt;
And many more cor-rivals, and dear men
Of estimation, and command in arras.

Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd.

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear;
And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed:
For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, —

For he hath heard of our confederacy,

And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him,
Therefore, make haste: I must go write again
To other friends; and so farewell, sir Michael.

\Exeunt, severally.

Act V.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

381

ACT V.

SCBNB I. The King'* Camp near
Shrewsbury.

Enter King Hbnry, Prince Hbnbt, Prince John

of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John

Falstaff.

K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon busky hill! ') the day looks pale
At his distemperature.

P. Hen. The southern wind

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; -)
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day.

K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize;
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. —

Trumpet. Enter Worcestbr and Vernon.
How now, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet: You have deceiv'd oiu* trust;
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:
That is not well, my lord, this is not welL
What say you to't? will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war?
And move in that obedient orb again.
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhal'd meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn tunes?

Wor. Hear me, my liege:
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my life
With quiet hours; for, I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.

K. Hen. You have not sought it! how comes it then?

Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace. ^)

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks
Of favour, from myself, and all our house;
And yet I must remember jou, my lord.
We were the first and dearest of your friends^
For you, my staff of office did I break
In Richard's time; and posted day and night
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,
When jet you were in place and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother, and his son.
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time: You swore to us, —

And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,

That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state;
Nor claim no further than your new-fail'n right.
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we swore our aid. But, in short space.
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head;
And such a flood of greatness fell on you, —
What with our help; what with the absent king;
What with the injuries of a wanton time; "*)
The seeming sufferances that you had borne;
And the contrarious winds, that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars.
That all in England did repute him dead, —
And, from this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
To gripe the general sway into your hand:
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;
And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
As that xmgentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, *)
Useth the sparrow : did oppress our nest ;
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk.

That even our love durst not come near your sight.
For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present headi
Whereby we stand opposed *') by such means
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself;
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance.
And violation of all faith and troth
Sworn to us in your younger enterprize.

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articu-
lated, ■)
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches;
To face the garment of rebellion '

With some fine colour, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents.
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurl J burly innovation:
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause;
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time ^)
Of pellmell havoc and confusion.

P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter.
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew.
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy : By my hopes, —
This present enterprize set off his head, — ')
I do not think, a braver gentleman.
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young.
More daring, or more bold, is now alive.
To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry;
And so, I hear, he doth account me too :

Yet this before my father's majesty,

I am content, that he shall take the odda
Of his great name and estimation;
And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortime with him in a single fight.

K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture
thee.
Albeit, considerations infinite

Do make against it: — No, good Worcester, no.
We love our people well; even those we love.
That are misled upon your cousin's part:
And, will they take the offer of our grace
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his:
So tell your cousin, and bring me word
What he will do : — But if he will not yield.
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
And they shall do their office. So, be gone;
We will not now be troubled with reply;
We offer fair, take it advisedly.

\Exeunt Wokcester and Yehhoh.

P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life:
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
Are confident against the world in arms.

X. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
For, on their answer, will we set on them:
And God befriend us, as our cause is just!

[ExewU KijiG, Blckt, and Prince Johr.

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and
bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship.

P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.

Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.

P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. {Exiu

Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay
him before his day. What need I be so forward
with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no mat-
ter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how, if ho-
nour prick me off when I come on? how then?

KVIII.

382

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act V.

Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No.
Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour
hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour?
A word. What is in that word, honour? What is
that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! — Who hath
it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it?
No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then?
Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the
living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not suffer it : —
therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere scut-
cheon, *") and so ends my catechism. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The Rebel Camp.

Enter Worcester and Vernon.

Wor. 0,no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard,
The liberal kind offer of the king.

Ver. 'Tweie best, he did.

Wor. Then ai'e we all undone.

It is not possible, it cannot be,
The king should keep his word in loving us;
He will suspect us still, and find a time
To punish tliis offence in other faults:
Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes: ' ')
For treason is but trusted like the fox;
Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up,
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
Look how we can, or sad, or merrily.
Interpretation will misquote our looks;
And we shall feed like oxen at a stall.
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
My nephew's trespass may be well forgot,
It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood;
And an adopted name of privilege, —
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen:
All his offences live upon my head.
And on his father's; — we did train him on:
And, his corruption being ta'en from us.
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know,
In any case, the offer of the king.

Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so.
Here comes your cousin.

Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and Officers and
Soldiers, behind.

Hot. My uncle is return'd : — Deliver up
My lord of Westmoreland. — *-) Uncle, what news?

Wor. The king will bid you battle presently.

Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland.

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit.

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king.

Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid!

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances.
Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, —
By now forswearing that he is forsworn:
He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge
With haughty arms this hateful name in us.

Re-enter Douglas.

Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown
A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth.
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it;
Which cannot choose but bring him ((uickly on.

Wor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before
the king,
And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.

Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads;
And that no man might draw short brealh to-day.

But I, and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me,
How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt?

Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life,
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly.
Unless a brother should a brother dare
To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
He gave you all the duties of a man;
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue;
Spoke your deservings Hke a chronicle;
Making you ever better than his praise.
By still dispraising praise, valued with you:
And, which became him like a prince indeed.
He made a blushing cital '3) of himself;
And chid his truant youth with such a grace,
As if he master'd there a double spirit,
Of teaching, and of learning, instantly.
There did he pause; But let me tell the world, —
If he outlive the envy of this day,
England did never owe so sweet a hope,
So much misconstrued in his wantonness.

Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured
Upon his follies; never did I hear
Of any prince, so wild, at liberty: — '^)
But, be he as he will, yet once ere night
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm.

That he shall shrink under my courtesy.

Arm, arm, with speed: And, fellows, soldiers,

friends.
Better consider what you have to do,
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,
Can lift your blood up with persuasion.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, here are letters for you.

Hot. I cannot read them now. —
O gentlemen, the time of life is short;
To spend that shortness basely, were too long,
If life did ride upon a dial's point.
Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
An if we live, we live to tread on kings;
If die, brave death, when princes die with us !
Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair,
When the intent of bearing them is just.

Enter another Messenger.

Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace.

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,
For I profess not talking; only this —
Let each man do his best: and here draw I
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now, — Esperance! — ' *) Percy ! — and set on. —
Sound all the lofty instruments of war.
And by that jnusic let us all embrace :
For, heaven to earth, *'') some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy.

[The Trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.

SCENE III.

Plain near Shrewsbury.

Excursions, and parties fighting. Alarum to the
Battle. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting.

Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus
Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek
Upon my head?

Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas;

And 1 do haunt thee in the battle thus,
Because some tell me that thou art a king.

xvm.

Act V.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

383

Blunt. They tell thee true.

Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry,
The sword hath ended him: so shall it thee.
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

Blunt. I was not bora a yielder, thou proud Scot;
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
liord Stafford's death. [They fight, and Blunt j» tlain.

Enter Hotspur.

Hot. O Douglas, liadst thou fought at Hohnedon
thus,
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.

Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless lies
the king.

Hot. Where?

Doug. Here.

Hut. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full well:
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;
Semblably furnish'd '') like the king himself.

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear.
>Vhy didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats.

Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
rii murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,
Until I meet the king.

Hot. Up, and away;

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt.

Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff.

Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London,
I fear the shot here; here's no scoring, but upon
the pate. — Soft! who art thou? sir Walter Blunt ; —
there's honour for you: Here's no vanity! — I am
as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep
lead out of me! I need no more weight than my
own bowels. — I have led my raggamuffins where
they are peppered : there's but three of my hundred
and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's
end, to beg during life. But who comes here?

Enter Prince Hbnrt.

P. Hen. What, stand' st thou idle here? lend me

thy sword :
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are unreveng'd: Pr'ythee, lend thy
sword. • ^}

Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe
a while. — Turk Gregoiy never did such deeds in
arms, ") as I have done this day. I have paid
Percy, I have made him sure.

P. Hen. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee.
Lend thy sword, I pr'ythee. -")

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive thou
get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou
wilt.

P. Hen. Give it me: What, is it in the case?

Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will
sack a city. [The Pbikce draira out a bottle of sack.

P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now!
[Throw* it at him, and exit.

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If
he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I come
in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado -') of
me. I like not such grinning honour as sir Walter
hath: Give me life: which if I can save, so; if
not, honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Another part of the Field.

Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Kme, Prince
Henry, Prince John, and Wbstmorblano.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee,
Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much: —
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.
P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.
P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up,
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.
K. Hen. I will do so: —
My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.
West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent.
P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your
help:
And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive
The prince of Wales from such a field as this;
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on.
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres!
P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin
Westmoreland,
Our duty this way lies; for God's sake, come.

[Exeunt Prince John and Westmo&eland.
P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan-
caster,
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John;
But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point.
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such £ui ungrown warrior.

P. Hen. O, this boy,

liends mettle to us all. [Exit.

Alarums. Enter Douglas.

Doug. Another king! they grow like hydras' heads:
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those
That wear those colours on them. — What art thou,
That counterfeit'st the person of a king?

K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves
at heart.
So many of his shadows thou hast met.
And not the very king. I have two boys.
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field:
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
I will assay thee; so defend thyself.

Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit;
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king:
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be.
And thus I win thee.

' [They fight; the King being in danger, enter
Priuce Hknby.

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou
art like
Never to hold it up again! the spirits
Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms :
It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee;
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.

[They fight; Douglas flies.
Cheerly, my lord; How fares your grace? —
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent.
And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight.

K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile:
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion;
And shovv'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life.
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

P. Hen. O heaven! they did me too much injury.
That ever said, I hearken'd for your death.
If it were so, I might have let alone
The insulting hand of Douglas over you;
Which would have been as speedy in your end.

XVUi.

384

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

Act V.

As all the poisonous potions in the world.
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son.
K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas
Gawsey. [Exit King Hbkby.

Enter Hotspdr.

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.

Hot. My name is Harry Percy.

P. Hen. Why, then I see

A very yaliant rebel of the name.
I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,
To share with me in glory any more:
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign.
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales.

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come
To end the one of us; And 'would to God,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!

P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee ;
And all the buoHing honours on thy crest
I'll crop to make a garland for my head.

Hot. 1 can no longer brook thy vanities.

[They fight.

Enter Falstapf.
Fal Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! — Nay, you shall
find no boy's play here, I can tell you.

Enter DovGi-xs; he fights with Falstaff, who falls

down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas.

Hotspur is wounded, and falls.

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robbed me of my youth : - -)
I better brook the loss of brittle life.
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy swcrd

my flesh:

But thought's the slave of life, and life, time's fool;
And time, that takes survey of all the world,
Must have a stop. ^^) O, I could prophesy,
But that the earthy and cold hand of death
Lies on my tongue: — No, Percy, thou art dust,
And food for [Viet.

P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy : Fare thee well,
great heart! —
Dl-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk!
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
But now, two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
If thou wert sensible of courtesy,
I should not make so dear a show of zeal: —
But let my favours hide thy mangled face; ^*)
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph! —

[He gees Falstaff on the ground.
What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!
I could have better spar'd a better man.
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
If I were much in love with vanity.
Death hath not struck so fat a deer ^') to-day.
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray: —
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by;
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit.

Fal. [Aiting tlowly.] Embowelled! if thou embowel
me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and
eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to
counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid

me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no
counterfeit: To die is to be a counterfeit; for he
is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the
life of a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man
thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true
and perfect image of life indeed. The better part
of valour is — discretion ; in the which better part,
I have saved my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this
gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: How, if he
should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid, he
would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll
make him sure: yea, and I'll swear I killed him.
Why may not he rise, as well as I? Nothing con-
futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore,
sirrah, [stabbing him] with a new wound in your
thigh, come you along with me.

[Takes HoTSPUB on his back.

Be- enter Prince Henry and Prince John.

P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou
flesh'd
Thy maiden sword.

P. John. But, soft ! whom have we here ?

Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead?

P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless and
bleeding

Upon the ground. ^*)

Art thou alive? or is it phantasy
That plays upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, speak;
We will not trust our eyes, without our ears: —
Thou art not what thou seem'st.

Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double man:^')
but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack.
There is Percy: [throwing the body down] if your
father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him
kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either
earl or duke, I can assure you.

P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee
dead.

Fal. Didst thou ? — Lord, lord, how this world is
given to lying! — I grant you I was down, and
out of breath; and so was he: but we rose both
at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrews-
bury clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let
them, that should reward valour, bear the sin upon
their own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave
him this wound in the thigh : if the man were alive,
and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece
of my sword.

P.John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard.

P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. —
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

[A Retreat is sounded.
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours.
Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field,
To see what friends are living, who are dead.

[Exeunt Prince Henry and Priiice John.

Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that
rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow great,
I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and
live cleanly, as a nobleman should do.

[Exit, bearing off the Body.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Field.

The Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince

Hbnby, Prince John, Wkstmorkland, and others,

with WoRcEsTKR and Vernon, Prisoners.

K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. —

KVni.

Act V.

KING HENRY IV. PART I.

385

Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace,
Pardon, and terms of love to all of youV
And would'st thou turn our offers contrary?
Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust?
Three knights upon our party slain to-day,
A noble earl, and many a creature else,
Had been alive this hour.
If, like a christian, thou hadst truly borne
Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to;
And I embrace this fortune patiently,
Since not to be avoided it falls on me.

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Ver-
non too:
Other offenders we will pause upon. —

[Exeunt Wobcester and Vernon guarded.
How goes the field?

P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he
saw
The fortune of the day quite tum'd from him,
The noble Percy slain, and all his men
Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest;
And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd.
That the pursuers took him. At my tent

The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace,
I may dispose of him.

K. Hen. With all my heart.

P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you
This honourable bounty shall belong:
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him
Up to his pleasure, ransomeless, and free;
His valour, shown upon our crests to-day,
-^} Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds.
Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

K. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our
power. —
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,
Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest

speed.
To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop,
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms:
Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards

Wales,
To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway.
Meeting the check of such another day:
And since this business so fair is done,
Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeuru.

Kvm.

25

KING

XIX.

HENRY

PART II.

IV.

PERSONS REPBESENTED.

King Henry the Fourth.

Hbnry, Prince o/ Wales, afterwards King

Henry v.;
Thomas, Duke of Clarence;
Prince John of Lancaster, *) afterwards^ hisSons.

(2 Henry V.) D«te 0/ Bedford;
Prince Humphrky of Gloster, afterwards

(2 Henry V.) Duke of Gloster;

Earl of Warwick ; \

Earl of Westmoreland ; f ^ *i. -c- , » *
^ •' ? of the Kine'« Party.

Gowkr ; ( I b a

Harcourt; '

Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench.

A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice.

Earl o/" Northumberland;

Scroop, Archbishop of YoxV.;

Lord Mowbray; f Enemies to the

Lord Hastings; [ King.

Lord Bardolph;

Sir John Colville;

Scene

Travers and Morton, Domestics 0/ Northumber-
land.

Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page,

PoiNs and Peto, Attendants on Prince Henry.

Shallow and Silence, Country Justices.

Davy, Servant to Shallow.

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf,
Recruits.

Fang and Snare, Sheriff's Officers.

Rumour.

A Porter.

A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue.

Lady Northumberland.
Lady Percy.
Hostess Quickly.
Doll Tear-sheet.

Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers,
Messenger, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, ^c.

England.

INDUCTION.

Warkworth. Before Northumberland'*
Caslle.

Enter Rumour, -) painted full of tongues.

Rumour.
Open your ears; For which of you will stop
The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west.
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride;
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity.
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence;
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war.
And no such matter! Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures;
And of 80 easy and so plain a stop.
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude.
Can play upon it. But what need 1 thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before king Harry's victory;
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,

Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops,

Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I

To speak so true at first? my office is

To hoise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell

Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword;

And that the king before the Douglas' rage

Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.

This have I rumour'd thi'ough the peasant towns

Between that royal field of Shrewsbury

And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,

Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,

Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on.

And not a man of them brings other news

Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour's

tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true

wrongs. [Exit.

ACT I.

SCENE I. The same.

The Porter before the Gate; Enter Lord
Bardolph.

Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ? — Where is

the earl?
Port. What shall I say you are?
Bard. Tell thou the earl,

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here-

XIX.

Act I.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

387

Port. His Lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard ;
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer.

Enter Northcjibbrt.and.

Bard. Here comes the earL

North. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute
now
Should be the father of some stratagem: ^)
The times are wild; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose.
And bears down all before him.

Bard. Noble earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

North. Good, an heaven will!

Bard. As good as heart can wish : —

The king is almost wounded to the death;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John,
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John,
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won.
Came not, till now, to dignify the times.
Since Caesar's fortunes!

North. How is this deriv'd?

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from
thence;
A gentleman well bred, and of good name.
That freely render'd me these news for true.

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom
I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is fumish'd with no certainties.
More than he haply may retail from me.

Enter Thavbrs.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come
with you?

Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile tum'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forspent ■*) with speed.
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse:
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck.
And that young Harrv' Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able horse the head.
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way.
Staying no longer question.

North. Ha! Again.

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill-luck!

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what; —

If my young lord your son have not the day.
Upon mine honour, for a silken point *)
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by

Travers,
Give then such instances of loss?

Bard. Who, he?

He was some hilding fellow, «) that had stol'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

Enter Morton.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title leaf, '')
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood

Hath left a witness'd usurpation. ')

Say, Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask.
To fright our party.

North, How doth my son, and brother?

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless.
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night.
And would have told him, half his Troy was bum'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue.
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou would'st say, — Your son did thus, and

thus:
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed.
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise.
Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead.

Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord your son,

North. Why, he is dead.

See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath !
He, that but fears the thing he would not know.
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace.
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit ') is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye:
Thoushak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin,***)
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so ;
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead;
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knoUing a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen:
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, * ^) wearied and ont-

breath'd.
To Harry Monmouth ; whose swift wrath beat dowo
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best tempered courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd ;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heav^^ in Hotspur's loss.
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear.
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
B'ly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,

25*

388

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act I.

The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach, '2) and did grace the shame
Of those thatlturn'd their backs; and, in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is, — . that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: This is the news at full.

Horth. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news.
Having been well, that would have made me sick.
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle ^^) under life.
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
VVeaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief.
Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou nice ^'*)

crutch ;
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel.
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif;
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head.
Which princes, iiesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; And approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Iiet heav'n kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd ! let order die !
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end.
And darkness be the burier of the dead! ^*)
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your

honour.
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said, —
Let us make head. It was your presurmise.
That, in the dole of blows your son might drop:
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er:
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable
Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd;
Yet did you say, — Go forth; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stifi"-borne action : What hath then befallen.
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than that being which was like to beV
Bard. We ail, that are engaged to this loss.
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas.
That, if we wrought our life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And, since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods.
Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most noble lord,

I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,

The gentle archbishop of York is up.
With well-appointed powers; he is a man.
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corps.
But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight:
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only

Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls.

This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,

As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop

Turns insurrection to religion:

Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts.

He's foUow'd both with body and with mind;

And doth enlarge his rising with the blood

Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones:

Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause;

Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land,

Gasping for life under great Bollngbroke;

And more, and less, '*) do flock to follow him.

North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth,
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety, and revenge:
Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed ;
Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-

London. A Street.

Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing
his sword and buckler.

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my
water?

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good
healthy water: but, for the party that owed it, he
might have more diseases than he knew for.

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: ^')
The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man,
is not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter,
more than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not
only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in
other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow,
that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If
the prince put thee into my service for any other
reason than to set me off, why then I have no
jugdment. Thou whoreson mandrake, *^) thou art
fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my
heels. I was never manned with an agate till now;")
but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but
in vile apparel, and send you back again to your
master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your
master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner
have a beaid grow in the palm of my hand, than
he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will
not stick to say, his face is a face-royal: God may
finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet:
he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber
shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will
be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his
father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace,

but he is ahnost out of mine, I can assure him.

What said master Dumbleton about the satin for
my short cloak, and slops?

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better
assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his
bond and yours; he liked not the security.

Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton! may his
tongue be hotter! — A whoreson Achitophel! a
rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman
in hand, ^") and then stand upon security! — the
whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but
high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles:
and if a man is thorough with them in honest ta-
king up,-') then they must stand upon — security.
I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth,
as olfer to stop it with security. I looked he should
have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I
am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well,
he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of

XIX.

Act I.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

389 t

abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines
through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have
his own lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph?

Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your wor-
ship a horse.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, --) and he'll buy me
a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife
in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, -^) and an
Attendant.

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed
the prince for striking him about Bardolph.

Fal. Wait close, I will not see him.

Ch.Just. What's he that goes there?

Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.

Ch. Just. He that w as in question for the rob-
bery V

Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good
service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster.

Ch.Just. What, to York? Call him back again.

Atten. Sir John Falstaff!

Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf.

Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf.

Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any
thing good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must
speak with him.

Atten. Sir John,

Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not
wars? is there not employment? Doth not the king
lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers?
Though it be a shame to be on any side but one,
it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worse
side, were it worse than the name of rebellion can
tell how to make it.

Atten. You mistake me, sir.

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man?
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I
had lied in my throat if 1 had said so.

Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood
and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to
tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am
any other than an honest man.

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside
that which grows to me! If thou get'st any leave
of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert
better be hanged: You hunt-counter, -■*) hence!
avaunt !

Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you.

Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a Vord with you.

Fal. My good lord! — God give your lordship
good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship
abroad: I heard say your lordship was sick: I hope
your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship,
though not clean past your youth, hath yet some
smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of
time; and 1 most humbly beseech your lordship, to
have a reverend care of your health.

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your
expedition to Shrewsbury.

Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty
is returned with some discomfort from Wales.

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty : — You would
not come Avhen I sent for you.

Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen
into this same whoreson apoplexy.

Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him ! I pray, !et me
speak with you.

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of
lethargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of sleep-
ing in the blood, a whoreson tingling.

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is.

Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from
study, and perturbation of the brain: I have read
the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of
deafness.

Ch. Just. I think, yon are fallen into the disease;
for you hear not what I say to you.

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't
please you, it is the disease of not listening, the
malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal.

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend
the attention of your ears; and 1 care not, if I do
become your physician.

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord: but not so
patient: your lordship may minister the potion of
imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how
I should be your patient to follow your prescrip-
tions, the wise jnay make some dram of a scruple,
or, indeed, a scruple itself.

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters
against you for your life, to come speak with me.

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned coun-
sel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come.

Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in
great infamy.

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live
in less.

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your
waste is great.

Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would ray means
were greater, and my waist slenderer.

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince.

Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.

Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed
wound; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a
little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill:
you may thank the unquiet time for your quite
o'erposting that action.

Fal. My lord?

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake
not a sleeping wolf.

Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox.

Ch.Just. What! you are as a candle, the better
part burnt out.

Fal. A wassel candle, my lord; *^) all tallow: if
I did say of wax, my growth would approve the
truth.

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face,
but should have his effect of gravity.

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and
down, like his ill angel.

Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but,
I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without
weighing : and yet, in some respects, I grant, I can-
not go, I cannot tell: ^') Virtue is of so little re-
gard in these coster-monger times, - ') that true
valour is turned bearherd: Pregnancy -*) is made
a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving
reckonings: all the other gifts apperthient to man,
as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth
a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider not the
capacities of us that are young: you measure the
heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls;
and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must
confess, are wags too.

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll
of youth, that are written down old with all the
characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a
dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white board? a de-
creasing leg ? an increasing belly ? Is not your voice
broken? your wind short? your chin double? your
wit single? ^') and every part about you blasted

XTK.

390

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act I.

with antiquity? ^o) and will you yet call yourself
young? Fye, fye, fye, sir John!

Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something
a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with
hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my
youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only
old in judgment and understanding; and he that will
caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend
me the money, and have at him. For the box o'the
ear that the prince gave you, — he gave it like a
rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord.
I have checked him for it; and the young lion re-
pents: marry, not in ashes, and sackcloth; but in
new silk, and old sack.

Ch.Jugt. Well, heaven send the prince a better

companion !

Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince!
I cannot rid my hands of him.

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and
prince Harry : I hear, you are going with lord John
of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl
of Northumberland.

Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it.
But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace
at home, that our armies join not in a hot day!
for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with
me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it
be a hot day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle,
I would I might never spit white again. There is
not a dangerous action can peep out his head, but
I am thrust upon it: Well, 1 cannot last ever: But
it was always yet the trick of our English nation,
if they have a good thing, to make it too common.
If you will needs say, I am an old man, you should
give me rest. I would to God, my name were not
so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to
be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to
nothing with perpetual motion.

Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest ; And God
bless your expedition!

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound,
to furnish me forth?

Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too
impatient to bear crosses. ^^) Fare you well: Com-
mend me to my cousin Westmoreland.

[Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant.

Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. — ^-)
A man can no more separate age and covetousness,
than he can part young limbs and lechery: but the
gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other;
and so both the degrees prevent my curses. — ^^)
Boy! —

Page. Sir?

Fal. What money is in my purse?

Page. Seven groats and two-pence.

Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption
of the purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it
out, but the disease is incurable. — Go bear this
letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince;
this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old
mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to
marry since I perceived the first white hair on my
chin: About it; you know where to find me. [Exit
Page.] A pox of this gout ! or, a gout of this pox !
for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with ray
great toe. It is no matter, if I do halt; I have
the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem
the more reasonable: A good wit will make use of
any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity. ^'^)

[Exit.

York.

SCENE III.
A Room in the Archbishop's Palace.

Enter the Archbishop 0/ York, the Lords Hastings,
Mowbray, and Bardolph.

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known
our means;
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all,
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: —
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?

Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms;
But gladly would be better satisfied.
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.

Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth
thus;
Whether our present five and twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.

Hast. With him, we may.

Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point;

But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand:
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted.

Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed.
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

Bard. It was, my lord ; who lin'd himself with hope.
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:
And so, with great imagination.
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
And, winking, leap'd into destruction.

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt.
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope.

Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war; —
Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,)
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair.
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build,
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house.
Then must we rate the cost of the erection:
Which if we find outweighs ability.
What do we then, but draw anew the model
In fewer offices; or, at least, desist
To build at all? Much more, in this great work,
(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down.
And set another up,) should we survey
The plot of situation, and the model;
Consent upon a sure foundation; ^')
Question surveyors; know our own estate,
How able such a work to undergo,
To weigh against his opposite; or else,
We fortify in paper, and in figures.
Using the names of men, instead of men:
Like one, that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part- created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds.
And waste lor churlish winter's tyranny.

Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth,)
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
XIX.

Act II.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

391

The utmost man of expectation;

I think, we are a body strong enough,

Even as we are, to equal with the king.

Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty
thousand ?

Hast. I'o us, no more; nay, not so much, lord
Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads; one power against the French,^')
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Must take up us: So is the unfirm king
In three divided; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.

Arch. That he should draw his several strengths
together.
And come against us in full puissance.
Need not be dreaded.

Hast. If he should do so,

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels: never fear that.

Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither?

Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland :
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth:
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.

Arch. Let us on;

And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice.
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: —
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many! with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou would'st have him be?
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him.
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton, bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up.
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times ?
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die.
Are now become enaraour'd on his grave:
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head.
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, yield us that king again,
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst!
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.

Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbei's, and set on ?

Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. London. A Street.

Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, with her;
and Snare, following.

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action?

Fang. It is entered.

Host. Where is your yeoman? *) Is it a lusty
yeoman? will a' stand to't?

Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare!

Host. O lord, ay: good master Snare.

Snare. Here, here.

Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff.

Host. Yea, good master Snare; I have entered
him and all.

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives,
for he will stab.

Host. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed
me in mine own house, and that most beastly: iii
good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if
his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he
will spare neither man, woman, nor child.

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his
thrust.

Host. No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow.

Fang. An I but fist him once; an a' come but
within my vice; — -)

Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant you,
he's an infinitive thing upon ray score: — Good
master Fang, hold him sure; — good master Snare,
let him not 'scape. He comes continually to Pie-
corner, (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle;
and he's indited to. dinner to the lubbar's head ^)
in Lumbert-street, to master Smooth's the silkman;
I pray ye, since my^^Hiion is entered, and my case
so openly known to the world, let him be brought
in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long loan
for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne,
and borne, and borne; and have been fubbed off,
and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to
that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There
is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should
be made an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's
wrong.

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and Babdolph.

Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose
knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do
your offices, master Fang, and master Snare; do me,
do me, do me your offices.

Fal. How now? whose mare's dead? what's the
matter ?

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis-
tress Quickly.

Fal. Away, varlets ! — Draw, Bardolph ; cut me off
the villain's head ; throw the quean in the channel.

Host. Throw me in the channel? I'll throw thee
In the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bas-
tardly rogue! — Murder, murder! O thou honey-
suckle villain ! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the
king's? O thou honey-seed rogue! *) thou art a
honey-seed; a man queller, and a woman queller.

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph.

Fang. A rescue! a rescue!

Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. —
Thou wo't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't thou? do,
do, thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed !

Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you
fustilarian! *) I'll tickle your catastrophe.

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended.

Ch. Just. What's the matter ? keep the peace here, ho !

Host. Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech
you, stand to me!

Ch. Just. How now, sir John? what, are you

brawling here?

Doth this become your place, your time, and business ?

You should have been well on your way to York. —

Stand from him, fellow? Wherefore bang'st thou

on him?

Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please your
grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is
arrested at my suit.

Ch. Just. For what sum ?

Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for
all, all I have ; he hath eaten me out of house and
home; he hath put all my substance into that fat
belly of his: — but I will have some of it out
again, or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare.

EIK.

392

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act II.

Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I
have any vantage of ground to get up.

Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John V Fye ! Avhat
man of good temper would endure this tempest of
exclamation ? Are you not ashamed, to enforce a poor
widow to so rough a course to come by her own?
Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself,
and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon
a parcel-gilt goblet, '') sitting in my Dolphin-chamber,
at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednes-
day in Whitsun-week, '} when the prince broke thy
head for liking his father to a singing-man of Wind-
sor; thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing
thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady
thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not good wife
Keech, the butclier's wife, ^) come in then, and call
me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of
vinegar ; telling us, she had a good dish of prawns ;
whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I
told thee, they were, ill for a green wound? And
didst thou not, Avhen she was gone down stairs,
desire me to be no more so familiarity with such
poor people; saying, that ere long they should call
me madam? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid
me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to
thy book-oath; deny it, if thou canst.

Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul: and she
says, up and down the town, that her eldest son
is like you: she hath been in good case, and the
truth is, povei'ty hath distracted her. But for these
foolish officers, I beseech you, I may have redress
against them.

Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted
with your manner of wrenching the true cause the
false way. It is not a confident bi'ow, nor the
throng of words that come with such more than
impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a
level consideration; you have, as it appears to me,
practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this wo-
man, and made her serve your uses both in purse
and person.
Host. Yea, in troth, my lord.
Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace : — Pay her the debt you
owe her, and unpay the villainy you have done with
her; the one you may do with sterling money, and
the other with current repentance.

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap ')
without reply. You call honourable boldness, im-
pudent sauciness: if a man will make court'sy, and
say nothing, he is virtuous : No, my lord, my hum-
ble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor; I
say to you, I do desire deliverance from these offi-
cers, being upon hasty employment in the king's
affairs.

Ch.Just. You speak as having power to do wrong:
but answer in the effect of your reputation, * °) and
satisfy the poor woman.
Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Talcing her aside.

Enter Gower.

Ch. Just. Now, master Gower : What news ?

Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of Wales
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells.

Fal. As I am a gentleman:

Host. Nay, you said so before.

Fal. As I am a gentleman; Come, no more

words of it.

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must
be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry
of my dining-chambers.

Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and
for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the

story of the prodigal, or the German hunting in

water-work, *') is worth a thousand of these bed-
hangings, and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be

ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an it were not

for thy humours, there is not a better wench in

England. Go, wash thy face, and 'draw thy action :

Come, thou must not be in this humour with me;

dost not know me? Come, come, I know thou wast

set on to this.

Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty
nobles; i'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in
good earnest, la.

Fal. Let it alone; I'll make other shift; you'll be
a fool still.

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my
gown. I hope, you'll come to supper: You'll pay
me all together?

Fal. Will I live? — Go, with her, with her; [to
Bardolph] hook on, hook on.

Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at
supper?

Fal. No more words; let's have her.

[Exeunt Hostess, BARnoLPH, Officers, and Page.

Ch, Just. I have heard better news.

Fal. What's the news, my good lord ?

Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night?

Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord.

Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : What's the news,
my lord ?

Ch.Just. Come all his forces back?

Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland, and the archbishop.

Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord?

Ch.Just. You shall have lettei's of me presently:
Come, go along with me, good master Gowei'.

Fal. My lord!

Ch. Just. What's the matter?

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me
to dinner?

Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here: I
thank you, good sir John.

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go.

Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower?

Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these
manners, sir John?

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he
was a fool that taught them me. — This is the
right fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so
part fair.

Ch.Just. Now the Lord lighten thee! thou art a
great fool. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Another Street.

Enter Prince Henry and Poms.

P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary.

Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought, weari-
ness durst not have attached one of so high blood.

P. Hen. 'Faith it does me; though it discolours
the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it.
Doth it not show vilely in me, to desire small beer?

Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely
studied, as to remember so weak a composition.

P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely
got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor
creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble
considerations make me out of love with my great-
ness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember
thy name? or to laiow thy face to-morrow? or to

KUC.

Act II.

KING HENRY IV. PART II

393

take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast;
fctz. these, and those that >vere the peach-colour'd
ones? or to bear the inventory of thy shirts; as,
one for superfluity, and one other for use? — but
that, the tennis court-keeper knows better than I;
for it is a low ebb of linen with thee, when thou
keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a
great while, because the rest of thy low-countries
have made a shift to eat up thy holland : and God
knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of
thy linen, '-) shall inherit his kingdom: but the
midwives say, the children are not in the fault;
whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are
mightily strengthened.

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured
so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me, how
many good young princes would do so, their fathers
being so sick as yours at this time is?

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?

Poins. Yes ; and let it be an excellent good thing.

P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher
breeding than thine.

Point. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing
that you will tell.

P. Hen. Why, I tell thee, — it is not meet that
I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I
could tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for
fault of a better, to call my friend,) I could be sad,
and sad indeed too.

Poins. Very hardly, upon such a subject.

P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in
the devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy
and persistency: Let the end try the man. But I
tell thee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my
father is so sick: and keeping such vile company
as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all osten-
tation of sorrow. '^)

Poins. The reason?

P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me if I
should weep?

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

P. Hen. It would be every man's thought ; and thou
art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks ;
never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-
way better than thine: every man would think me
an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most
worshipful thought, to think so?

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and
so much engraffed to Falstaff.

P. Hen. And to thee.

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can
hear it with ray own ears: the worst that they can
say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that
I am a proper fellow of my hands; i-*) and those
two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass,
here comes Bardolph.

P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff; he had
him from me christian: and look, if the fat villain
have not transformed him ape.

Enter Bardolph and Page.

Bard. 'Save your grace!

P. Hen, And yours, most noble Bardolph !

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [to the Page] you
bashful fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore blush
you now? What a maidenly man at arms are you
become? Is it such a matter, to get a pottlep'ot's
maiden-head ?

Page. He called me even now, my lord, through
a red lattice, '*) and I could discern no part of his
face from the window: at last, I spied his eyes;
and, methought, he had made two holes in the "ale-
wife's new petticoat, and peeped through.

P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited?

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!

Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away!

P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: What dream, boy?

Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was
delivered of a fire-brand; ") and therefore I call
him her dream.

P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. —
There it is, boy. [Gives him money.

Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept
from cankers! — Well, there is sixpence to pre-
serve thee.

Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among
you, the gallows shall have wrong.

P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's
coming to town; there's a letter for you.

Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how
doth the martlemas, your master? '^)

Bard. In bodily health, sir.

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physi-
cian : but that moves not him ; though that be sick,
it dies not.

P. Hen. I do allow this wen ' ^) to be as familiar
with me as my dog: and he holds his place; for,
look you, how he writes.

Poins. [Reads.] John Falstaff, knight, Every

man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to
name himself. Even like those that are kin to the
king; for they never prick their finger, but they
say. There is some of the king's blood spilt! How
comes that? says he, that takes upon him not to
conceive: the answer is as ready as a borrower's
cap; •^) / am the king's poor cousin, sir.

P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will
fetch it from Japhet. But the letter: —

Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the
king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales,
greeting. — Why, this is a certiticate.

P. Hen. Peace !

Poins. / will imitate the honourable Roman in bre-
vity: — -") he sure means brevity in breath; short-
winded. — / commend me to thee, I commend thee,
and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins ;
for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears,
thou art to marry his sister Neil. Repent at idle
times as thou may'st, and so farewell.

Thine, by yea and no, (which is as
much as to say, as thou usest him,)
Jack Falstaff, with my familiars:
John, with my brothers and sisters;
and sir John with all Europe.

My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make
him eat it.

P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I
marry your sister?

Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! but
I never said so.

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time;
and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and
mock us. — Is your master here in London?

Bard. Yes, my lord.

P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed
in the old frank? -')

Bard. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap.

P. Hen. What company?

Page. Ephesians, --) my lord; of the old church.

P. Hen. Sup any women with him?

Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly,
and mistress Doll Tear-sheet.

P. Hen. What pagan may that be ? * ^)

KIK.

394

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act II.

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman
of my master's.

P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are
to the town-bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned,
at supper?

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I'll follow you.

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — . no
word to your master, that I am yet come to town :
There's for your silence.

Bard. I have no tongue, sir.

Page. And for mine, sir, — I will govern it.

P. Hen. Fare ye well: go. [Exeunt Babdolfu and
Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road.

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be-
tween Saint Alban's and London.

P. Hen. How might we see FalstafF bestow him-
self to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves
be seen?

Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and
wait upon him at his table as drawers.

P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descension !
it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice?
a low transformation ! that shall be mine : for, in
every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly.
Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Wark worth. Before the Castle.

Enter Northumbbrt>and, Lady Nortiiumbbrland,
and Lady Percy.

North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter.
Give even way unto my rough affairs:
Put not on you the visage of the times,
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more :
Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide.

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn;
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars !
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost; yours, and your son's.
For yours — may heavenly glory brighten it!
For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven: and, by his light,
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts; he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait:
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish.
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those that could speak low, and tardily.
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him: So that, in speech, in gait.
In diet, in affections of delight.
In military rules, humours of blood.
He was the mark and glass, copy and book.
That fashion'd others. And him, — O wondrous him !
O miracle of men! — him did you leave,
(Second to none, unseconded by you,)
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage; to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible : — - ■*) so you left him :
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong.
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him; let them alone j

The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers.
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck.
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

North. Beshrew your heart,

Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me.
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go, and meet with danger there;
Or it will seek me in another place.
And find me worse provided.

Lady N. O, fliy to Scotland,

Till that the nobles, and the armed commons.
Have of their puissance made a little taste.

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king.
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel.
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves.
First let them try themselves: So did your son;
He was so suffer'd; so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough.
To rain upon remembrance ^*) with mine eyes.
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven.
For recordation to my noble husband.

North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my
mind,
As with the tide swell'd up unto its height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop.

But many thousand reasons hold me back:

I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,

Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

London. A Room in the Boar's Head
Tavern, in Eastcheap. -^)

Enter two Drawers.

iDraw. What the devil hast thou brought there?
apple- Johns? thou know'st, sir John cannot endure
an apple- John.

2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true: The prince once
set a dish of apple- Johns before him, and told him,
there were five more sir Johns : and, putting off his
hat, said, / will now take my leave of these six
dry, round, old, withered knights. It angered him
to the heart: but he hath forgot that.

1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down :
And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; -')
mistress Tear-sheet would fain hear some music.
Despatch: — The room where they supped, is too
hot; they'll come in straight.

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and mas-
ter Poins anon: and they will put on two of our
jerkins, and aprons; and sir John must not know
of it: Bai'dolph hath brought word.

IDraw. By the mass, here will be old utis: -^)
It will be an excellent stratagem.
2 Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Exit.

Enter Hostess and Doll Tbar-shekt.

Host. I'faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are
in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge beats
as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your
colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose: But,
i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and
that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes
the blood ere one can say, — What's this? How do
you now?

Dot. Better than I was. Hem.

Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's worth
gold. Look, here comes sir John.

Enter Falstaff, singing.
Fal. When Arthur first in court — - ') Empty the

KIK.

Act II.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

395

Jordan. — And was a worthy king: [Exit Drawer.]
How now, mistress DollV

Host. Sick of a calm: ^'') yea, good sooth.

Fal. So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm,
they are sick.

Dot. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort
you give me?

Fal. You make fat rascals, ^*) mistress Doll.

Dol. I make them! gluttony and diseases make
them; I make them not.

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you
help to make the diseases, Doll; we catch of you,
Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my poor virtue,
grant that.

Dol. Ay, marry; our chains and our jewels.

Fal. Your broiphes, pearls, and owches; — for
to serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know :
To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely,
and to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged
chambers ^-) bravely:

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang
yourself!

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you
two never meet, but you fall to some discord: you
are both, in good troth, as rheumatic ^^) as two
dry toasts; ^'*) you cannot one bear with another's
confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear,
and that must be you: [to Doll] you are the weaker
vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel.

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge
full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture
of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a
hulk better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I'll be
friends with thee. Jack: thou art going to the wars;
and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no,
there is nobody cares.

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's ^^) below, and would
speak with you.

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not
come hither; it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in England.

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no,
by my faith; I must live amongst my neighbours;
I'll no swaggerers: I am in good name and fame
with the very best: — Shut the door; — there
comes no swaggerers here; I have not lived all this
while, to have swaggering now: — Shut the door,
I pray you.

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess? —

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John; there
comes no swaggerers here. ^'')

Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me; your
ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was
before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day;
and, as he said to me, — it was no longer ago than
Wednesday last, — Neighbour Quickly, says he ; —
master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; — Neigh-
bour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil;
for, saith he, you are in an ill name; — now he
said so, I can tell whereupon; for, says he, you
are an honest woman, and well thought on; there-
fore take heed what guests you receive: Receive,

says he, no swaggering companions. There

comes none here; — you would bless you to hear
what he said: — no, I'll no swaggerers.

Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater,^')
he; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy
greyhound: he will not swagger with a Barbary
hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of re-
sistance. — Call him up, drawer.

Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest

man my house, nor no cheater: ^^) But I do not
love swaggering; by my troth, I am the worse,
when one says — swagger: feel, masters, how I
shake; look you, I warrant you.

Dol. So you do, hostess.

Host. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere
an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.

Pist. 'Save you, sir John!

Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I
charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge
upon mine hostess.

Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two
bullets.

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly
offend her.

Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets:
I'll drink no more than wiU do me good, for no
man's pleasure, I.

Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy ; I will charge
you.

Dol. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion.
What ! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away ! I am meat
for your master.

Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy.

Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung,
away! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your
mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with
me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt
stale juggler, you ! — Since when, I pray you,
sir? — What, with two points ^') on your shoul-
der? much! '*'*)

Pist. I will murder your ruff for this.

Fal. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go
off here : discharge yourself of our company. Pistol.

Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet
captain.

Dol. Captain! thou abominable damned cheater,
art thou not ashamed to be called — captain? If
captains were of my mind, they would truncheon
you out, for taking their names upon you before
you have earned them. You a captain, you slave!
for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a
bawdy-house? — He a captain! Hang him, rogue!
He lives upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried
cakes. A captain ! these villains will make the word
captain as odious as the word occupy; which was
an excellent good word before it was ill sorted:
therefore captains had need look to it.

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll.

Pist. Not I : tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ; —
I could tear her: — I'll be revenged on her.

Page. Pray thee, go down.

Pist. I'll see her damned first; — to Pluto's damned
lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures
vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down! down,
dogs ! down, faitors ! '* ') Have we not Hiren here ? ■* -)

Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late,
i'faith : I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

Pist. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall pack-
horses.
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day.
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, *^)
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter
words.

XIX.

396

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act II.

Bard. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a
brawl anon.

Pist. Die men, like dogs; giye crowns like pins;
Have we not Hiren here?

Host. O' my word, captain ; there's none such here.
What the good-year! do you think, I would deny
her? for God's sake, be quiet.

Pist. Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis: *'*)
Come, give's some sack.

Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me contenia. —

Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:

Give me some sack; — and, sweetheart, lie thou there.

\Laying down his Kword.

Come we to full points here;*^) and are et ceteras

nothing ?

Fat. Pistol, 1 would be quiet.

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: '"') What! we
have seen the seven stars.

Dot. Thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such
a fustian rascal.

Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not Gallow-
way nags? *')

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling: **) nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing,
he shall be nothing here.

Bard. Come, get you down stairs.

Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we im-
brue? [Snatching up his sword.

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days !
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say!

Host. Here's goodly stuff toward!

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol. I pray thee. Jack, I pray thee, do not di'aw.

Fal. Get you down stairs.

[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.

Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So ;

murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas ! put up

your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.
[Exeunt Pistol and Baudolfh.

Dol. I pray thee. Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone.
Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you.

Host. Are you not hurt i'the groin? methought, he
made a shrewd thrust at your belly.

Re-enter Bardolph.

Fal. Have you turned him out of doors?

Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have
hurt him, sir, in the shoulder.

Fal. A rascal! to brave me!

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, poor
ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy
face; — come on, you whoreson chops : — Ah, rogue !
i'faith, I love thee. Thou art as valourous as Hector
of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times
better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain!

Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a
blanket.

Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou dost,
I'll canvas thee between a pair of sheets.

Enter Music.

Page. The music is come, sir.

Fal. Let them play; — Tlay, sirs. — Sit on my
knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue fled
from me like quicksilver.

Dol. I'faith, and thou foUowedst him like a church.
Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,
when wilt thou leave fighting o'days, and foining
o'nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for
heaven?

Enter behind, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised
like Drawers.

Fal Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's
head; do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of?

Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he would have
juade a good pantler, he would have chipped bread
■well.

Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? hang hun, baboon! his wit
is as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no more
conceit in hiin, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why does the prince love him so then?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness:
and he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and
fennel; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons;
and rides the wild mare with the boys; and jumps
upon joint-stools; and swears with a good grace;
and wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign
of the leg; and breeds no bate with telling of dis-
creet stories, and such other gambol faculties he
hath, that show a weak mind and an able body,
for the which the prince admits him : for the prince
himself is such another; the weight of a hair will
turn the scales between their avoiidupois.

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel '' ») have
his ears cut off?

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.

P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his
poll clawed like a parrot.

Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many
years outlive performance?

Fal. Kiss me, Doll.

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction !
what says the almanac to that?

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, *») his
man, be not lisping to his master's old tables; his
note-book, his counsel-keeper.

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.

Dol. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most constant
heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old.

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy
young boy of them all.

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? 5') I shall
receive money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap
to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late,
we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget ine, when I am gone.

Dol. By my troth thou'lt set me a weeping, an
thou sayest so : prove that ever I dress myself hand-
some till thy return Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some sack, Francis.

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's? — *-) And
art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what
a life dost thou lead?

Fal. A better than thou; I am a gentleman, thou
art a drawer.

P. Hen. Very true, sir: and I come to draw you
out by the eai's.

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by
my troth, welcome to London. — Now the Lord
bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu, are jou
come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, —
by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art wel-
come. [Leaning his hand upon Doll.
Dol. How! you fat fool, I scorn you.
Point. My lord, he will drive you out of your
revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take
not the heat. *^)

XIX.

Act hi.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

397

p. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely
did you speak of me even now, before this honest,
virtuous, civil gentlewoman?

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart! and so she is,
by my troth.

Fal. Didst thou hear me?

P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when
you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew, I was at
your back; and spoke it on purpose, to try my
patience.

Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think, thou
wast within hearing.

P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wil-
ful abuse; and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse.

P, Hen. Not! to dispraise me; and call me — pant-
ler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what?

Fal. No abuse, Hal.

Poins. No abuse !

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned,
none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the
wicked might not fall in love with him: in which
doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and
a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks
for it. No abuse, Hal; — none, Ned, none; — no,
boys, none.

P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire
cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous
gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked?
Is thine hostess here of the wicked? or is the boy
of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal
burns in his nose, of the wicked?

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph, irre-
coverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen,
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For
the boy, — there is a good angel about him; but
the devil outbids him too.

P. Hen. For the women,

Fal. For one of them, — she is in hell already,
and burns, poor soul ! For the other, — I owe her
money; and whether she be damned for that, I
know not.

Host. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art
quit for that: Marry, there is another indictment upon
thee, for suliering flesh to be eaten in thy house, *■*)
contrary to the law; for the which, I think, thou
wilt howl.

Host. All victuallers do so : What's a joint of mut-
ton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Hen. You, gentlewoman,

Dol. What says your grace?

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels
against.

Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the
door there, Francis.

Enter Peto.

P. Hen. Peto, how now? what news?

Peto. The king jour father is at Westminster;
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts,
Come from the north: and, as I came along,
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns.
And asking every one for sir John FalstalT.

P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idle to profane the precious time;
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak: — Falstalf, good night.
[Exeunt Prince Henry, Poikci, Peto, and Babdolph.

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the
night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked.
[Knocking heard.] More knocking at the door?

Re-enter Bardolph.

How now? what's the matter?

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; a
dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.] —
Farewell, hostess: — farewell, Doll. — You see, my
good wenches, how men of merit are sought after:
the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action
is called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not
sent away post, I will see you again ere I go.

Dol. I cannot speak; — If my heart be not ready
to burst : — well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.

Fal. Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt Falstaff and Babdolph.

Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee
these twenty-nine years, come peascod time; but
an honester and truer-hearted man, — W^ell, fare
thee well.

Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet,

Host. What's the matter?

Bard. [Within.] Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to
my master.

Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry in his nightgown, with a Page.

K.Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,

And well consider of them: Make good speed.

[Exit Page.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep, •)
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs.
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee.
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfura'd chambers of the great.
Under the canopies of costly state,
And luU'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile.
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds.
Who take the ruffian billows by the top.
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, -) death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot.
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Enter Warwick and ScRRsr.

War. Many good morrows to your majesty!
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ?
War. ' Tis one o'clock, and past.

XIK.

398

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act III.

a

K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my
lords.
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

War. We have, my liege.

K.Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, "

And with what danger, near the heart of it.

War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd;
Which to his former strength may be restor'd.

With good advice, and little medicine:

My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

K. Hen. O heaven ! that one might read the book
of fate;
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent
(Weary of solid firmness,) melt itself
Into the sea! and, other times, to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock.
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,
The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue, —
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten years gone.

Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
Did feast together, and, in two years after.
Were they at wars: It is but eight years, since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs.
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard,
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, ^)
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,)

[To Warwick.
When Richard, — with his eye brimfuU of tears.
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, —
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy?
Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne; —
Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent, '*)
But that necessity so bow'd the state.

That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:

The time shall come, thus did he follow it.
The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head.
Shall break into corruption: — so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition.
And the division of our amity.

War. There is a history in all men's lives,
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd:
The which observ'd, a man may prophecy.
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life; which in their seeds,
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And, by the n^^easaxy form of this,
King Richard might create a perfect guess.
That great Northumberland, then false to him,
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness;
Which should not find a ground to root upon,
Unless on you.

K. Hen. Are these things then necessities ?

Then let us meet them like necessities: —
And that same word even now cries out on us;
They say, the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.

War. It cannot be, my lord;

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo.
The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your grace.
To go to bed; upon my life, my lord,
The powers that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd

A certain instance, that Glendower is dead. *)
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add
Unto your sickness.

K. Hen. I will take your counsel :

And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Court before Justice Shallow'* House in
Gloucestershire.

Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy,

Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Servants,

behind.

Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your
hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer,
by the rood. ') And how doth my good cousin
Silence ?

Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow;
and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daugh-
ter Ellen?

Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.

Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin
William is become a good scholar : He is at Oxford,
still, is he not?

Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost.

Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly;
I was once of Clement's-inn ; where, I think, they
will talk of mad Shallow yet.

Sil. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin.

Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; and
I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly
too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staf-
fordshire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pick-
bone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man, — you had
not four such swinge-bucklers ') in all the inns of
court again; and I may say to you, we knew where
the bona-robas **) were; and had the best of them
all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now
sir John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mowbray,
duke of Norfolk.

Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon
about soldiers?

SJial. The same sir John, the very same. I saw
him break Skogan's head ') at the court gate, when
he was a crack, '") not thus high: and the very
same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish,
a fruiterer, behind Gray's inn. O, the mad days
that I have spent! and to see how many of mine
old acquaintance are dead!

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin.

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure;
death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all
shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stam-
ford fair?

Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there.

Shal. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your
town living yet?

Sil. Dead, sir.

Shal. Dead! — See, see! — he drew a good bow;
And dead ! — he shot a fine shoot : — John of Gaunt
loved him well, and betted much money on his
head. Dead ! — he would have clapped i'the clout
at twelve score; *') and carried you a forehand
shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it

would have done a man's heart good to see.

How a score of ewes now?

Sil. Thereafter as they be : a score of good ewes
may be worth ten pounds.

Shal. And is old Double dead!

KIK.

Act III.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

399

Enter Bardolph, and one with him.

Sil. Here come two of sir John FalstafTs men, as
I tbink.

Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I beseech
you, which is justice Shallow?

Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire of
this county, and one of the king's justices of the
peace; What is your good pleasure with me?

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you ; my
captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall gentleman, by heaven,
and a most gallant leader.

Shal. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good
backsword man: How doth the good knight? may
I ask, how my lady his wife doth?

Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommo-
dated, than with a wife.

Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well
said indeed too. Better accommodated! — it is
good; yea, indeed, it is: good phrases are surely,
and ever were, very commendable. Accommodated! —
it comes from accommodo : very good ; a good phrase.

Bard. Pardon me, sir: I have heard the word.
Phrase, call you it? By this good day I know not
the phrase: but I will maintain the word with my
sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of
exceeding good command. Accommodated; That is,
when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or,
when a man is, — being, — whereby, — he may
be thought to be accommodated; which is an ex-
cellent thing.

Enter Falstaff.

Shal. It is very just: — Look, here comes good
sir John. — Give me your good hand, give me your
worship's good hand: By my troth, you look well,
and bear your years very well: welcome, good sir
John.

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master Robert
Shallow: — Master Sure-card, as I think. '-)

Shal. No, sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in
commission with me.

Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you should
be of the peace.

iSi7. Your good worship is welcome.

Fal. Fye ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, have
you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men?

Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you.

Shal. Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's
the roll? — Let me see, let me see. So, so, so,
so: Yea, marry, sir: — Ralph Mouldy: — let them
appear as I call ; let them do so, let them do so. —
Let me see; Where is Mouldy?

Moul. Here, an't please you.

Shal. What think you, sir John? a good limbed
fellow: young, strong, and of good friends.

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy?

Moul. Yea, an't please you.

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used.

Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i'faith! things,
that are mouldy, lack use: Very singular good! —
In faith, well said, sir John; very well said.

Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow.

Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you
could have let me alone: my old dame will be un-
done now, for one to do her husbandry, and her
di-udgery: you need not to have pricked me; there
are other men fitter to go out than I.
^ Fal. Go to; peace. Mouldy, you shall go. Mouldy,
it is time you were spent.

Moul. Spent!

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; Know you

where you are ? — • For the other, sir John : — let
me see: — Simon Shadow!

Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under:
he's like to be a cold soldier.

Shal. Where's Shadow?

Shad. Here, sir.

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou?

Shad. My mother's son, sir.

Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough ; and thy fa-
ther's shadow : so the son of the female is the sha-
dow of the male : It is often so, indeed ; but not
much of the father's substance.

Shal. Do you like him, sir John?

Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him; —
for we have a number of shadows to fill up the
muster-book.

Shal. Thomas Wart!

Fal. Where's he?

Wart. Here, sir.

Fal. Is thy name Wart?

Wart. Yea, sir.

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart.

SJial. Shall I prick him, sir John?

Fal. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built
upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon
pins: prick him no more.

Shal. Ha, ha, ha! — you can do it, sir; you can
do it: I commend you well. — Francis Feeble!

Fee. Here, sir.

Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble?

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir.

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir?

Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's tailor,
he would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as
many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done
in a woman's petticoat?

Fee. I will do my good will, sir; you can have
no more.

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said,
courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant as the
wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. — Prick
the woman's tailor well, master Shallow; deep, mas-
ter Shallow.

Fee. I would. Wart might have gone, sir.

Fal. I would, thou wert a man's tailor; that thou
might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I can-
not put him to a private soldier, that is the leader
of so many thousands : Let that suffice, most forcible
Feeble.

Fee. It shall suffice, sir.

Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — Who
is next?

Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green !

Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf.

Bull. Here, sir.

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! — Come, prick me
Bull-calf till he roar again.

Bull. O lord! good my lord captain, —

Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ?

Bull. O lord, sir! I am a diseased man.

Fal. What diseases hast thou?

Bull. A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which I
caught with xinging in the king's affairs, upon his
coronation-day, sir.

Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown ; we
will have away thy cold ; and I will take such order,
that thy friends shall ring for thee. — Is here all?

Shal. Here is two more called than your number; ' ^)
you must have but four here, sir; — and so, I pray
you, go in with me to dinner.

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth,
master Shallow.

KIX.

400

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act III.

Shal. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay
all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields V

Fa I. No more of that, good master Shallow, no
more of that.

Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane Night-
work alive?

Fal. She lives, master Shallow.

Shal. She never could away with me.

Fal. Never, never: she would always say, she
could not abide master Shallow.

Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart.
She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own
well ?

Fal. Old, old, master Shallow.

Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose
but be old ; certain, she's old ; and had Robin Night-
work by old Night-work, before I came to Cle-
ment's inn.

Sil. That's fifty-five year ago.

Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that
that this knight and I have seen! — Ha, sir John,
said I well?

Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, mas-
ter Shallow.

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ;
in faith, sir John, we have; our watch-word was.
Hem, boys! — Come, let's to dinner; come, let's
to dinner: — O, the days that we have seen! —
Come, come. [Exeunt Falstaff, Shallow, and Silence.

Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my
friend ; and here is four Harry ten shillings in French
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief
be hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own part,
sir, I do not care: but, rather, because I am un-
willing, and, for mine own part, have a desire to
stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for
mine own part, so much.

Bard. Go to; stand aside.

Mould. And good master corporal captain, for my
old dame's sake, stand my friend; she has nobody
to do any thing about her, when I am gone; and
she is old, and cannot help herself: you shall have
forty, sir.

Bard. Go to; stand aside.

Fee. By my troth I care not; — a man can die
but once ; — We owe God a death ; — I'll ne'er
bear a base mind: — an't be my destiny, so; an't
be not, so ; No man's too good to serve his prince ;
and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this
year, is quit for the next.

Bard. Well said; thou'rt a good fellow.

Fee. 'Faith, I'll bear no base mind.

Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices.

Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have?

Shal. Four, of which you please.

Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three pound
to free Mouldy and Bull-calf.

Fal. Go to; well.

Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have?

Fal. Do you choose for me.

Shal. Marry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble,
and Shadow.

Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf: — For you. Mouldy,
stay at home still ; you are past service : — '■*} and,
for your part. Bull-calf, — grow till you come unto
it; I will none of you.

Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong;
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you
served with the best.

Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to
choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, ■*)
the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man!

Give me the spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart; —
you see what a ragged appearance it is : he shall
charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of
a pewterer's hammer; come off, and on, swifter than
he that gibbets-on the brewer's bucket. And this
same half-faced fellow. Shadow, — give me this
man; he presents no mark to the enemy; the foe-
man "') may with as great aim level at the edge
of a penknife: And, for a retreat, — how swiftly
will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off? O,
give me the spare men, and spare me the great
ones. — Put me a caliver ' ^) into Wart's hand,
Bardolph.

Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse;* 8) thus, thus, thus.

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : — very
well: — go to : — very good: — exceeding good. —
O, give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald
shot. — Well said, i'faith. Wart; thou'rt a good
scab : hold, there's a tester for thee.

Shal. He is not his craft' s-master, he doth not do
it right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I
lay at Clement's inn, — I was then Sir Dagonet in
Arthur's show,) *') there was a little quiver fel-
low, ^°) and 'a would manage you his piece thus:
and 'a would about, and about, and come you in,
and come you in: rah, tah, tah, would 'a say;
bounce, would 'a say; and away again would 'a go,
and again would 'a come : — I shall never see such
a fellow.

Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. —
God keep you, master Silence : I will not use many
words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemen both :
I thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night. — Bar-
dolph, give the soldiers coats.

Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper your
affairs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit my
house ; let our old acquaintance be renewed : perad-
yenture, I will with you to the court.

Fal. I would you would, master Shallow.

Shal. Go to ; I have spoke, at a word. Fare you
well. [Exeunt Shallow and Silence.

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar-
dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph, Re-
cruits, ^c] As I return, I will fetch off these jus-
tices : 1 do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord,
lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of
lying! This same starved justice hath done nothing
but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and
the feats he hath done about TurnbuU-street; -*)
and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer
than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at
Clement's inn, like a man made after supper of a
cheese-paring: when he was naked, he was, for all
the world, like a fork'd radish, with a head fan-
tastically carved upon it with a knife: he was so
forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were
invisible: --) he was the very Genius of famine;
yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called
him — mandrake: he came ever in the rear-ward
of the fashion; and sung those tunes to the over-
scutched 2 3) huswifes that he heard the carmen
whistle, and sware — they were his fancies, or his
good-nights.-'*) And now is this Vice's dagger ^5)
become a squire; and talks as familiarly of John
of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to him :
and I'll be sworn he never saw him but once in
the Tilt-yard ; and then he burst his head, for croud-
ing among the marshal's men. I saw it; and told
John of Gaunt, he beat his own name;-<^) for you
might have truss'd him, and all his apparel, into
an eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a
mansion for him, a court; and now has he land and
beeves. Well; I will be acquainted with him, if 1

KIX.

Act IV,

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

401

return: and it shall go hard, but I will make him
a philosopher's two stones to me : if the young dace
be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in the
law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time
shape, and there an end. [Exit.

SCENE I.

ACT IV.

A Forest in Yorkshire.

Enter the Archbishop of York, MowBRAr,
Hastings, and others.

Arch. What is this forest call'd?

Halt. 'Tis Gaultree forest, an't shall please your
grace.

Arch. Here stand, my lords : and send discoTcrers
forth.
To know the numbers of our enemies.

Hast. We have sent forth already.

Arch. 'Tis well done.

My friends, and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
New-dated letters from Northumberland;
Their cold intent, tenor and substance, thus: —
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance with his quality.
The which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes.
To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers.
That your attempts may overlive the hazard,
And fearful meeting of their opposite.

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch
ground.
And dash themselves to pieces.

Enter a Messenger.

Hast. Now, what news?

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly form comes on the enemy:
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand.

Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out.
Let us sway on, and face them in the field.

Enter Westmoreland.

Arch. What well-appointed leader ' ) fronts us here ?

Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland.

West. Health and fair greeting from our general.
The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster.

Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace ;
What doth concern your coming?

West. Then, my lord,

Unto your grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs.
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, ^)
And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary;
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd.
In his true, native, and most proper shape.
You, reverend father, and these noble lords,
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, —
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd;
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd;
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd;
Whose white investments figure innocence.
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, —
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself.
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war?
Turning your books to graves, *) your ink to blood.

Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet, and a point of war?

Arch. Wherefore do I this? — so the question stands.
Briefly to this end : — We are all diseas'd ;
And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours.
Have brought ourselves into a bwning fever.
And we must bleed for it: of which disease
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died.
But, my njost noble lord of Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a physician;
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace,
Troop in the throngs of military men:
But, rather, show a while like fearful war,
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness;
And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer,
And find our griefs *) heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run.
And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere
By the rough torrent of occasion:
And have the summary of all our griefs.
When time shall serve, to show in articles;
Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king,
And might by no suit gain our audience :
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs.
We are denied access unto his person
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The danger of the day's but newly gone,
(Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples
Of every minute's instance, (present now,)
Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms:
Not to break peace, or any branch of it;
But to establish here a peace indeed.
Concurring both in name and quality.

West. Whenever yet was your appeal denied?
Wherein have you been galled by the king?
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you?
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine.
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? *)

Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth.
To brother born an household cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular. '')

West. There is no need of any such redress;
Or, if there were, it not belongs to you.

Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us all.
That feel the bruises of the days before;
And suffer the condition of these times
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?

West. O my good lord Mowbray,

Construe the times to their necessities, ^)
And you shall say indeed, — it is the time.
And not the king, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
Either from the king, or in the present time, *)
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on: Were you not restor'd
To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories.
Your noble and right- well-remember'd father's?

Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost.
That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me?
The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then.
Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him:
And then, when Harry Bollngbroke, and he, —
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats,
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur.
Their armed staves in charge, ') their beavers

down, ' <*)
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, ' ')

XIX.

26

402

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act IV.

And the loud trumpet blowing them together;
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the king did throw his warder down.
His own life hung upon the staff he threw:
Then threw he down himself; and all their lives,
That, by indictment, and by dint of sword,
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke,

West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know
not what :
The earl of Hereford '-) was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman;
Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smil'd?
But, if your father had been victor there.
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry:
For all the country, in a general voice.
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers, and love,
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on.
And bless'd, and grac'd indeed, more than the king.
But this is mere digression from my purpose. —
Here come I from our princely general,
To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace,
That he will give you audience: and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just.
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off,
That might so much as think you enemies.

Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
And it proceeds from policy, not love.

West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so;
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear:
For, lo! within a ken, our army lies:
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours.
Our men more perfect in the use of arms.
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good : —
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.
Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley.

West. That argues but the shame of your offence:
A rotten case abides no handling.
Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission,
In very ample virtue of his father,
To hear, and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon?

West. That is intended in the general's name:
I muse, you make so slight a question.

Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this
schedule;
For this contains our general grievances: —
Each several article herein redress'd ;
All membei-s of our cause, both here and hence.
That are insinew'd to this action.
Acquitted by a true substantial form; '^)
And present execution of our wills
To us, and to our purposes, consign'd :
We come within our awful banks again, ''*)
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.

West. This will I show the general. Please you,
lords.
In sight of both our battles we may meet:
And either end in peace, which heaven so frame!
Or to the place of difference call the swords
Which must decide it.

Arch. My lord, we will do so. \Exit West.

Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me,
That no conditions of our peace can stand.

Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace
Upon such large terms, and so absolute.
As our conditions shall consist upon, ' *)
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.

Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such,
That every slight and false-derived cause.

Yea, every idle, nice, * '') and wanton reason,
Shall, to the king, taste of this action:
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, ")
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind,
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.

Arch. No, no, my lord; Note this, — the king is
weary
Of dainty and such picking grievances : • *")
For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death.
Revives two greater in the heirs of life.
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean; ")
And keep no tell-tale to his memory,
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance: For full well he knows,
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion:
His foes are so enrooted with his friends.
That, plucking to unfix an enemy.
He doth unfasten so, and shake a fi'iend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife.
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes.
As he is striking, holds his infant up.
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm
That was uprear'd to execution.

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement:
So that his power, like to a fangless lion,
May offer, but not hold.

Arch. 'Tis very true: —

And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal.
If we do now make our atonement well.
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.

Mowb. Be it so.

Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland.

Re-enter Westmoreland.

West. The prince is here at hand: Pleaseth your

lordship.

To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies?

Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then

set forward.
Arch. Before, and greet his grace : — my lord, we
come. {Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another part of the Forest.

Enter, from one side, Mowbray, the Archbishop,

Hastings, and others: /ro/» the other side. Prince

John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers,

and Attendants.

P.John. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin
Mowbray :
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop:
And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. —
My lord of York, it better show'd with you.
When that your flock, assembled by the bell.
Encircled you, to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text;
Than now to see you here an iron man,-")
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum.
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart.
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour.
Would he abuse the countenance of the king.
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach.
In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord bishop.
It is even so : — Who hath not heard it spoken.
How deep you were within the books of God?

KIX.

Act IV.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

403

To us, the speaker in his parliament;
To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself;
The very opener, and intelligencer,
Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven.
And our dull workings: -') O, who shall believe,
But you misuse the reverence of your place;
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
As a false favourite doth his prince's name.
In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up, --)
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of his substitute, my father;
And, both against the peace of heaven and him,
Have here up-swarm'd them.

Arch. Good, my lord of Lancaster,

I am not here against your father's peace:
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, ^^)
Croud us, and crush us, to this monstrous form,
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief;
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court,
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born:
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep,- *)
With grant of our most just and right desires;
And true obedience of this madness cur'd,
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.

MoWb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.

Hast. And though we here fall down,

We have supplies to second our attempt;
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them :
And so, success of mischief-*) shall be born;
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
Whiles England shall have generation.

P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too
shallow.
To sound the bottom of the after-times.

West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly,
How far-forth you do like their articles?

P.John. I like them all, and do allow -'') them well:
And swear here by the honour of my blood.
My father's purposes have been mistook;
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority. —
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ;
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you.
Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
As we will ours: and here, between the armies.
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home,
Of our restored love, and amity.

Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses.

P.John. I give it you, and will maintain my word:
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.

Hast. Go, captain, [to an Officer] and deliver to
the army
This news of peace; let them have pay and part:
I know it will well please them; hie thee, captain.

[Exit Officer.

Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland.

West. I pledge your grace: And, if you knew
what pains
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace.
You would drink freely : but my love to you
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.

Arch. I do not doubt you.

West. I am glad of it: —

Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray.

Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season ;
For I am, on the sudden, something ill.

Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry; ^')
But heaviness foreruns the good event.

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sorrow

Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to-
morrow.
Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be
true. [Shouts within,

P.John. The word of peace is render'd; Hark,

how they shout!
Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory.
Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
For then both parties nobly are subdued.
And neither party loser.
P. John. Go, my lord,

And let our army be discharged too. —

[Exit Westmoreland.
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains -")
March by us; that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.

Arch. Go, good lord Hastings,

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them pass by.

[Exit Hastings.
P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night
together. —

Re-enter Westmoreland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still?

West, The leaders, having charge from you to stand.
Will not go off until they hear you speak.

P. John. They know their duties.

Re-enter Hastings.

Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already:
Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses
East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up.
Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place.

West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings ; for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:
And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord Mowbray,
Of capital treason I attach you both.
, Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable?
- West. Is your assembly so ?

Arch. Will you thus break your faith ?

P. John. I pawn'd thee none :

I promis'd you redress of these same grievances.
Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour,
I will perform with a most christian care.
But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours.
Most shallowly did you these arms commence.
Fondly brought here,-') and foolishly sent hence. —
Strike up our drums, pui-sue the scatter'd stray;
Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. —
Some guard these traitors to the block of death;
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath.

[Exeunt. ^'>)

SCENE m.

Another part of the Forest.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Falstaff and
CoLBviLE, meeting.

Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition
are you; and of what place, I pray?

Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is — Cole-
vile of the dale.

Fal, Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight
is your degree; and your place, the dale: Colevile
shall still be your name; a traitor your degree ; and
the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough;
so shall you still be Colevile of the dale.

Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff?

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am.
Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do

KIX.

26

404

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act IV.

sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep
for thy death ; therefore rouse up fear and trembling,
and do observance to my mercy.

Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and, in
that thought, yield me.

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly
of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any
other word but my name. An I had but a belly of
any indilferency, J were simply the most active fel-
low in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb
undoes me. — Here comes our general.

Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland,
and others.

P.John. The heat is past, ^') follow no further
now; —
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. —

[Exit West.
Now, B'alstaff, where have you been all this while ?
When every thing is ended, then you come:
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be
thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was
the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow,
an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old
motion, the expedition of thought? 1 have speeded
hither with the very extremes! inch of possibility ;
1 have foundered ninescore and odd posts: and here,
travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and imma-
culate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale,
a most furious knight, and Aalorous enemy : But
w hat of that ? he saw me, and yielded ; that I may

justly say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome,

I came, saw, and overcame.

P. John. It Avas more of his courtesy than your
deserving.

Fal. I know not; here he is, and here I yield
him: and 1 beseech your grace, let it be booked
with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the lord,
I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine
own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my
foot: To the which course if I be enforced, if you
do not all show like gilt two-pences, to me ; and I,
in the clear sky of fame, o'er-shine you as much
as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, ^-)
which show like pins' heads to her; believe not the
word of the noble: Therefore let me have right,
and let desert mount.

P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount.

Fal. Let it shine then.

P. John. Thine's too thick to shine.

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.

P. John. Is thy name Colevile V

Cole. It is, my lord.

P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.

Fal. And a famous true subject took him.

Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither: had they been rul'd by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves: but
thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and
1 thank thee for thee.

Re-enter Westmoreland.
P. John. Now, have you left pursuit?
West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution: —
Blunt, lead him hence; and see yoii guard him sure.
l^Exeunt some with CoLEviiiE.
And now despatch me toward the court, my lords;

I hear, the king my father is sore sick :
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, —
Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him;
And we with sober speed will follow you.

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
through Glostershire : and when you come to court,
stand ray good lord, *^) 'pray, in your good report.

P.John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my con-
dition, 3*)
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit.

Fal. I would, you had but the wit; 'twere better
than your dukedom. — ^^) Good faith, this same
young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a
man cannot make him laugh; — ^^) but that's no
marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of
these demure boys come to any proof: ^') for thin
drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making
many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male
green-sickness ; and then, when they marry, they get
wenches: they are generally fools and cowards; —
which some of us should be too, but for indamma-
tion. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation
in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there
all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which
environ it: makes it apprehensive,^^) quick, forge-
tive, ^9) full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes;
which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,)
which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The se-
cond property of your excellent sherris is, — the
warming of the blood ; which, before cold and settled,
left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of
pusillanimity, and cowardice: but the sherris warms
it, and makes it course from the inwards to the
parts extreme. It iliumineth the face ; which, as a
beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little
kingdom, man, to arm : and then the vital com-
moners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to
their captain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up
with this retinue, doth any deed oi" courage; and
this valour comes of sherris : So that skill in the
weapon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it
a-work : and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept
by a devil;*") till sack commences it,*') and sets
it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince
Harry is valiant: for the cold blood he did naturally
inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and
bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with ex-
cellent endeavour of drinking good, and good store
of fertile sherris; that he is become very hot, and
valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human
principle I would teach them, should be, — to for-
swear thin potations, and addict themselves to sack.

Enter Bardolph.

How now, Bardolph?

Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone.

Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and
there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire;
I have him already tempering between my finger
and my thumb,"*-) and shortly will I seal with him.
Come away. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Westminster. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrby,
Warwick, and others.

K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give success-
ful end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors.
We will our youth lead on to higher lields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctified.

KIK.

Act IV.

KI\G HENRY IV. PART II.

405

Our navy is address'd, '*^) our power collected,
Our substitutes in absence well invested,
And every thing lies level to our wish:
Only, we want a little personal strength;
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of government.

War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty
Shall soon enjoy.

K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster,

Where is the prince your brother?

P. Humph. I think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at
Windsor.

K. Hen. And how accompanied ?

P. Humph. I do not know, my lord.

K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence,
with him?

P. Humph. No, my good lord ; he is in presence
here.

Cla. What would my lord and father?

K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Cla-
rence.
How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas;
Thou hast a better place in his affection.
Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy ; f

And noble offices thou may'st effect
Of mediation, after I am dead.
Between his greatness and thy other brethren: —
Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love:
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace.
By seeming cold, or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd : "»*)
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity :
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint;
As humorous as winter, '*^) and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day. "* *")
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd:
Chide hira for faults, and do it reverently.
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth:
But, being moody, give him line and scope ;
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,

Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in;
That the united vessel of their blood.
Mingled with venom of suggestion, •*')
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,)
Shall never leak though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. ^8)

Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love.

K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him,
Thomas ?

Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.

K. Hen. And how accompanied ? can'st thou tell that ?

Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers.

K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ;
And he, the noble image of my youth.
Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death;
The blood weeps from my heart, when 1 do shape.
In forms imaginary', the unguided days, *i

And rotten times, that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb.
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors.
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections •*') fly
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay!

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite:
The prince but studies his companions.
Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gjun the language,

'Tis needful, that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon, and learn'd : which once attain'd.
Your highness knows, comes to no further use.
But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms.
The prince will, in the perfectness of time.
Cast off his followers: and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live.
By which his grace must mete the lives of others;
Turning past evils to advantages.
K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her
comb
In the dead carrion. — ^ °) Who's here? Westmoreland?

Enter Wbsthorblasd.

Wett. Health to my sovereign! and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver!
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand:
Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all.
Are brought to the correction of your law;
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed.
But peace puts forth her olive every where.
The manner how this action hath been borne,
Here at more leisure may your highness read;
With every course, in his particular. *')

K.Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look! here's mure news.

Enter Harcjourt.

Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty;
And, when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you of!
The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English, and of Scots,
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown:
The manner and true order of the fight.
This packet, please it you, contains at large.

K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news
make me sick?
WMU fortune never come with both hands full.
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
She either gives a stomach, and no food, —
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast.
And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich.
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news;
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: —
O me! come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoons.

P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty !

Cla. O my royal father !

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up !

War. Be patient, princes; you do know these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well.

Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs;
The incessant care and labour of his mind
Hath wrought the mure, ^-) that should confine it in.
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.

P. Humph. The people fear me ; ^ ') for they do
obsene
Unfather'd heirs, ^^) and loathly birds of nature:
The seasons change their manners, as the year **)
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over.

Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd,^ *) no ebb between:
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles.
Say, it did so, a little time before
That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.

War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.

P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end.

K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber: softly, 'pray.

[They convey the King into an inner part of
the room, and place bim on a bed.

XIX.

406

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act IV.

Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
Unless some dull *') and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.

War. Call for the music in the other room.
](•' K. Hen. Set me the crown upon ray pillow here. ^ 8)

Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.

War. Less noise, less noise.

Enter Prince Henry.

P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence?

Cla. 1 am here, brother, full of heaviness.

P. Hen. How now ! rain within doors, and none
abroad ?
How doth the king?

P. Humph. Exceeding ill.

P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet?

Tell it him.

P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it.

P. Hen. If he be sick
With joy, he will recover without physic.

War. Not so much noise, my lords : — sweet prince,
speak low;
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep.

Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room.

War. Will't please your grace to go along with us?

P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king.
[Exeunt all but P. HKNav,
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O pollsh'd perturbation ! golden care !
That keep'st the ports ^') of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! — sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet,
As he, whose brow, with homely biggin ** °) bound,
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty !
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day.
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. — My gracious lord! my fa-
ther! —
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep.
That from this golden rigol '' ') hath divorc'd
So many English kings. Thy due, from me.
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously:
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown;
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, —

[Putting it on his head.
Which heaven shall guard: And put the world's

whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me: This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit.

K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster ! Clarence !

Re-enter Warwick, and the rest.

Cla. Doth the king call?

War. What would your majesty? How fares your

grace ?
K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords ?
Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege.
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
K. Hen. The prince of Wales ? Where is he ? let
me see him:
He is not here.
War. This door is open ; he is gone this way.

P. Humph. He came not through the chamber where
we stay'd.

K. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it from
my pillow?

War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.

K.Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence: — go, seek
f^ him out.

Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose

My sleep my death?

Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither.

[Exit Warwick.
This part of his conjoins with my disease.
And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you are !
How quickly nature falls into revolt.
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains

with care,
Their bones with industry;
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts, and martial exercises:
When, like the bee, tolling ^^) from every flower
The virtuous sweets;

Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive; and like the bees.
Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments '^) to the ending father. —

Re-enter Warwick.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determin'd *''^) me?

War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks;
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow,
That tyranny, which never quaffd but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.

K.Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown?

,S Re-enter Prince HEnar, ,

Lo, where he comes, — Come hither to me, Harry : —

Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.

[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Lords, ^e.

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again.

K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought:
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop: my day is dim.
Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and, at my death,
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation: <'^)
Thy life did manifest, thou lovd'st me not.
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts;
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone; and dig my grave thyself;
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear.
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse.
Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head:
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form,
Harry the fifth is crown'd: — Up, vanity!
Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence!

hul

Act V.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

407

And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness!
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum :
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance.
Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more:
England shall double gild his treble guilt:
England shall give him office, honour, might:
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent.

0 my poor king^mii, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care?

O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears,

^Kneeling.
The moist impediments unto my speech,

1 had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke,
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And He that wears the crown immortally.
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more.
Than as your honour, and as your renown.
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
(Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending!
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in
And found no course of breath within your majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,

O, let me in my present wildness die;
And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,)
I spake unto the crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending.
Hath fed *upon the body of my father;
Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious.
Preserving life in med'cine portable: '■<')
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd.
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head;
To try with it, — as with an enemy.
That had before my face murder'd my father, —
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy.
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did, with the least affection of a welcome.
Give entertainment to the might of it.
Let God for ever keep it from my head!
And make me as the poorest vassal is.
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
K. Hen. O my son ! /7

Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence.
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love.
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son.
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways,
I met this crown; and I myself know well.
How troublesome it sat upon my head:
To thee it shall descend with better quiet.
Better opinion, better confirmation;
For all the soil ' ') of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me.
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand;
And I had many living, to upbraid

My gain of it by their assistances;

Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed,

Wounding supposed peace :<'*') all these bold fears, * ')

Thou see'st, with peril I have answered :

For all my reign hath been but as a scene

Acting that argument; and now my death

Changes the mode: '"*) for what in me was pur-

chas'd, ")
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear'st successively. '-)
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do.
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends.
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd,
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displac'd: which to avoid,
I cut them off: and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land; '^)
Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so,
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive! ''*)
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!

P. Hen. My gracious liege.
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain, and right, must my possession be:
Which I, with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.

Enter Prince John o/Lancaster, Warwick, Lords,
and others.

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lan-
caster.

P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal
father !

K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace,
son John;
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare, wither'd trunk: upon thy sight.

My worldly business makes a period.

Where is my lord of Warwick?

P. Hen. ftly lord of Warwick !

K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?

War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.

K. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my life
must end.
It hath been prophesied to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem;
Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land : —
But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Glostershire. A Hall in
Shallow'* House.

Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page.

Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away
to-night. What, Davy, I say!

Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow.

Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex-
cused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no

excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused.

Why, Davy!

408

KING HENRY IV. PART II

Act V.

Enter Da-vi.

Davy. Here, sir.

Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy;
let me see: — yea, marry, William cook, bid him
come hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused.

Davy. Marry, sir, thus: — those precepts cannot
be served: ') and, again, sir, — Shall we sow the
heailland with wheat?

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William
cook; Are there no young pigeons?

Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note,

for shoeing, and plough-irons.

Shal. Let it be cast, ^) and paid : — sir John, you
shall not be excused.

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must
needs be had : — And, sir, do you mean to stop any
of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other
day at Hinckley fair?

Shal. He shall answer it: Some pigeons,

Davy; a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of
mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell
William cook.

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir?

Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use hiin well; A friend
i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use
his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves,
and will backbite.

Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir:
for they have marvellous foul linen.

Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business,
Davy.

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William
Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill.

Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against
that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my
knowledge.

Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave,
sir: but, yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should
have some countenance at his friend's request. An
honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when
a knave is not. I have served your worship truly,
sir, this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice
in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest
man, I have but a very little credit with your
worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir;
therefore, I beseech your worship, let him be coun-
tenanced.

Shal. Go to ; T say, he shall have no wrong. Look
about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, sir John?
Come, off with your boots. — Give me your hand,
master Bardolph.

Bard. I am glad to see your worship.

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master
Bardolph: — and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the
Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow.

Fal. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow.
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph and
Page] If I were sawed into quantities, I should
make four dozen of such bearded hermit's-staves ^)
as master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, to see
the semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his :
They, by observing him, do bear themselves like
foolish justices; he, by conversing with them, is
turned into a justice-like serving-man; their spirits
are so married in conjunction with the participation
of society, that they flock together in consent, like
so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to master Shal-
low, I would humour his men, with the imputation
of being near their master: *) if to his men, I would
curry with master Shallow, that no man could bet-
ter command his servants. It is certain, that either
wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is caught, as
men take diseases, one of another: therefore, let

men take heed of their company. I will devise
matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep prince
Harry in continual laughter, the wearing-out of
six-fashions, (which is four terms or two actions,) ^)
and he shall laugh without intertallums. O, it is
much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest,
with a sad brow, will do with a fellow that never
had the ache ^) in his shoulders! O, you shall see
him laugh, till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up.

Shal. [Within.] Sir John!

Fal. I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shal-
low. [Exit Falstaff.

SCENE II.

Westminster. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Warwick and the Lord Chief Justice.

War. How now, my lord chief justice? whither
away?

Ch. Jugt. How doth the king?

War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all ended.

Ch. Just. I hope, not dead.

War. He's walk'd the way of natiu^e ;

And, to our purposes, he lives no more.

Ch.Just. I would, his majesty had call'd me with
him:
The service that I truly did his life,
Hath left me open to all injuries.

War. Indeed, I think, the young king loves you not.

Ch.Just. I know, he doth not; and do arm myself,
To welcome the condition of the time ;
Which cannot look more hideously upon me
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.

Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Clarknce,
Wkstmori5land, and others.

War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry;
O, that the living Harry had the temper
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen!
How many nobles then should hold their places.
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort !

Ch. Just. Alas ! I fear, all will be overturn'd.

P. John. Good morx'ow, cousin Warwick,

P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin.

P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak.

War. We do remember; but our argument
Is all too heavy to admit much talk.

P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made
us heavy !

Ch.Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!

P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend,
indeed :
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own.

P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace
to find.
You stand in coldest expectation:
I am the sorrier; 'would, 'twere otherwise.

Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff fair ;
Which swims against your stream of quality.

Ch.Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour.
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul;
And never shall you see, that I will beg
A ragged and forestall'd remission. —
If truth and upright innocency fail me,
I'll to the king my master that is dead,
And tell him who hath sent me after him.

War. Here comes the prince.

Enter King Hbnrt V.
Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your
majesty !

KZK.

Act V.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

409

King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
Sits not so easy on me as you think. —
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some feeir;
This is the English, not the Turkish court; ')
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds.
But Harry Harrj-: Yet be sad, good brothers.
For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you;
Sorrow so royally in you appears,
That I will deeply put the fashion on.
And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad;
But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd,
I'll be your father and your brother too;
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.
Yet weep, that Harry's dead; and so will I;
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears,
Bv number, into hours of happiness.

p. John, ^c. We hope no other from your majesty.

King. You all look strangely on me: — and you
most; \To the Chief Jostice.

You are, I think, assur'd I love you not.

Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.

King. No !
How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me?
What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
The ijnmediate heir of England ! Was this easy?*)
May this be Wcish'd in Lethe, and forgotten?

Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father;
The image of his power lay then in me:
And, in the administration of his law.
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth.
Your highness pleased to forget my place.
The majesty and power of law and justice.
The image of the king whom I presented.
And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority.
And did commit you. If the deed were ill,
Be you contented, wearing now the garland,
To have a son set your decrees at nought;
To pluck down justice from your awful bench;
To trip the course of law, ') and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person:
Nay, more; to spurn at your most royal imaige.
And mock your workings in a second body. ' ")
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son: '^)
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd.
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted.
Behold yourself so by a son disdained;
And then imagine me taking your part.
And, in your power, soft silencing your son:
After this cold considerance, sentence me;
And, cis you are a king, speak in your state, •*)
What I have done, that misbecame my place,
My person, or my liege's sovereignty.

King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this

w ell ;
Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword:
And I do wish your honours may increase.
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father's words ; —
Happy am J, that have a man go bold,
That dares do justice on my proper son :
And not less happy, having such a son.
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me
For which, I do commit into your hand
The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear;

With this remembrance, — * ^) That you use the same

With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit,

As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand;

You shall be as a father to my youth:

My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;

And I will stoop and humble my intents

To your well practis'd, wise directions.

And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; —
My father is gone wild *"*) into his grave.
For in his tomb lie my affections;
And with his spirit sadly I survive, ' ')
To mock the expectation of the world;
To frustrate prophecies; and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
After my seeming. The tide of blood m me
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till now :
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea;
W^here it shall mingle with the state of floods, •*)
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament:
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel.
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best govem'd nation;
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be

As things acquainted and familiar to us;

In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.

[To the Lord Chief Justice.
Our coronation done, we will accite.
As I before remember'd, all our state;
And (God consigning to my good intents,)
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say, —
Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Glostershire. The Garden o/ Shallow'*
House.

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, B.iRD0LPH,
the Page, and Davt.

Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard: where, in
an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own
graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth ; —
come, cousin Silence; — and then to bed.

Fal. 'Fore (lod, you have here a goodly dwelling,
and a rich.

Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars
all, sir John : — marry, good air. — Spread, Davy ;
Spread, Davy; Well said, Davy.

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses; be is
your serving-man, and your husbandman.

Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good
varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too

much sack at supper : A good varlet. Now

sit down, now sit down : — come, cousin.
Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — we shall
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,

[Singing.
And praise heaven for the merry year;
When flesh is cheap and females dear, *')
And lusty lads roam here and there.
So merrily,
And ever among so merrily.
Fal. There's a merry heart! — Good master Si-
lence, I'll give you a health for that anon.
Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
Davy. Sweet sir, sit; [seating Babdolpu and the Page
at another table] I'll be with you anon : — most sweet

sir, sit. Master page, good master page, sit:

proface! '*) What you want in meat, we'll have in
drink. But you must bear; The heart's all. »') [Exit.
Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph ; — and my little
soldier there, be merry.

XIX.

410

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act V.

Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife's a» all; -°}

[Singing.
For women are shrews, both short and tall:
'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all,

And welcome merry shrove-tide.
Be merry, be merry, &c.
Fal. I did not think, master Silence had been a
man of this mettle.

Sil. Who I? I have been merry twice and once,
ere now.

Re-enter Davy.

Davy. There ia a dish of leather-coats 2') Tor you.
[Setting them before Babdolph.

Shal. Davy, —

Davy. Your worship ? — I'll be with you straight.
[To Bard.] — A cup of wine, sir?

Sil. A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine.
And drink unto the leman mine; [Singing.

And a merry heart lives long-a.

Fal. Well said, master Silence.

iSt7. And we shall be merry ; — now comes in the
sweet of the night.

Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence.

Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come;
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.

Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: If thou wantest
any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. —
Welcome, my little tiny thief; [to the Page] and
welcome, indeed, too. — I'll drink to master Bar-
dolph, and to all the cavaleroes ^-) about London.

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die.

Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, —

Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together.
Ha! will you not, master Bardolph?

Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot.

iSAa^ I thank thee: — The knave will stick by
thee, I can assure thee that: he will not out; he is
true bred.

Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir.

Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing:
be merry. [Knocking heard.] Look who's at door there :
Ho! who knocks? [Exit Davy.

Fal. Why, now you have done me right.

[To Silence , who drinks a bumper.

Sil. Do me right, ^^) [Singing.

And dub me knight: **)
Samingo. ^^)
Is't not so?

Fal. 'Tis so.

Sil. Is't 80? Why, then say, an old man can do
somewhat.

Re-enter Davt.
Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Pistol
come from the court with news.
Fal. From the court, let him come in. —

Enter Pistol.
How now, Pistol?

Pist. God save you, sir John!

Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol?

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to
good. — Sweet knight, thou are now one of the
greatest men in the realm.

Sil. By'r lady, I think 'a be; but goodman Puff
of Barson. ^<')

Pist. Puff?
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! —
Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend,
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee;
And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
And golden times, and happy news of price.

Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of
this world.

Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldings base !
I speak of Africa, and golden joys.

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof,

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings.

Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
And shall good news be baffled?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.

Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.

Pist. Why then, lament therefore.

Shal. Give me pardon, sir; — If, sir, you come
with news from the court, I take it, there is but
two ways ; either to utter them, or to conceal them.
I am, sir, under the king, in some authority.

Pist. Under which king,Bezonian?-') speak, or die.

Shal. Under king Harry.

Pist. Harry the fourth? or fifth?

Shal. Harry the fourth.

Pist. A foutra for thine office ! —

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king;
Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth:
When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like
The bragging Spaniard. ^^)

Fal. What! is the old king dead?

Pist. As nail in door : ^ ') the things I speak, are just.

Fal. Away, Bardolph; saddle my horse. — Master
Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the
land, 'tis thine. — Pistol, I will double-charge thee
with dignities.

Bard. O joyful day ! — I would not take a knight-
hood for my fortune.

Pist. What? I do bring good news?

Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master Shal-
low, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am
fortune's steward. Get on thy boots : we'll ride all
night : — O, sweet Pistol : — Away, Bardolph. [Exit
Bard.] — Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and,
withal, devise something to do thyself good. — Boot,
boot, master Shallow: I know, the young king is
sick for me. Let us take any man's horses; the
laws of England are at my commandment. Happy
are they which have been my friends ; and Avoe to
my lord chief justice!

Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
Where is the life that late I led, say they:
Why, here it is; Welcome these pleasant days.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

London. A Street.

Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly,
and Doll Tbar-shekt.

Host. No, thou arrant knave; I would I might die,
that I might have thee hanged; thou hast drawn
my shoulder out of joint.

1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over
to me: and she shall have whipping-cheer enough,
I warrant her; there hath been a man or two lately
killed about her.

Dol. Nut-hook, nut-hook, ^*') you lie. Come on;
I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal;
an the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou hadst
better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-
faced villain.

Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come! he
would make this a bloody day to somebody. But
I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry!

1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of
cushions^*) again; you have but eleven now. Come,

KUC.

Act V.

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

411

I charge you both go with me; for the inaa is dead,
that you and Pistol beat among you.

Dot. I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a
censer! ^^) I will have you as soundly swinged for
this, you blue-bottle rogue! ^^) jou filthy famished
correctioner : if you be not swinged, I'll forswear
half-kirtles. ^*)

1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.

Hogt. O, that right should thus overcome might!
Well; of sufferance comes ease.

Dol. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to a justice.

Hott. Ay ; come, you starred blood-hound.

Dol. Goodman death! goodman bones!

Host. Thou atomy thou!

Dol. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal!

1 Bead. Very well. [Exeuut.

SCENE V.

A public Place near Westminster Abbey.

Enter two Grooms, stretring Rushes.

1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. ^*)

2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice.

1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from
the coronation : Despatch, despatch. [Exeunt Grooms.

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Baroolph,
and the Page.

Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow; I
will make the king do you grace: I will leer upon
him, as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the counte-
nance that he will give me.

Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight.

Fal. Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me. — O, if
I had had time to have made new liveries, I would
have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of
you. [To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter; this poor
show doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to
see him.

Shal. It doth so.

Fal. It shows ray earnestness of affection.

Shal. It doth so.

Fal. My devotion.

Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth.

Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and not
to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience
to shift me.

Shal, It is most certain.

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating
with desire to see him: thinking of nothing else;
putting all affairs else in oblivion; as if there were
nothing else to be done, but to see him.

Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est:
'Tis all in every part. '*)

Sh/xl. 'Tis so, indeed.

Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver,
And make thee rage.

Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
Is in base durance, and contagious prison;
Haul'd thither

By most mechanical and dirty hand: —
Rouze up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's

snake.
For Doll is in; Pistol speaks nought but truth.

Fal. I will deliver her.

[Shouts within, and the trumpets sound.

Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor
sounds.

EiUer the Kme and his Train, the Chief

Justice among them.

Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Bal !

Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal
imp of fame! ^')

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy!

King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man.

Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what
'tis you speak?

Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my heart !

King. I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy prayers;
How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester!
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man.
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; 3')
But, being awake, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body, hence, ^') and more thy grace;
Leave gormandizing; know, the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men: —
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest;
Presume not, that I am the thing I was;
For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive.
That I have turn'd away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been.
Approach me; and thou shalt be as thou wast.
The tutor and the feeder of my riots:
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, —
As I have done the rest of my misleaders, —
Not to come near our person by ten mile. *•*)
For competence of life, I will allow you.
That lack of means enforce you not to evU:
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves.
We will, — according to your strength, and qua-
lities, —
Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord.
To see perform'd the tenor of our word. —
Set on. [£xeuiU Kixg, and his Train.

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound.

Shal, Ay, marry, sir John; which I beseech you
to let me have home with me.

Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not
you grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to
him: look you, he must seem thus to the world.
Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet,
that shall make you great.

Shal. I cannot perceive how; unless you give me
your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I be-
seech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred
of my thousand.

Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that
you heard, was but a colour.

Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir
John.

Fal. Fear no colours ; go with me to dinner. Come,
lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph : — I shall be
sent for soon at night.

Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice,
Officers, ^c.

Ch,Just. Go, carry sir JohnFalstaff to the Fleet;* ')
Take all his company along with him.

Fal. My lord, my lord,

Ch.Just, I cannot now speak : I will hear you soon.
Take them away.

Pist. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta.
[Exeunt Fal. Shal. Pist. Bard. Page, and Officers.

P, John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's :
He hath intent, his wonted followers
Shall all be very well provided for;
But all are banish'd, till their conversations
Appear more wise and modest to the world.

Ch,Just, And so they are.

P. John, The king hath call'd his parliament, my
lord.

Ch.Just. He hath.

412

KING HENRY IV. PART II.

Act V.

P.John. I will lay odds, — that, ere this year expire,
We bear our civil swords, and native fire,
As far as France; I heard a bird so sing,
Whose music, to my thinking, pleased the king.
Come, will you hence? [Exeunt.

E P I L O G U E. 42)

SPOKEN BY A DANCKR.

First J my fear; then, my court'sy: last, 7ny
speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my court'sy,
my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons.
If you look for a good speech now, you undo me:
for what I have to say, is of mine own making;
and what, indeed, I should say, will, J doubt,
prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and
so to the venture. — Be it known to you, (^as it
is very well,) 1 was lately here in the end of a
displeasing play, to pray your patience for it, and
to promise you a better. I did mean, indeed, to
pay you with this; which, if, like an ill venture,
it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my

gentle creditors, lose. Here, J promised you, I
would be, and here I commit my body to your
mercies: bate me some, and I will pay you some,
and, as most debtors do, promise you infinitely.

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me,
will you command me to use my legs ? and yet
that were but light payment, — to dance out of
your debt. But a good conscience will make any
possible satisfaction, and so will I. All the gentle-
women here have forgiven me; •* ^^ if the gentlemen
will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with
the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in
such an assembly.

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not
too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author
will continue the story with Sir John in it, and
make you merry with fair Katharine of France :
where, for any thing I know, Falstajf shall die
of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your
hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and
this is not the /nara. **) My tongue is weary; when
my legs are too, I will bid you good night: and
so kneel down before you; — but, indeed, to pray
for the queen. *^)

KIK.

XX.

KING HENRY V.

PERSONS BEPRESENTED.

King Hbkry the Fitth.

Duke of Gloster, ) d .» * .i - ir*
,v , -v o ' > Brother* to the King.

Duke of Bkdpord, ( "

Duke of ExKTKR. Uncle to the King.

Duke of York, Coutin to the King.

Earls of Samsbury, WissTMORBLAND,anrf Warwick.

Archbishop of Canterbury.

Bishop of Er,y.

Earl oy Cambridge, J

Lord Scroop, \ Conspirator* againit theKiag.

Sir Thomas Grky, )

Sir Thomas Erpikgham, Goweh, FtoELtEN, Mac-
morris, Jamy, Officers in King Henrj''« Army.

Bates, Court, Williams, Soldiers in the same.

Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, formerly Servants to Fal-
stafT, now Soldiers in the same.

The Scene — at the Beginning of the Play,

Boy, Servant to them. A Herald. Chorus.

Charles, the Sixth, King of France.

Lewis, the Dauphin.

Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bouhbon.

The Constable of France.

Rambdres, and Grandpreb, French Lords.

Governor of Harfleur.

MoNTJOY, a French Herald.

Ambassadors to the King of England.

Isabel, Queen of France.
Katharine. Daughter of Charles and Isabel.
Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine.
Quickly, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess.

Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers,
Messengers, and Attendants.

lies in England, but aflerwards wholly in France.

Enter Chorus.

O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend

The brightest heaven of invention! *)

A kingdom for a stage, princes to act.

And monarchs to behold ^) the swelling scene!

Then should the warlike Harry, like himself.

Assume the port of Mars; and, at his heels,

Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire,

Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,

The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd.

On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth

So great an object: Can this cockpit hold

The vasty fields of France? or may we cram

Within this wooden O, ^) the very casques, *)

That did affright the air at Agincourt?

O, pardon! since a crooked figure may

Attest, in little place, a million ;

And let us, ciphers to this great accompt.

On your unaginary forces *) work :

Suppose, within the girdle of these walls

Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies.

Whose high upreared and abutting fronts

The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder.

Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;

Into a thousand parts divide one man.

And make imaginary puissance : '')

Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them

Printing their proud hoofs i'the receiving earth:

For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,

Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times;

Turning the accomplishment of many years

Into an hour-glass; P'or the which supply,

Admit me chorus to this history;

Who, prologue-like, jour humble patience pray,

Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.

ACT I.

SCENE I. London. An Ante - citamber in the
King'« Palace.

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, ^) and
Bishop of Ely. »)

Cant. My lord, I'll tell you, — that self bill is urg'd.
Which, in the eleventh year o'the last king's reign.
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,
But that the scambling and unquiet time
Did push it out of further question.

Ely. But how, iny lord, shall we resist it now?

Cant, it must be thought on. If it pass against us.
We lose the better half of our possession :
For all the temporal lands, which men devout
By testament have given to the church.
Would they strip from us; being valued thus, —
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour.
Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights;
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;
And, to relief of lazars, and weak age.
Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil,
A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied;
And to the coffers of the king beside,
A thousand pounds by the year: Thus runs the bill.

Ely. This would drink deep.

Cant. 'Twould driak the cup and all.

Ely. But what prevention?

Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard.

Ely. And a true lover of the holy church.

Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not.
The breath no sooner left his father's body.
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seem'd to die too: yea, at that very moment,
Consideration like an angel came.
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him;
Leaving his body as a paradise,

XK.

414

KING HENRY V.

Act T.

To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made:
Never came reformation in a flood, ')
With such a heady current, scouring faults;
Nor never hydra-headed wilfulness
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,
As in this king.

Ely. We are blessed in the change.

Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity,
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire, the king were made a prelate:
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study :
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle render'd you in music:
Turn him to any cause of policy.
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, ^")
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences;
So that the art and practic part of life ' ' )
Must be the mistress to this theoric:
Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it.
Since his addiction was to courses vain:
His companies ^^) unletter'd, rude, and shallow;
His hours lill'd up with riots, banquets, sports;
And never noted in him any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity. ^^)

Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle :
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best,
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality :
And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt.
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night.
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. ^*)

Cant. It must be so; for miracles are ceas'd;
And therefore we must needs admit the means,
How things are perfected.

Ely. But, my good lord,

How now for mitigation of this bill
Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no?

Cant. He seems indifferent;

Or, rather, swaying more upon our part.
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us:
For I have made an offer to his majesty, —
Upon our spiritual convocation;
And in regard of causes now in hand.
Which I have open'd to his grace at large.
As touching France, — to give a greater sum
Than ever at one time the clergy yet
Did to his predecessors part withal.

Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord?

Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty;
Save, that there was not time enough to hear
(As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,)
The severals, and unhidden passages, ' ^)
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms:
And, generally, to the crown and seat of France,
Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather.

Ely. What was the impediment that broke this
off?

Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant,
Crav'd audience: and the hour, I think, is come.
To give him hearing: Is it four o'clock?

Ely. It is.

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy;
Which I could, with a ready guess, declare,
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.

Ely. I'll wait upon you; and I long to hear it.

[^Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room of State in the same.

Enter King Henry, Glostbr, Bedford, Exeter,
Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attendants.

K.Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury?

Exe. Not here in presence.

K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle.

West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be resolv'd.
Before we hear him, of some things of weight.
That task * ') our thoughts, concerning us and France.

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and
Bishop of Ely.

Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne,
And make you long become it!

K.Hen. Sure, we thank you.

My learned lord, we pray you to proceed;
And justly and religiously unfold.
Why the law Salique, that they have in France,
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim.
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord.
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading.
Or nicely charge your understanding soul ''')
With opening titles miscreate, ") whose right
Suits not in native colours with the truth;
For God doth know, how many, now in health,
Shall drop their blood in approbation *')
Of what your reverence shall incite us to:
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person.
How you awake the sleeping sword of war;
We charge you in the name of God, take heed:
For never two such kingdoms did contend.
Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint,
'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords
That make such waste in brief mortality.
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord:
And we will hear, note, and believe in heart.
That what you speak is in yoiu* conscience wash'd
As pure as sin with baptism.

Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and
you peers.
That owe your lives, your faith, and services.
To this imperial throne; — There is no bar
To make against your highness' claim to France,
But this, which they produce from Pharamond, —
In ierram Salicam mulieres ne succedanf.
No ivoman shall succeed in Salique land:
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze, ^'*)
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm.
That the land Salique lies in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe:
Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons,
Thei'e left behind and settled certain French;
Who, holding in disdain the German women.
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female
Should be inheritrix in Salique land;
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
Is at this day in Germany call'd — Meisen.
Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law
Was not devised for the realm of France;
Nor did the French possess the Salique land
Until four hundred one and twenty years
After defunction of king Pharamond,
Idly suppos'd the founder of this law;
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the great

XR.

Act 7.

KING HENRY

415

Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala, in the year
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, which deposed Childerick,
Did, as heir general, being descended
Of Biithild, which was daughter to king Clothair,
Make claim and title to the crown of France.
Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown
Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male
Of the true line and stock of Charles the great, —
To fine his title with some show of truth, - ' )
(Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,)
Convey 'd himself--) as heir to the lady Lingare,
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son
Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth,
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
Could not keep quiet in his conscience.
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother,
Was lineal of the lady Ermengare,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain;
By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great
Was re-united to the crown of France.
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun.
King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim.
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
To hold in right and title of the female:
So do the kings of France unto this day;
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law,
To bar your highness claiming from the female;
And rather choose to hide them in a net.
Than amply to imbare their crooked titles -^)
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.
K.Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make

this claim?
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!
For in the book of Numbers is it writ, —
When the son dies, let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord.
Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag;
Look back unto your mighty ancestors:
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb.
From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit.
And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince;
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy.
Making defeat on the full power of France;
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility.
O noble English, that could entertain
With half their forces the full pride of France;
And let another half stand laughing by.
All out of work, and cold for action!
Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead.
And with your puissant arm renew their feats:
You are their heir, you sit upon their throne;
The blood and courage, that renowned them.
Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege
Is in the very May-morn of his youth.
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes.

Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself.
As did the former lions of your blood.
West. They know, your grace hath cause, and
means, and might;
So hath your highness; never king of England
Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects;
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England,
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.

Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege.
With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right:
In aid whereof, we of the spirituality

Will raise your highness such a mighty sum.
As never did the clergy at one time.
Bring in to any of your ancestors.

K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the French ;
But lay down our proportions to defend
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
With all advantages.

Cant. They of those marches, -*) gracious sovereign.
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
Our inland from the pilfering borderers.

K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers only,
But fear the main intendment ^*) of the Scot,
Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us;
For you shall read, that my great grandfather
Never went with his forces into France,
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach.
With ample and brim fulness of his force;
Galling the gleaned land with hot essays;
Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns;
That England, being empty of defence.
Hath shook, and trembled at the ill-neighbourhood.-^)

Cant. She hath been then more fear'd -') than
harm'd, my liege;
For hear her but exampled by herself, —
When all her chivalry hath been in France,
And she a mourning widow of her nobles.
She hath herself not only well defended.
But taken, and impounded as a stray.
The king of Scots ; whom she did send to France,
To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings;
And make your chronicle as rich with praise,
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.

West. But there's a saying, very old and true, —
Jf that you will France win,
Then with Scotland first begin:
For once the eagle England being in prey.
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot
Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs;
Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat.
To spoil and havock more than she can eat,

Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home :
Yet that is but a curs'd necessity;
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries.
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad.
The advised head defends itself at home:
For government, though high, and low, and lower,
Put into parts, doth keep in one concent; ^^)
Congruing in a full and natural close.
Like music.

Cant. True: therefore doth heaven divide

The state of man in divers functions.
Setting endeavour in continual motion;
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
Obedience: -') for so work the honey bees;
Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king, and officers of sorts: •'")
W'here some, like magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings.
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent- royal of their emperor:
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold ;
The civil ^') citizens kneading up the honey;
The poor mechanic porters crouding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum.
Delivering o'er to Executors ^-) pale

HR,

416

KING HENRY V.

Act II.

The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, —
That many things, having full reference
To one concent, may work contrariously ;
As many arrows, loosed several ways,
Fly to one mark;

As many several ways meet in one town;
As many fresh streams run in one self sea;
As many lines close in the dial's center;
So may a thousand actions, once afoot,
End in one purpose, and be all well borne
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege,
Divide your happy England into four;
Whereof take you one quarter into France,
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice that power left at home,
Cannot defend our own door from the dog.
Let us be worried ; and our nation lose
The name of hardiness, and policy.
K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.
[Exit an Attendant. The King ascends his throne.
Now are we well resolv'd ; and, — by God's help ;
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, —
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe.
Or break it all to pieces : Or there we'll sit.
Ruling, in large and ample empery, ' ')
O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms:
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,
Tombless, with no remembrance over them:
Either our history shall, with full mouth,
Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave,
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth.
Not worship'd with a waxen epitaph. ^*)

Enter Ambassadors of France.
Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure
Of our fair cousin Dauphin; foi', we hear,
Your greeting is from him, not from the king.

Amb. May it please your majesty, to give us leave
Freely to render what we have in charge;
Or shall we sparingly show you far off
The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy?

K.Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king;
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject.
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons:
Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness
Tell us the Dauphin's mind.

Amb. Thus then, in few.

Your highness, lately sending into France,
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third.
In answer of which claim, the prince our master
Says, — that you savour too much of your youth ;
And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France,
That can be with a nimble galliard won; ^*)
You cannot revel into dukedoms there:
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this.
Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim.
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.

K.Hen. What treasure, uncle?

Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege.

K.Hen. We are glad, the Dauphin is so pleasant
with us;
His present, and your pains, we thank you for;
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls.
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set.
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard :
Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler.
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces. ^') And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days.
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valu'd this poor seat of England; *')

And therefore, living hence, ^ ^) did give ourself
To barbarous license; As 'tis ever common.
That men are merriest when they are from home.
But tell the Dauphin, — I will keep my state;
Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness.
When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
For that I have laid by ^') my majesty.
And plodded like a man for working-days;
But I will rise there with so full a glory,
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; '*°) and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them: for many a thousand

widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands ;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down:
And some are yet ungotten, and unborn,
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
But this lies all within the will of God,
To whom I do appeal; And in whose name,
Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on.
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So, get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin,
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. —
Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well.

[Exeunt Ambassadors.

Exe. This was a merry message.

K.Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it.
[Descends from his throne.
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour.
That may give furtherance to our expedition:
For we have now no thought in us but France;
Save those to God, that run before our business.
Therefore, let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected; and all things thought upon.
That may, with reasonable swiftness, add
More feathers to our wings; for, God before.
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door.
Therefore, let every man now task his thought.
That this fair action may on foot be brought.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

Enter Chorus.

Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire.
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man:
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse;
Following the mirror of all Christian kings.
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air;
And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point,
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.
The French, advis'd by good Intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation.
Shake in their fear; and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.
O England! — model to thy inward greatness.
Like little body with a n\ighty heart, —
What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural!
But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, —

HX.

Act II.

KING HENRY V.

417

One, Richard earl of Cambridge; and the second,
Henry lord Scroop of Mashani; and the third.
Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland, —
Have, for the gilt of France, ') (O guilt, indeed!)
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France;
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
(If hell and treason hold their promises,)
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on; and well digest
The abuse of distance, while we force a play. -)
The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;
The king is set from London; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton:
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit:
And thence to France shall we convey you safe.
And bring you back, charming the narrow sea«
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may.
We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
But, till the king come forth, and not till then.
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit.

SCENE I,

7%« same. Eastcheap.

Enter Nrsi and Bardolph.

Bard. Well met. Corporal Nym.

Ay?«. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph.

Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends
yetV

Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little; but
when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; — but
that shall be as it may. I dare not light; but I
will wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple
one; but what though? it will toast cheese; audit
will endure cold as another man's sword will: and
there's the humour of it.

Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you
friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to
France; ') let it be so, good corporal Nym.

Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's
the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any long-
er, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is
the rendezvous of it.

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that be is married
to Nell Quickly: and, certainly, she did you wrong;
for }ou were troth-plight to her.

Nym. I cannot tell; things must be as they may:
men may sleep, and they may have their throats
about them at that time; and, some say, knives
have edges. It must be as it may: though patience
be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be
conclusions. Well, I cannot tell.

Enter Pistol and Mrs. Qdickly.

Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife: —
good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mine
host Pistol?

Pi$t. Base tike, call'st thoa me — host?
Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term;
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

Quick. No, by my troth, not long: for we cannot
lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen,
that live honestly by the prick of their needles,
but it \\\\l be thought we keep a bawdy-house
straight. [Nym draws hit iword.] O, well-a-day. Lady,
if he be not drawn now! •*} O Lord! here's cor-
poral Nyra's — now shall we have wilful adultery
and murder committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph, —
good corporal, offer nothing here.

Nym. Pish!

Pitt Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-eared
cur of Iceland.

Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of a
man, and put up thy sword.

Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you tolus.

\Sheathing hit eword.

Pist. SoluB, egregious dog? O viper vile!
The »olut in thy most marvellous face;
The tolui in thy teeth, and in thy throat.
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
I do retort the $olu$ in thy bowels;
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,
And flashing fire will follow.

Nym. I am not Barbason; *) you cannot conjure
me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently
well: If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour
you with my rapier, as I may, in fair tenns : if you
would walk off, I would prick your guts a little,
in good terms, as I may ; and that's the humour of it.

JHst. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near;
Therefore exhale. <•) [Pistol and Nym dram.

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say: — he that
strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts,
as I am a soldier. [Dram.

Pist. An oath of raickle might ; and fiiry shall abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;
Thy spirits are most tall.

Nym. 1 will cut thy throat, one time or other, in
fair terms; that is the humour of it.

Pist. Coupe le gorge, that's the word ? — I thee
defy again.

0 hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
No; to the spital go.

And from the powdering tub of infamy
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse:

1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and — Pauca, there's enough.

Enter the Boy.

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my mas-
ter, — and you, hostess; — he is very sick, and
would to bed. — Good Bardolph, put thy nose between
his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan:
'faith, he's very ill.

Bard. Away, you rogue.

Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding
one of these days ; the king has killed his heart. —
Good husband, come home presently.

[Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy.

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? We
must to France together ; Why, the devil, should we
keep knives to cut one another's throats?

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food
howl on!

Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of
you at betting?

Pist. Base is the slave that pays.

Nym. That now I will have ; that's the humour of it.

Pist. As manhood shall compound; Push home.

Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust,
I'll kill him; by this sword, I will.

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their
course.

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be
friends : an thou vrilt not, why then be enemies with
me too. Pr'ythee, put up.

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of
you at betting?

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee.
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood;
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; —

27

418

KING HENRY V.

Act II.

Is not this just? — for I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.

Ny7n, I shall have my noble?

Fist. In cash most justly paid.

Ny7n. Weil then, that's the humour of it.

Re-enter Mrs. Quickly.

Quick. As ever you came of women, come in quickly
to sir John: Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a
burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable
to behold. Sweet men, come to him.

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the
knight, that's the even of it.

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
His heart is fracted, and corroborate.

Nyin. The king is a good king: but it must be
as it may; he passes some humours, and careers.

Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we
will live. ") [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Southampton. A Council- Chamber.

Enter Exktkr, Bedford, and Westmoreland.

Bed. 'B'ore God, his grace is bold, to trust these

traitors.
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by.
West. How smooth and even they do bear them-
selves !
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat.
Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty.
Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
JExe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow.
Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely fa-
vours, —
That he should, for a foi-eign purse, so sell
His sovereign's life to death and treachery!

Trumpet sounds. Enter King HriNRy, Scroop, Cam-
BRiDGR, Grky, Lords, «w<f Attendants.

K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of
Masham, —

And you, my gentle knight, give me your

thoughts:
Think you not, that the powers we bear with us.
Will cut their passage through the force of France;
Doing the execution, and the act.
For which we have in head assembled them? *)
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
K. Hen. I doubt not that : since we are well per-
suaded,
We carry not a heart with us from hence.
That grows not in a fair consent with ours;
Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd.
Than is your majesty ; there's not, I think, a subject.
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness
Under the sweet shade of your government.

Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies,
Have steep'd their galls in honey; -and do serve you
With hearts create ') of duty and of zeal.
K.Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank-
fulness;
And shall forget the office of our hand.
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit,
According to the weight and worthiness.
Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil;

And labour shall refresh itself with hope.
To do your grace incessant services.

K.Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday.
That rail'd against our person : we consider.
It was excess of wine that set him on;
And, on his more advice, '") we pardon him.

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security:
Let him be punish'd, sovereign; lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of siich a kind.

K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful.

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too.

Grey. Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him
life.
After the taste of much correction.

K.Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch.
If little faults, proceeding on distemper, • ' )
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our

eye, '-)
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested,
Appear before us ? — We'll yet enlarge that man.
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their

dear care.
And tender preservation of our person, —
Would have him punish'd. And now to our French

causes;
Who are the late commissioners ? ' ^ )

Cam. I one, my lord ;
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.

Scroop. So did you me, my liege.

Grey. And me, my royal sovereign.

K.Hen. Then, Richard earl of Cambridge, there
is yours: —
There yours, lord Scroop of Marsham; — and, sir

knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours : —
Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. —
My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, —
We will aboard to-night. — VVhy, how now, gentlemen ?
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much complexion ? — look ye, how they change !
Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there,
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance?

Cam. I do confess my fault;

And do submit me to your highness' mercy.

Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal.

K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick ' *) in us but late.
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
For your own I'easons turn into your bosoms,
As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. —
See you, my princes, and my noble peers,
These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge

here, —
You know, how apt our love was, to accord
To furnish him with ail appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd.
And sworn unto the practices of France,
To kill us here in Hampton: to the which.
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn. — ButO!
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel,
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature !
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels.
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul.
That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold,
Would'st thou have pi-actised on me for thy use?

May it be possible, that foreign hire

Could out of thee extract one spark of evil.

That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange,

KX.

Act II.

KING

V.

419

That, though the truth of it stands off as gross
As black from white, ^*) my eye will scarcely see it-
Treason, and murder, ever kept together.
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
Working so grossly ") in a natural cause.
That admiration did not whoop at them :
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder:
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was.
That wrought upon thee so preposterously,
H'ath got the voice in hell for excellence:
And other devils, that suggest by treasons,
J)o botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd
From glistering semblances of piety:
But he, that temper'd thee, • '') bade thee stand up.
Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason.
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that same daemon, that hath gull'd thee thus,
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar '*) back,
And tell the legions — I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman's.
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance ! " ) Show men dutiful ?
Why, so didst thou: Seem they grave and learned?
Why, so didst thou: Come they of noble family?
Why, so didst thou: Seem they religious?
Why, so didst thou : Or are they spare in diet ;
Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger;
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood;
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement; -°)
Not working with the eye, without the ear,-')
And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither?
Such, and so finely bolted, --) didst thou seem:
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot.
To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued.
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man. — Their faults are open.
Arrest them to the answer of the law; —
And God acquit them of their practices!

Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the D^me
of Richard earl of Cambridge.

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Henry lord Scroop of Masham.

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland.

Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd;
And I repent my fault, more than my death;
Which I beseech your highness to forgive.
Although my body pay the price of it.

Cam. For me, — the gold of France did not se-
duce;
Although I did admit it as a motire.
The sooner to effect what I intended:
But God be thanked for prevention;
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, '*)
Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me.

Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason.
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself,
Prevented from a damned enterprize:
Mv fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.

K.Hen. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your
sentence.
You have conspir'd against our royal person,
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers
Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death;
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,
His princ^ and his peers to servitude.
His subjects to oppression and contempt.
And his whole kingdom unto desolation. ^*}

Touching our person, seek we no revenge;

But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,

Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws

We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence.

Poor miserable wretches, to your death:

The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you

Patience to endure, and true repentance

Of all your dear offences! — Bear them hence.

[Exeunt Contjpirators, guarded.
Now, lords, for France; the enterprize whereof
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war;
Since God so graciously hath brought to light
This dangerous treason, lurking in our way.
To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now.
But every rub is smoothed on our way.
Then, forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver
Our puissance into the hand of God,
Putting it straight in expedition.
Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance :
No king of England, if not king of BVance. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

London. Mrs. Quickly'* Home in Eastcheap.

Eater Pistoi., Mrs. Qdickly, Nym, Bardolph,
and Boy.

Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring
thee to Staines. -*)

Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. —
Bardolph, be blithe ; — Ny m, rouse thy vaunting veins ;
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead.
And we must yearn therefore.

Bard. ' Would, I were with him, wheresome'er he is,
either in heaven, or in hell!

Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell ; he's in Arthur's
bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made
a finer end, and went away, an it had been any
christom child; -<•) 'a parted even just between
twelve and one, e'en at turning o'the tide: -') for
after I saw him fumble \vith the sheets, and play
with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I
knew there was but one way; for his nose was as
sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields.
How now, sir John? quoth I: what, man! be of
good cheer. So 'a cried out — God, God, God!
three or four times : now I, to comfort him, bid
him, 'a should not think of God ; I hoped, there
was no need to trouble himself Avith any such
thoughts yet: So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on
his feet : I put my hand into the bed, and felt them,
and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to
bis knees, and so upward, and upward, and all
was as cold as any stone. -^)

Nym. They say, he cryed out of sack.

Quick. Ay, that 'a did.

Bard. And of women.

Quick. Nay, that 'a did not.

Boy. Yes, that 'a did; and said, they were devils
incarnate.

Quick. 'A could never abide carnation; 'twtis a
colour he never liked.

Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him abpi^t
women.

Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women :
but then he was rheumatic; ^'') and talked of the
whore of Babylon.

Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick upon
Bardolph's nose; and 'a said, it was a black soul
burning in hell-fire!

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained that
fire; that's all the riches I got in his service.
KH. 27*

420

KING HENRY V.

Act II.

Nym. Shall we shog off? the king will be gone
from Southampton.

Piit. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels, and my moveables:
Let senses rule; the word is, Pitch and pay;
Trust none;

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck;
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor.
Go, clear thy chrystals. — ^") Yoke-fellows in arms,
Let us to Fx-ance! like horse-leeches, my boys;
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!

Boy. And that is but unwholesome food they say.

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march.

Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her.

Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; but
adieu.

Pist. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee
command.

Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

France. A Room in the French King's Palace.

Enter the French King attended; the Dauphin,

the Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and

others,

Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power
upon us ;
And more than carefully it us concerns,
To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne,
Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, —
And you, prince Dauphin, — with all swift despatch,
To line, and new repair, our towns of war.
With men of courage, and with means defendant:
For England his approaches makes as fierce,
As waters to the sucking of a gulph.
It fits us then, to be as provident
As fear may teach us, out of late examples
Left by the fatal and neglected English
Upon our fields.

Dau. My most redoubted father,

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe:
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, ^')
(Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in question,)
But that defences, musters, preparations.
Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected,
As were a war in expectation.
Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth.
To view the sick and feeble parts of France ;
And let us do it with no show of fear;
No, with no more, than if we heard that England
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance:
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd.
Her scepter so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
That fear attends her not.

Con. O peace, prince Dauphin I

You are too much mistaken in this king:
Question your grace the late ambassadors, —
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors.
How modest in exception, ^') and, withal,
How terrible in constant resolution, —
And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring, and be most delicate.

Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable,
But though we think it so, it is no matter:

In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh
The enemy more mighty than he seems,
So the pioportions of defence are fiU'd ;
Which, of a weak and niggardly projection,
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting
A little cloth.

Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong;
And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him.
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us;
And he is bred out of that bloody strain, ^3)
That haunted us ^ *) in our familiar paths :
Witness our too much memorable shame,
When Cressy battle fatally was struck.
And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand
Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales;
Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountain standing.
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, —
Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him
Mangle the work of nature, and deface
The patterns that by God and by French fathers
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem
Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of hiin. ^*)

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Ambassadors from Henry king of England
Do crave admittance to your majesty.
Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. Go,
and bring them.

[Exeunt Mess, and certain Lords.
You see, this chase is hotly foUow'd, friends.
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit : for coward dogs
Most spend their mouths, ^^) when what they seem

to threaten.
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign.
Take up the English short; and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head:
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.

Re-enter Lords, with Exeter a)id Train.

Fr. King. From our brother England?

Exe. From him; and thus he greets your majesty.
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart
The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven.
By law of nature, and of nations, 'long
To him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown,
And all wide stretched honours that pertain.
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France. That you may know,
'Tis no sinister, nor no aukward claim,
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd.
He sends you this most memorable line, ^'')

[Gives a paper.
In every branch truly demonstrative;
Willing you, overlook this pedigree:
And, when you find him evenly deriv'd
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him the native and true challenger.

Fr. King. Or else what follows?

Exe. Bloody constraint: for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove;
(That, if requiring fail, he will compel;)
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy
On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war

KK.

Act III.

KING HENRY V.

421

Opens his vasty jaws: and ou your head
Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries.
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans
For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallow'd In this controversy.
This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message;
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here.
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
Fr.King. For us, we will consider of this further:
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England.
Dott. For the Dauphin,

1 stand here for him ; What to him from England ?
Exe. Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, contempt.
And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus sa^s my king: and, if your father's highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sv>eeteu the bitter mock you sent his majesty.
He'll call you to so hot an answer for it.
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass,^*) and return your mock
In second accent of his ordnance.

Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply.
It is against my will: for I desire
Nothing but odds with England; to that end.
As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with those Paris balls.

Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it.
Were it the mistress couit of mighty Europe:
And, be assur'd, you'll find a diti'erence,
(As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,)
Between the promise of his greener days.
And these he masters now; now he weighs time.
Even to the utmost grain; which you shall read
In yonr own losses, if he stay in France.
Fr.King. To-morrow shall you know our mind

at full.
Elxe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay :
For he is footed in this land already.
JFV. King. You shtdl be soon despatched, with fair
conditions:
A night is but small breath, and little pause.
To answer matters of this consequence. [Exeunt.

ACT m.

Eater Chorus.

Chor. Thus with imagln'd wing our swift scene flies,
la motion of no less celerity

Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phcebus fanning.
Play with your fancies; and in them behold.
Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing:
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails.
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea.
Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think.
You stand upon the rivage, ') and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical.
Holding due course, to Harfleur. Follow, follow!
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; ^)
And leave your England, as dead midnight, still,
Guaided with grandsires, babies, and old women.
Either past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance:
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd

With one appearing hair, that will not follow
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege:
Behold the ordnance on their carriages.
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur,
Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes back;
Tells Harry — that the king doth off'er hbn
Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry.
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
With linstock ^) now the devilish cannon touches,

[Alarum ; and Chamber* go off.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind.
And eke out our performance with yonr mind. [Exit.

SCENE I.

The same. Before Harfleur.

Alarums. Enter King Hknrv, Exetrr, Brdpobd,
Glostbr, and Soldiers, with Scaling Ladders.

K.Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends,

once more ;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man.
As modest stillness, and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears.
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stifi'en the sinews, summon up the blood.
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the bead.
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty •*) his confounded base, *)
Swlll'd with the wild ajid wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height! — On, on, you noblest English, ')
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathere, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought.
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. ')
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest.
That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you!
Be copy now to men of grosser blood.
And teach them how to war! — And you, good

yeomen.
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base.
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, *)
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge.
Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and Saint George !
[Exeunt. Alarum, end Chamber* go off. j

SCENE n.

The same.

Forces past over; then enter Ntm, Baroolph,
Pistol, and Boy.

Bard. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the
breach !

Ayjn. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are
too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case
of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the
very plain-song of it.

Pist. The plain-song is most just; for humours do
abound ;
Knocks go and come; Grod's vassals drop and. die.

KS.

422

KING HENRY V.

Act III.

And sword and shield,
In bloody field,
Doth win immortal fame.
Boy. 'Would I were in an ale-house in London !
I would give all my fame foi* a pot of ale, and safety.
Pist. And I:

If wishes would prevail with me.
My purpose should not fail with me,
But thither would I hie.
Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing
on bough.

Enlir Fluellen. ')

Flu. Got's plood ! — Up to the preaches, you rascals !
will you not up to the preaches?

[Driving thetn forward.

Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! ' **)
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage!
Abate thy rage, great duke!
Good bawcock, bate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet chuck !

Nyfn, These be good humours ! -— your honour wins
bad humours.

[Exeunt Nym, Pistol, and Bakdolfh,
followed by Fluellen.

Boy. As young as I am, I have observed ,these
three swashers. I am boy to them all three : but all
they three, though they would serve me, could not
be man to me; for, indeed, three such antics do
not amount to a man. ForBardolph, — he is white-
livered, and red-faced; by the means whereof, 'a
faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, — he hath
a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means
whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps Avhole weapons.
For Nym, — he hath heard, that men of few words
are the best men; ^') and therefore he scorns to
say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward :
but his few bad words are match'd with as few
good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's head but
his own ; and that was against a post, when he was
drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it, —
purchase; Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it twelve
leagues, and sold it for three -halfpence. Nym, and
Bardolph, are sworn brothers in filching; and in
Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew, by that
piece of service, the men would carry coals. ' ^)
They would have me as familiar with men's pockets,
as their gloves or their handkerchiefs; which makes
much against my manhoodj if I should take from
another's pocket, to put into mine; for it is plain
pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and
seek some better service : their villainy goes against
my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.

[Exit Boy.

Re-tnter FiiUELLEN, Gower following.

Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently
to the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak
with you.

Flu. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so
good to come to the mines : For, look you, the mines
is not according to the disciplines of th6 war; the
concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you,
th' athversary (you Inay discuss urtto the duke, look
you,) is dight himself four yards under the counter-
mines: '^) by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up
all, *'*) if there is not better directions.

Goto. The Duke of Gloster, to whom the order
of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an
Irishman; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith.

Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not?

Gow. I think it be.

Flu. By Cheshu, he ia an ass, as in the 'orld: I

will verify as much in his peard: he has no more
directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look
you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

Enter Macmorris and JAiwr, at a distance.

Gov). Here 'a comes ; and the Scots captain, captain
Jamy, with him.

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentle-
man, that is certain; and of great expedition, and
knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular
knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will
maintain his argument as well as any military man
in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars
of the Romans.

Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen.

Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy.

Gow. How now, captain Macmorris ? have you quit
the mines? have the pioneers given o'er?

Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done: the work ish
give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my
hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work
ish ill done ; it ish give over : I would have blowed
up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O,
tish ill done, tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill done !

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will
you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with
you, as partly touching or concerning the disci-
plines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of
argument, look you, and friendly communication;
partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the
satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the
direction of the military discipline; that is the
point.

Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains
bath: and I sail quit you '^) with gud leve, as I
may pick occasion; that sail I, marry.

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save
me, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars,
and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to dis-
course. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet
calls us to the breach ; and we talk, and, by Chrish,
do nothing; 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me,
'tis shame to stand still; it is shaine, by my hand:
and there is throats to be cut, and works to be
done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa'
me, la.

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take
themselves to slumber, aile do good service, or aile
ligge i'the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and
aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sail I surely
do, that is the breff and the long: Mary, I wad
full fain heard some question 'tween you 'tway.

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under
your coriection, there is not many of your nation

Mad. Of my nation? What ish my nation? ish a
villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal?
What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise
than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I
shall think you do not use me with that aiFability
as in discretion you ought to use me, look you;
being as goot a man as yourself, both in the dis-
ciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth,
and in other particularities.

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself:
so Chrish saVe me, I will cut off your head.

Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [A Parley sounded.

Gow. The town sounds a parley.

Flu. Captain Macmorris^ when there is more better
opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so
bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war;
and there is ah end. **) [Exeunt.

8K.

Act III.

KING HENRY V.

423

SCENE III.
The tame. Before the Gates o/Harfleur.

The Governor and some Citizens on the walls;

the English Forces below. Enter King Hknky

and his Train.

K.Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the
town ?
This is the latest parle we will admit;
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves;
Or like to men proud of destruction,
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,)
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up;
And the flesh'd soldier — rough and hard of heart, —
In liberty of bloody hand, shall range
With conscience wide as hell; mowing like grass
Your fresh-fair virgins, and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war, —
Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, —
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation? ''')
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause.
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation!
What rein can hold licentious wickedness.
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil.
As send precepts to the Leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town, and of your people.
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds '*)
Of deadly murder, spoil, and villainy.
If not, why, in a moment, look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards.
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the w alls ;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes;
Whilst the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated,
Returns us — that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king.
We yield our to\vn, and lives, to thy soft mercy:
Enter our g-ates; dispose of us, and ours;
F'or we no longer are defensible.

K. Hen. Open your gates. — Come uncle, Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain,
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French:
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — •
The winter coming on, and sickness growing
Upon our soldiers, — we'll retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. ")

[Flourieh. The Kisc, ^c. enter the town.

SCENE IV. 20)
Rouen. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Katharikk and Alicb.
Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, et tu
paries bie» le language.

Alice. Un peu, madame.

Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez ; il faut que J'ap-
prenne a parler. Comment appellez vous le main,
en Anglois?

Alice. La main ? elle est appellee, de hand.

Kath. De hand. Et les doigts?

Alice. Les doigts ? ma foy, - ' ) j'ouhlie les doigts ;
mais je me souviendray. Les doigts 1 je pense,
qu'Us sont appelle de fingres; ouy de fingres.

Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres.
Je pense, que je suis le bon escolier. J'ay gagne
deux mots d'Anglois vistement. Comment appellez
vous les angles?

Alice. Les angles? les appellons, de nails.

Kath. De nails. Escoutez; dites may, si je parle
bien: de hand, de fingres, de nails.

Alice. Oest bien dit, madame; il est fort bon
Anglois.

Kath. Dites moy en Anglois, le brat.

Alice. De arm, madame.

Kath. Et le coude.

Alice. De elbow.

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repetition de
tons let mots, que vous vVavez appris des a pre-
sent.

Alice. Il est trap difficile, madame, comme je
pense.

Kath. Excusez moy, Alice; escoutez: De hand,
de tingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow.

Alice. De elbow, madame.

Kath. O Seigneur Dieu! je m'en oublie; De elbow.
Comment appellez vous le col?

Alice. De neck, madame.

Kath. De neck: Et le menton?

Alice. De chin.

Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, de sin.

Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur : en verite, vous
prononcet les mots aussi droict que les natift
d'Angleterre.

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la grace
de Dieu; et en peu de temps.

Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vou*
ay enseignee?

Kath. Non je reciteray a vous promptement. De
hand, de fingre, de mails, —

Alice. De nails, madame.

Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow.

Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow.

Kath. Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de neck, e/ de sin:
Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe?

Alice. De foot, madame; et de con.

Kath. De foot, et de con? O Seigneur Dieu! cet
sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et
impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user:
Je ne voudrois prononcer cet mots devant les Sei-
gneurs de France, pour tout le monde. II faut de
foot, et de con, neantmoins. Je reciterai une autre
fois ma leqon ensemble. De hand, de fingre, de
nails, de arm, de elbow, de ueck, de sin, de foot,
de con.

Alice. Excellent, viadame!

Kath. Cett atsez pour une foit; allons nous a
disner. [Eseant,

SCENE V.

The same. Another Room in the same.

Elnter the French King, the Dauphin, Duke of
Bourbon, the Constable of France, and others.

Fr.King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the River

Some.
Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord.

424

KING HENRY V.

Act hi.

Let us not live in France; let us quit all,
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

Dau. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, —
The emptying of our fathers' luxury, ^-)
Our scions, put in wild and savage ^^) stock,
Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters?

Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman
bastards !
Mort de ma vie I if they march along
Dnlought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty form
In that nook-shotten -'*) isle of Albion.

Con. Dieu de battailes ! where have they this mettle ?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale.
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, - ^) their barley broth.
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine.
Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land,
Let us not hang like roping icicles
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields;
Poor — we may call them, in their native lords.

Dau. By faith and honour.
Our madams mock at us; and plainly say.
Our mettle is bred out; and they will give
Their bodies to the lust of English youth.
To new-store France with bastard warriors.
Bour. They bid us — to the English dancing-
schools.
And teach lavoltas high, -'') and swift corantos;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty runaways.
Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald ? speed
him hence ;
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. —
Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd.
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France;
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alen9on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques ChatilUon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpr6, Roussi, and Fauconburgh,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights.
For your great seats, now quit you of great shames.
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons -') painted in the blood ofHarfleur:
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow -")
Upon the vallies : whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon:
Go down upon him, — you have power enough, —
And in a captive chariot, into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.

Con, This becomes the great.

Sorry am I, his numbers are so few,
His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march;
For, I am sure, when he shall see our arjny.
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear.
And, for achievement, offer us his ransome.

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Mont-
joy;
And let him say to England, that we send
To know what willing ransome he will give. —
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien.

Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Fr.King. Be patient, for you shall remain with
us. —
Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all;
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

[^Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The English Camp in Picardy.
Enter Gower and Fluellkn.

Gow. How row, captain B^luellen ? come you from
the bridge?

Flu.^ I assure you, there is very excellent service
committed at the pridge.

Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe?

Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as
Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with
my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life,
and my livings, and my uttermost powers: he is
not, (God be praised and plessed !) any hurt in the
'orld ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with
excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the
pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, he is as
valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no
estimation in the 'orld : but I did see him do gallant
service.

Gow. What do you call him?

Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol.

Gow. 1 know him not.

Enter Pistol.

Flu. Do you not know him? Here comes the man.

Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The
duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu. Ay, I praise Got: and I have merited some
love at his hands.

Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart.
Of buxom valour, -') hath, — by cruel fate.
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind.
That stands upon the rolling restless stone, —

Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is
painted plind,with a muffler before her eyes ; to signify
to you that fortune is plind : and she is painted also
with a wheel; to signify to you, which is the mo-
ral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and
variations, and mutabilities : and her foot, look you,
is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and
rolls, and rolls ; — In good truth, the poet is make
a most excellent description of fortune : fortune,
look you, is an excellent moral.

Pist. P'ortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him ;
For he hath stol'n a pix^ ^ ") and hanged must 'a be.
A damned death!

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free.
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate;
But Exeter hath given the doom of death,
B'or pix of little price.

Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy vgice;
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut
With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach:
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.

Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your
meaning.

Pist. Why then rejoice therefore.

Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice
at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would
desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put
him to executions; for disciplines ought to be used.

Pist. Die and be damn'd ; and figo for thy friend-
ship!

Flu. It is well.

Pist. The fig of Spain! ^^ [Exit Pisxoi..

Flu. Very good.

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal;

I remember him now; a bawd; a cutpurse.
Flu. I'll assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at

the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day : But

XK.

Act hi.

KING HENRY V.

425

it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is
well, I warrant you, when time is serve.

Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now
and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his
return into London, under the form of a soldier.
And such fellows are perfect in great commanders'
names: and they will learn you by rote, where
services were done; — at such and such a sconce, ^-)
at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off
bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms
the enemy stood on ; and this they con perfectly
in the phrase of war, which they trick up with
new-tuned oaths: And what a beard of the gene-
ral's cut, ^') and a horrid suit of the camp, will
do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed wits, is
wonderful to be thought on! but you must learn to
know such slanders of the age, or else you may be
marvellous mistook.

Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower; — I do per-
ceive, he is not the man that he would gladly make
show to the 'odd he is; if I find a hole in his coat,
I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you,
the king is coming; and I must speak with him
from the p ridge.

Enter King Henry, Glostek, and Soldiers.

Flu. Got pless your majesty !

K. Hen. How now, Fluellen? earnest thou from
the bridge?

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge:
the French is gcJne oif, look you ; and there is gal-
lant and most prave passages : Marry, th'athversary
was have possession of the pridge; but he is en-
forced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master
of the pridge : I can tell your majesty, the duke is
a prave man.

K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen?

Flu, The perdition of th'athversary hath been very
great, very reasonable great: marry, for my part,
1 think the duke hath lost never a man, but one
that is like to be executed for robbing a church,
one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his
face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and
flames of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and
it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and some-
times red; but his nose is executed, and his fire's
out. ^■*)

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut
otY: — and we give express charge, that, in our
marches through the country, there be nothing com-
pelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid
for; none of the French upbraided, or abused in
disdainful language: For when lenity and cruelty
play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the
soonest winner.

Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy. ^*)

Mo7it. You know me by my habit. *')

K.Hen. Well then, I know thee; What shall I
know of thee?

Mont. My master's mind.

K. Hen. Unfold it.

Mont. Thus says my king: — Say thou to Harry
of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but
sleep ; Advantage is a better soldier, than rashness.
Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur:
but that we thought not good to bruise an injury,
till it were full ripe: — now we speak upon our
cue, 3 7) and our voice is imperial: England shall
repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our
sufferance. Bid him, therefore, consider of his ran-

some; which must proportion the losses we have
borne, the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we
have digested; which, in weight to reanswer, his
pettiness would bow under. For our losses, his ex-
chequer is too poor; for the effusion of our blood,
the muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and
for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our
feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To
this add — defiance: and tell him, for conclusion,
he hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation
is pronounced. So far my king and master; so much
my office.

K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality.

Mont. Montjoy.

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back,
And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now;
But could be willing to nmrch on to Calais
Without impeachment: ^^) for, to say the sooth,
(Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much,
Lfnto an enemy of craft and vantage,)
My people are with sickness much enfeebled;
My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have,
Almost no better than so many French;
Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
I thought, upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen. — Yet, forgive me, God,
That I do brag thus ! — this your air of France
Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent.
Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am;
My ransorae, is this frail and worthless trunk;
My army, but a weak and sickly guard;
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and such another neighbour.
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.
Go, bid thy master well advise himself:
If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd.
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
The sum of all our answer is but this:
We would not seek a battle, as we are;
Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it;
So tell your master.

Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness.

\Exit MoisTJOv.

Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now.

K.Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in
theirs.
March to the bridge; it now draws toward night, —
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves ;
And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Hxeunt.

SCENE vn.

The French Camp near A gin court.

Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ram-

BUKES, the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, and

others.

Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. —
'Would it were day!

Orl. You have an excellent armour; but let my
horse have his due.

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. "~

Orl. Will it never be morning?

Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord h'gh con-
stable, you talk of horse and armour, —

Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any
prince in the world.

Dau. What a long night is this! I will not

change my horse with any that treads but on four
pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if
his entrails were hairs; ^^) le cheval volant, the
Pegasus, qui a les narines de feu 1 When I bestride

426

KING HENRY V.

Act hi.

him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the

earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of

his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast

for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull

elements of earth and water never appear in him,

but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts

him: he is, indeed, a horse; and all other jades you

may call — beasts.

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and
excellent horse.

DaU. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like
the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance en-
forces homage.
Orl. No more, cousin.

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb,
vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme
as fluent as the sea ; turn the sands into eloquent
tongues, and my horse is argument for them all:
'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for
a sovereign's sovereign to ride on: and for the
world (familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart
their particular functions, and wonder at him. I
once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus:

Wonder of nature^ —

Orl. 1 have heard a sonnet begin So to one's
mistress.

Dau. Then did they imitate that which I composed
to my courser; for my horse is my mistress.

Orl. Your mistress bears well.

Dau. Me well; which is the prescript praise and
perfection of a good and particular mistress.

Con. Ma foy I the other day, methought, your itiis-
tress shrewdly shook your back.

Dau. So, perhaps, did yours.

Con. Mine was not bridled.

Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and
you rode, like a kerne of Ireland, your BVench hose
off, and in your straight trossers. '*")

Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship.

Dau. Be warned by me then: they that ride so,
and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs ; I had rather
have my horse to my mistress.

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade.

Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her
own hair.

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I
had a sow to my mistress.

Dau. Le chien est retourne a son propre vomisse-
ment, et la truie lavee au bourbier: thou makest
use of any thing.

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress;
or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose.

Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in
your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it?

Con. Stars, ray lord.

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.

Con. And yet my sky shall not want.

Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super-
fluously ; and 'twere more honour, some were away.

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who
would trot as well, were some of your brags dis-
mounted.

Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his
desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow
a mile, and my way shall be paved with English
faces.

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced
out of my way: But I would it were morning, for
I would fain be about the ears of the Engliflh.

Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty
English prisoners ?

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere
you have them.

Dau. 'Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself. [Exit.

Orl. The Daupliln longs for morning.

Ram. He longs to eat the FJnglish.

Con. I think, he will eat all he kills.

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant
prince.

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out
the oath.

Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of
France.

Con. Doing is activity: and he will still be doing.

Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of.

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep
that good name still.

Orl. I know him to be valiant.

Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better
than you.

Orl. What's he?

Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said,
he cared not who knew it.

Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him.

Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body
saw it, but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour ; and
when it appears, it will bate. *')

Orl. Ill will never said well.

Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is
flattery in friendship.

Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the
devil his due.

Con. Well placed ; there stands your friend for the
devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, with —
A pox of the devil.

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by howmuch —
A fool's bolt is soon shot.

Con. You have shot over.

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot.

Enter a Messenger.

Mesa. My lord high constable, the English lie within
fifteen hundred paces of your tent.

Con. Who hath measured the ground?

Mess. The lord Grandpre.

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — Would
it were day! — Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs
not for the dawning, as we do.

Orl. What a wretched and peevish ^-) fellow is
this king of England, to mope with his fat- brained
followers so far out of his knowledge!

Con. If the English had any apprehension, they
would run away.

Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any
intellectual armour, they could never wear such
heavy headpieces.

Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant
creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable cou-
rage.

Orl. Foolish curs ! that run winking into the mouth
of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed
like rotten apples : You may as well say, — that's
a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the
lip of a lion.

Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with
the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on,
leaving their wits with their wives: and then give
them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they
will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.

Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of
beef.

Con. Then we shall find to-morrow — they have

KB.

Act IV.

K I i\ G HENRY V.

427

only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it
time to arm: Come, shall we about it?
Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, —
by ten.
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.

[£xetifrf.

ACT IV.

Enter Chorus.

Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time.
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark.
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night.
The hum of either army stilly sounds, *)
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch:
Fire answers fire : and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face: -)
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tentsj
The armourers, accomplishing the knights.
With busy hammers closing rivets up.
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll.
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul.
The confident and over-lusty ^) French
Do the low-rated English play at dice; ■*)
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned Englisli,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gesture sad^
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many hoi'rid ghosts. O, now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd band.
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent.
Let lilm cry — Praise and glory on his head I
For forth he goes, and visits all his host;
Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile;
And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note.
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
But freshly looks, and overbears attaint.
With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty;
That every wretch, pining and pale before.
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
A largess universal, like the sun.
His liberal eye doth give to every one.
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all.
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night:
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where, (O for pity!) we shall much disgrace^
With four or five most vile and ragged foils.
Right ill dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous, —
The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see;
Minding true things, ») by what their mockeries bci

SCENE I.

The English Camp at Agincourt.

Enter King Hbrry, Bedford, and Glostbr.

K.Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great
danger ;

The greater therefore should our courage be. —

Good morrow, brother Bedford. — GodAimighty!

There is some soul of goodness in things evil.

Would men observingly distil it out;

For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers.

Which is both healthful, and good-husbandry:

Besides, they are our outward consciences.

And preachers to us all; admonishing,

*■) That we should dress us fairly for our end.

Thus may we gather honey from the weed.

And make a moral of the devil himself.

Enter Erpingham.

Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham :
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.

Erp. Not so, my liege ; this lodging likes me better.
Since I may say — now lie I like a king.

K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains.
Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
And, when the mind is quicken' d, out of doubt.
The organs, though defunct and dead before.
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity. ')
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp;
Do my good morrow to them; and, anon.
Desire them all to my pavilion.

Glo. We shall, my Uege.

[Exeuia Glostek and Bedpoks.

Erp. Shall I attend your grace?

K.Hen. No, my good knight;

Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
I in my bosom must debate a while.
And then I would no other company.

Erp. The Lord in Heaven bless thee, noble Harry !

[Exit EapiNGHAai.

K.Hen. God- a -mercy, old heart! thou speakest
cheerfully.

Enter Pistol.

Pist. Qui va la f

K.Hen. A friend.

Pist. Discuss unto me; Art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common, and popular?

K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company.

Pitt. Trailest thou the puissant pike?

K.Hen. Even so: What are you?

Pitt. As good a gentleman as the emperor.

K.Hen. Then you are a better than the king.

Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame;
Of parents good, of fist most valiant:
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?

K. Hen. Harry te Roy.

Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of Cornish
crew ?

K. Hen. No, I am a Welchman.

Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen?

K.Hen. Yes.

Pitt. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate.
Upon saint Davy's day.

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.

Pitt. Art thou his friend?

K.Hen. And his kinsman too.

Pitt. The figo for thee then!

K.Hen. I thank you: God be with yoa!

Pitt. My name is Pistol called. [Bait.

K.Hen. It sorts ^) well with yoor fierceness.

428

KING HENRY V.

Act IV.

Enter Flubllen and Gowbr, severally.

Gow. Captain Fluellen!

Flu. So! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak
lower. It is the greatest admiration in the universal
'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and
laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take
the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the
Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is
no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp ;
I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the
wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and
the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be
otherwise.

Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you heard him all
night.

Flu. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you , that we
should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb; in your own conscience nowV

Gow. I will speak lower.

Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeunt Gower and Fluellen.

K.Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welchman.

Enter Bates, Couut, and Williams.

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning
which breaks yonder?

Bates. I think it be: but we have no great cause
to desire the approach of day.

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day,
but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. —
Who goes there?

K.Hen. A friend.

Will. Under what captain serve you?

K.Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham.

Will. A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ?

K Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that
look to be washed oif the next tide.

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king?

K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he should. For,
though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but
a man, as I am : the violet smells to him, as it doth
to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me;
all his senses have but human conditions: ') his
ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but
a man; and though his affections are higher mounted
than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with
the like wing; therefore when he sees reason of
fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the
same relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man
should possess him with any appearance of lear,
lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army.

Bates. He may show what outward courage he
will : but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could
wish himself in the Thames up to the neck; and
so I would he were, and I by him, at all adven-
tures, so we were quit here.

K.Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience
of the king; 1 think, he would not wish himself
any where but where he is.

Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone; so should
he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's
lives saved.

K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to
wish him here alone ; howsoever you speak this, to
feel other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die
any where so contented, as in the king's company;
his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable.

Will. That's more than we know. i

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for

we know enough, if we know we are the king's
subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to
the king wipes the crime of it out of us.

Will. But if the cause be not good, the king him-
self hath a heavy reckoning to make ; Avhen all those
legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle,
shall join together at the latter day, and cry all —
We died at such place; some, swearing; some,
crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left
poor behind them; some, upon the debts they owe;
some, upon their children rawly left. '") I am afeard
there are few die well, that die in battle ; for how
can they charitably dispose of any thing, when
blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not
die well, it will be a black matter for the king that
led them to it; whom to disobey, were against all
proportion of subjection.

K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent
about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the
sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,
should be imposed upon his father that sent him :
or if a servant, under his master's command, trans-
porting a sum of money, be assailed by I'obbers,
and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may
call the business of the master the author of the
servant's damnation : — But this is not so : the king
is not bound to answer the particular endings of his
soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of
his servant; for they purpose not their death, when
they purpose their services. Besides, there is no
king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to
the arbltrement of swords, can try it out with all
unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on
them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder;
some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of
perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that
have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with
pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have de-
feated the law, and outrun native punishment, '')
though they can outstrip men, they have no wings
to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his
vengeance; so that here men are punished, for be-
fore-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's
quarrel: where they feared the death, they have
borne life away; and where they would be safe,
they perish : Then if they die unprovided, no more
is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was
before guilty of those impieties for the which they
are now visited. Every subject's duty '-) is the
king's; but every subject's soul is his own. There-
fore should every soldier in the wars do as every
sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his
conscience: and dying so, death is to him advan-
tage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost,
wherein such preparation was gained: and, in him
that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making
God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to
see his greatness, and to teach others how they
should prepare.

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill
is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it.

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me;
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

K.Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would
not be ransomed.

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully :
but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed,
and we ne'er the wiser.

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his
word after.

Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then! '^) That's a
perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and
private displeasure can do against a monarch! you

KB.

Act if.

KING HENRY V.

429

may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with
fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll

never trust his word after! coine, 'tis a foolish saying.

K. Hen. Yonr reproof is something too round; '■*)
I sliould be angry with you, if the time were con-
venient.

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.

K. Hen. I embrace it.

Will. How shall I know thee again?

K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest
acknowledge it, I will make it ray quarrel.

Will. Here's my glove; give me another of thine.

K.Hen. There.

Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if ever
thou come to me and say, after to-morrow. This is
my glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on
the ear.

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

IFill. Thou darest as well be hanged.

K.Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in
the king's company.

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well.

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends;
we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell
how to reckon.

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French
crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear
them on their shoulders: But it is no English treason,
to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the king
himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers.

Upon the king! *^) let us our lives, our souls.
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and
Our sins, lay on the king; — we must bear all.
O hard condition! twin-born with greatness,
Subjected to the breath of every fool.
Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing!
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect,
That private men enjoy?

And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in?

0 ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is the soul of adoration?

Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form.

Creating awe and fear in other men ?

Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd

Than they in fearing.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet.

But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great greatness,

And bid thy ceremony give the cure!

Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out

With titles blown with adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending?

Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,

Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,

That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;

1 am a king, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball.
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial.
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl.
The farced title running '<•) 'fore the king.
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical.

Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ; * ")
Who, with a body fiU'd, and vacant mind.
Gets him to rest, cramm'd >vith distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;

But, like a lackey, from the rise to set.

Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night

Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,

Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse;

And follows so the ever-running year

With profitable labour, to his grave:

And, but for ceremony, such a wretch.

Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,

Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.

The slave, a member of the country's peace.

Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots.

What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace.

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. ' *)

Enter Erpingham.

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
Seek through your camp to find you.

K.Hen. Good old knight,

Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.

Erp. I shall do't, my lord. [Exit.

K.Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts!
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them ! — Not to-day, O Lord,

0 not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!

1 Richard's body have interred new;

And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay.
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chantries, ' ') where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do :
Though all that I can do, is nothing worth;
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.

Enter Glostkr.
Glo. My liege!

K.Hen. My brother Gloster's voice? — Ay;

I know thy errand, I will go with thee: —
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.

[Exeunt,

SCENE II.

The French Camp.

Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Ramburbs, and others.

Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords.
Dau. Montez a cheval: — My horse! valet I lac-
quay I ha!
Orl. O brave spirit!

Dau. Vial — les eaux et la terre -")

Orl. Rien puis ? Voir et le feu

Dau. del ! Cousin Orleans.

Enter Constable.
Now, my lord Constable!
Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh.
Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides;
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes.
And dout them - ' ) with superfluous courage : Ha !
Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses'
blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers.
Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to
horse !
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,

XK.

430

KING HENRY V.

Act IV.

And your fair show shall suck away their souls,

Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.

There is not work enough for all our hands;

Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins,

To give each naked curtle-ax a stain.

That our French gallants shall to-day draw out.

And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them.

The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.

'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords.

That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasantsi —

Who, in unnecessary action, swarm

About our squares of battle, — were enough

To purge this field of such a hilding foe; ^-)

Though we, upon this mountain's basis by,

Took stand for idle speculation:

But that our honours must not. What's to say?

A very little little let us do.

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound

The tucket-sonuance, -^) and the note to mount:

For our approach shall so much dare the field.

That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.

Enter Grandpree.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France ?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, -"*)
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host.
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks.
With torch -staves in their hand:-*) and their poor

jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips;
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit -')
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows.
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words.
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay
for death.

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits.
And give their fasting horses provender.
And after fight with them?

Con. I stay but for my guard; ^') On, to the field:
I will the banner from a trumpet take.
And use it for my haste. Come, come away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

TJie English Camp.

Enter the English Host; Glostkr, Bedford, Exe-
TBR, SaiiIsbury, and Westmoreland.

Olo. Where is the king?

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle.

West. Of fighting men they have full threescore
thousand.

Exe. There's five to oi)e ; besides, they all are fresh.

Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful odds.
God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge:
If we no more meet, til} we ipeet in heaven.
Then joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, —
My dear lord Gloster, — and my good lord Exetpr, —
And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu !

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go
with thee !

Exe. Farewell, kind lord, fight valiantly to-day;

And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it.
For thou art frara'd of the firm truth of valour.

[Exit Salisbury.

Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness;
Princely in both.

West. O that we now had here

Enter King Henry.
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!
K.Hen. What's he, that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland? — No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live.
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not, -^) if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires :
But, if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour.
As one man more, methinks, would share from me.
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more :
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he, which hath no stomach to this fight.
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse :
We would not die in that man's company.
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd — the feast of Caspian: -')
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home.
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd.
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He, that shall live this day, and see old age.
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
And say — to-morrow is saint Crispian ;
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars.
And say, — these wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot.
But he'll remembei-, with advantages, ^'')
What feats he did that day : Then shall our names.
Familiar in their mouths as household words, —
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, —
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd :
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by.
From this day to the ending ^*) of the world.
But we in it shall be remembered:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
B"'or he, to-day that sheds his blood with me.
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile.
This day shall gentle his condition: ^-)
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed.
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks.
That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day. 3^)

Enter Salisbury.
Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed;
The French are bravely in their battles set.
And win with all expedience charge on us.
K.Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so.
West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now !
K.Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from Eng-
land, cousin?
West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone,
Without more help, might fight this battle out!
K.Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou-
sand men;

HK.

Act IV.

KING HENRY V.

431

Which likes me better, than to wish us one. —
You know your places: God be with you all!

Tucket. Enter Montjot.

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king
Harry,

If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound,

Before thy most assured overthrow :

For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf,

Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy.
The constable desires thee — thou wilt mind ■*^)
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor

bodies
Must lie and fester,

K.Hen. Who hath sent thee now?

Mont. The constable of France.

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back ;
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows thus ?
The man, that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt.
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust.
Shall w itness live in brass ^ *) of this day's work :
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills.
They shall be fam'd ; for there the sun shall greet them.
And di"aw their honours reeking up to heaven;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime.
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
^*] Mark then a bounding valour in our English;
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.
Let me speak proudly ; — Tell the constable.
We are but warriors for the working-day: ■")
Our gayness, and our gilt, ^^) are all besmirph'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,)
And time hath worn us into slovenry:
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim:
And my poor soldiers tell me — yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers* heads.
And turn them out of service. If they do this,
(As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints :
Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the constable.

Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit.

K.Hen. I fear, thou'It once more come again for
ransome.

Enter the Duke of Yokk.
York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.
K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soldiers,
march away.
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!

[Exeunt

SCENE IV.

The Field of Battle.

Alarumi: Excursions. Enter French Soldier,
Pistol, and Boy.

Pitt. Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je penscy que tout ettet le gentilhomme

de bonne qualite.

Pist. Quality, call you me? — Construe me, ^''} art

thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu.

Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman: —

Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark, —

O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, *")

Except, O signieur, thou do give to me

Egregious ransome.

Fr. Sol. O, prennex misericorde ! ayez pitie de moy I

Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;

For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat.
In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est U impossible d'eschapper la force de
ton bras?

Pist. Brass, cur!

Thou damned and luxurious moxmtain goat, **)
OfTer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy I

Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys? **)
Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French,
What is his name.

Boy. Etcoutez; Comment estes vous appelle?

Fr. Sol. Monsieur Le Fer.

Boy. He says his name is — master Fer.

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, "3)
and ferret him: — discuss the same in French
unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferrit,
and firk.

Pist. Bid him prepare, for I vvill cut hits throat.

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur?

Boy. II me commande de vous dire que vous faites
vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est dispose tout a
cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pitt. Ouy, couper gorge, par may foy, pesant.
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. O, j'e vous supplie pour I'amour de Dieu,
me pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne mai-
son; gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux
cents escus.

Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a gentle-
man of a good house; and, for his ransome, he will
give you two hundred crowns.

Pist. Tell him, — my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de
pardonner aucun prisonnier ; neantmoins, pour let
escus que vous I'avez promis, il est content de vout
donner la liberte, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol. Sur met genoux, je vous donne mille re-
merciemens: et je m'estime heureux que je suis
tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense,
le plus brave, valiant, et ires distingue seigneur
d'Angleterre.

Pist. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand
thanks : and he esteems himself happy that he hath
fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most
brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of Eng-
land.

Pitt. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. —
Follow me, cur. [Exit Pjstoi..

Boy. Suioez vout le grand capitaine.

[Exit French Soldier.
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty
a heart: but the saying is true, — the empty vessel
makes the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nym, had
ten times more valour than this roaiiug devil i'tbe

BK.

432

KING HENRY V.

Act IV.

old play, that every one may pare his nails with
a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and
so would this be, if he durst steal any thing ad-
venturously. I must stay with the lackeys, with
the luggage of our camp : the French might have
a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is
none to guard it, but boys. [Exit.

SCENE V.

Another Part of the Field of Battle.

Alarums. Enter Dauphin , Orleans, Bourbon,
Constable, Ramuures, and others.

Con. O diable!

Orl. O seigneur — le jour est perdu, tout est perdu !

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes. — O meschante fortune !
Do not run away. [A short Alarum.

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable shame! — ^*) let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransome?

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame !
Let us die instant: **] Once more back again;
And he that will not follow Bourbon now.
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door.
Whilst by a slave, no gentler'*') than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminate.

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now !
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame.

Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs.
If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now ! I'll to the throng ;
Let life be short; else shame will be too long.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VL

Another Part of the Field.

Alarums. Enter King Henry, and Forces;
Exeter, and others.

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice-valiant coun-
trymen :
But all's not done, yet keep the French the field.

Exe. The duke of York commends him to your
majesty.

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this
hour,
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting;
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.

Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie,
Larding the plain: and by his bloody side,
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,)
The noble earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over.
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face;
And cries aloud, — Tarry, dear cousin Sujff^olk !
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast;
As, in this glorious and well-foughten field,
We kept together in our chivalry i
Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up:
He smil'd me in the face, raughf*') me his hand.
And, with a feeble gripe, says, — Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck

He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips;

And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd

A testament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd

Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;

But I had not so much of man in me.

But all my mother came into mine eyes,

And gave me up to tears.

K. Hen. I blame you not;

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
■* *) With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. —

[Alarum.
But, hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men : —
Then every soldier kill his prisoners ;
Give the word through. [Exeunt.

SCENE vir.

Another Part of the Field.
Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower.

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis expressly
against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a piece of
knavery, mark you now, as can be offered, in the
'orld: In your conscience now, is it not?

Gow. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive ; and
the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have
done this slaughter : besides, they have burned and
carried away all that was in the king's tent ; where-
fore the king, most worthily, hath caused every
soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gal-
lant king!

Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower;
What call you the town's name, where Alexander
the pig was born?

Gow. Alexander the great.

Flu. Why, 1 pray you, is not pig, great? The pig,
or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the
magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase
is a little variations.

Gow. I think Alexander the great was born in
Macedon ; his father was called — Philip of Mace-
don, as I take it.

Flu. I think it is in Macedon, where Alexander is
porn. I tell you, captain, — If you look in the maps
of the 'orld, 1 warrant, you shall find, in the com-
parisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the
situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river
in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at
Monmouth; it is called Wye, at Monmouth; but it
is out of my prains, what is the name of the other
river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like as my fingers is
to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you
mark Alexander's life well, Harry of ftlonmouth's
life is come after it indifferent well; for there is
figures in all things. Alexander (God knows, and
you know,) in his rages, and his furies, and his
wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his dis-
pleasures, and his indignations, and also being a
little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and
his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus.

Gow. Our king is not like him in that; he never
killed any of his friends.

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and
finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons
of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, being
in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Monmouth,
being in his right wits and his goot judgments, is
turn away the fat knight "*') with the great pelly-
doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knave-
ries, and mocks; 1 am forget his name.

XK.

Act IV.

KING HENRY V.

433

Gow. Sir John Falstaff.

Flu. That is he : I can tell you, there is goot men
pom at Monmouth.
Gow. Here comes his majesty.

Alarum. Enter King Henry with a part of the

English Forces; Warwick, Glostbr, Exbtbr,

and others.

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill;
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field; they do offend our sight:
If they'll do neither, we will come to them;
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings :
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have;
And not a man of them, that we shall take.
Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so.

Enter Mont jo r.

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.

Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.

K. Hen. How now ! what means this , herald ?
know'st thou not,
That I have fiii'd these bones of mine for ransome?
Com'st thou again for ransome?

Mont. No, great king:

I come to thee for charitable licence.
That we may wander o'er this bloody field,
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men;
For many of our princes (woe the while!)
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
(So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage,
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters.
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king.
To ^iew the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies.

K.Hen. I tell thee truly, herald,

I know not, if the day be ours, or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer,
And gallop o'er the field.

Mont. The day is yours.

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength,
for it! - ^

What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by?

Mont. They call it — Agincourt.

K. Hen. Then call we this — the field of Agin-
court,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't
please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward
the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the
chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in
France.

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen.
^ Flu. Your majesty says very true : if your majesties
is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service
in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks
in their Monmouth caps ; which, your majesty knows,
to this hour is an honourable padge of the service ;
and, I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to
wear the leek upon saint Tavy's day.

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour:
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your ma-
jesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell
you that: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as
it pleases his grace, and his majesty too!

K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman.

Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's countryman,
I care not who know it; I will confess it to all
the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of your ma-
jesty, praised be God, so long as your majesty is
an honest man.

K. Hen. God keep me so ! — Our heralds go yntb
him;
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither.

[Fointa to Williass. \Exeunt Mostjoy
and others.

Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king.

K. Hen. Soldier, why wears't thou that glove in
thy cap ?

Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of
one that I should fight withal, if he be alive.

K. Hen. An Englishman?

Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that swag-
gered with me last night: who, if 'a live, and ever
dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take
him a box o'the ear: or, if I can see my glove in
his cap (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he
would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly.

K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it
fit this soldier keep his oath?

Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please
your majesty, in my conscience.

K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman
of great sort, *") quite from the answer of his
degree. * ' )

Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the
tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is ne-
cessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and
his oath; if he be perjured, see you now, his repu-
tation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack sauce, as
ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and
his earth, in my conscience, la.

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live.

K. Hen. Who servest thou under?

Will. Under captain Gower, my liege.

Flu. Gower is a goot captain ; and is good know-
ledge and literature in the wars.

K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier.

Will. I wrill, my liege. [Exit.

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favour for
me, and stick it in thy cap : When Alen^on and
myself were down together, I plucked this glove
from his helm; if any man challenge this, he is a
friend to Alen^on and an enemy to our person; if
thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou
dost love me.

Flu. Your grace does me as great honours, as can
be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would
fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall
find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all ; but
I would fain see it once : an please Got of his grace,
that I might see it.

K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower?

Flu. He is my dear friend, an please yon.

K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to
my tent.

Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit.

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, — and my brother
Gloster,
Follow Fluellen closely at the beels:
The glove, which I have given him for a favour.
May, haply, purchase him a box o'the ear;
It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick,
If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge

XK.

28

434

KING HENRY V.

Act IV.

^

By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,)

Some sudden mischief may arise of it;

For I do know Fluellen valiant,

And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder,

And quickly will return an injury:

Follow, and see there be no harm between them. —

Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt.

SCENE vin.

Before King Henry's Pavilion.
Enter Gower and Williams.
Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain.

Enter Fluisi-lkn.

Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech
you now, come apace to the king: there is more
goot toward you, peradventure , than is in your
knowledge to dream of.

Will. Sir, know you this glove?

Flu. Know the glove? I know, the glove is a
glove.

Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it.

[Strikes Mm.

Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the uni-
versal 'orld, or in France, or in England.

Gow. How now, sir? you villain!

Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give treason
his payment into plows, I warrant you.

Will. I am no traitor.

Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. — I charge you
in his majesty's name, apprehend him ; he's a friend
of the duke Alen^on's.

Enter Warwick and Glostbr.

War. How now, how now! what's the matter?

Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be
Got for it !) a most contagious treason come to light,
look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day.
Here is his majesty.

Enter King Henry and Exeter.

K. Hen. How now! what's the matter?

Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that,
look your grace, has struck the glove which your
majesty is take out of the helmet of Alen9on.

Will. My liege, this was my glove; here is the
fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change,
promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike
him, if he did: I met this man with my glove in
his cap, and I have been as good as my word.

Flu. Your majesty hear now, (saving your majesty's
manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy
knave it is: I hope, your majesty is pear me testi-
mony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is
the glove of Alen9on, that your majesty is give me,
in your conscience now.

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier; Look, here is
the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st
to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms.

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer
for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld.

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ?

Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart :
never came any from mine, that might offend your
majesty.

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse.

Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you
appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the

night, your garments, your lowliness ; and what your
highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you,
take it for your own fault, and not mine: for had
you been as I took you for, I made no offence;
therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me.

K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with

crowns.
And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow;
And wear it for an honour in thy cap.
Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns ; —
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has
mettle enough in his pelly : — Hold, there is twelve
pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and
keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels,
and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter
for you.

Will. I will none of your money.

Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you, it will
serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore
should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so
goot : 'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will
change it.

Enter an English Herald.

K. Hen. Now, herald; are the dead number'd?

Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.

[Delivers a paper.

K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken,
uncle ?

Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;
John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt:
Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires,
¥\i\{ fifteen hundred, besides common men.

K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand

French,
That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number,
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
One hundred twenty-six : added to these,
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen.
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which.
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights:
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost.
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
The rest are — princes, barons, lords, knights,

'squires.
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead, —
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of BVance;
Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ;
The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures;
Great master of France, the brave sir Guischard

Dauphin ;
John duke of Alen9on; Antony duke of Brabant,
The brother to the duke of Burgundy;
And Edward duke of Bar: of lusty earls,
Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix,
Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemont, and Lestrale.

Here was a royal fellowship of death !

Where is the number of our English dead?

[Herald presents another paper,
Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire:
None else of name; and, of all other men.
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here.
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem.
But in plain shock, and even play of battle.
Was ever known so great and little loss.
On one part and on the other? — Take it, God,
For it is only thine!

Exe. 'Tis wonderful!

XK.

Act V.

KING HENRY V.

435

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the vil-
lage:
And be it death proclaimed through our host,
To boast of this, or take that praise from God,
Which is his only.

Flu. Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, to
tell how many is killed V

K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledg-
ment.
That God fought for us.

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot.

K. Hen. Do we all holy rites;
Let tiiere be sung Non nobis and Te Deum.
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay.
We'll then to Calais; and to England then;
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.

[^Exeunt.

ACT V.

Enter Chorus.

Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the

story,
That I may prompt them: and of such as have,
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the king
Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen.
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts,
Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd

sea.
Which, like a mighty whiffler ') 'fore the king.
Seems to prepare his way: so let him land;
And, solemnly, see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Biackheath :
Where that his lords desire him, to have borne -)
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword.
Before him, through the city: he forbids it.
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
Giving full trophy, ^) signal, and ostent.
Quite from himself to God. But now behold.
In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens !
The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, —
Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels, —
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in:
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, ■*)
Were now the general of our gracious empress ^)
(As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming.
Bringing rebellion broached ^) on his sword.
How many would the peaceful city quit.
To welcome him ? much more , and much more

cause.
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;
(As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the king of England's stay at home:
The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them;) and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
Till Harry's back-return again to France;
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The interim, by remembering you — 'tis past.
Then brook abridgement; and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

[Exit.

XK.

SCENE I.

France. An English Court of Guard.

Enter Flubllen and Gowee.

Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your
leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past.

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and where-
fore in all things: I will tell you, asmy friend, captain
Gower ; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, pragging
knave. Pistol, — which you and yourself, and all
the 'odd, know to be no petter than a fellow, look
you now, of no merits, — he is come to me, and
brings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and
bid me eat my leek : it was in a place where I
could not breed no contentions with him ; but I will
be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him
once again, and then I will tell him a little piece
of my desires.

Enter Pistol.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-
cock.

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-
cocks. — Got bless you, ancient Pistol ! you scurvy,
lowsy knave, Got bless you !

Fist. Ah ! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base

Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? ')
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave,
at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions,
to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you
do not love it, nor your affections, and your appe-
tites, and your digestions, does not agree with it,
I would desire you to eat it.

Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.

Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.

Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it?

Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's
will is: I will desire you to live in the meantime,
and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it.
[Striking him again] You called me yesterday, mount-
ain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire
of low degree. I pray you, fall to ; if you can mock
a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished him. ^)

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my
leek, or I will peat his pate four days : — Pite, I
pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and
your ploody coxcomb.

Pist. Must I bite?

Flu. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of
questions too, and ambiguities.

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge;
I eat, and eke I swear. —

JFYm. Eat, I pray you: will you have some more
sauce to your leek? there Is not enough leek to
swear by.

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.

Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily.
Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot
for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions
to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them;
that is all.

Pist. Good.

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot: — Hold you there is a
groat to heal your pate.

Pist. Me a groat!

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it;
or I have another leek in my pocket, wliich you
shall eat.

28*

436

KING HENRY V.

Act V.

Fist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge.

Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in
cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy no-
thing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep
you, and heal your pate. [Exit.

Pist. All hell shall stir for this.

Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, —
begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a
memorable trophy of pre-deceased valour, — and
dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words?
I have seen you gleeking ') and galling at this
gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because
he could not speak English in the native garb, he
could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you
find it otherwise; and, henceforth, let a Welsh cor-
rection teach you a good English condition. •")
Fare ye well. [Exit.

Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife ' *) with me
now?
News have I, that my Nell is dead i'the spital
Of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn.
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
And patches will I get unto these scars.
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. *^)

SCENE IT.

Troyes in Champagne. An Apartment in the
French King'* Palace.

Enter at one door, King Hknry, Bedford, Glos-

TBR, ExKTKR, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, Olid Other

Lords; at another, the French King, Queen Isa-
bel, the Princess Katharine, Lords, Ladies, ^c,
the Duke of Burgundy, and his Train.

K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are
met!
Unto our brother France, — and to our sister.
Health and fair time of day : — joy and good wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;
And (as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,)
We do salute you, duke of Burgundy; —
And, princes B^rench, and peers, health to you all!

Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face,
Most worthy brother England; fairly met: —
So are you, princes English, every one.

Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England,
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting.
As we are now glad to behold your eyes;
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
Against the French, that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks:
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope.
Have lost their quality; and that this day
Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love.

K. Hen. To cry amen to that thus we appear.

Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you.

Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love,
Great Kings of FVance and England ! That I have

labour'd
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial majesties
Unto this bar *^) and royal interview,
Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd.
That face to face, and royal eye to eye,
You have congreeted; let it not disgrace me,

If I demand, before this royal view.
What rub, or what impediment, there is,
Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace.
Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births.
Should not, in this best garden of the world.
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd;
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
Corrupting in its own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached, —
Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair.
Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas,
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory.
Doth root upon; while that the coulter rusts.
That should deracinate ' *) such savagery :
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover.
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank.
Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems.
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs.
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges.
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness;
Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children,
Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time.
The sciences that should become our country;
But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will.
That nothing do but meditate on blood, —
To swearing, and stern looks, diffus'd attire, '^)
And every thing that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favour, i*)
You are assembled: and my speech entreats.
That I may know the let, why gentle peace
Should not expel these inconveniencies.
And bless us with her former qualities.

K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace.
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
With full accord to all our just demands ;
Whose tenours and particular effects
You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands.

Bur. The king hath heard them; to the which,
as yet.
There is no answer made.

K.Hen. Well then, the peace.

Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer.

Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye
O'er-glanc'd the articles: pleaseth your grace
To appoint some of your counsel presently
To sit with us once more, with better heed
To re-survey them, we will, suddenly.
Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. * ')

K. Hen. Brother, we shall. — Go, uncle Exeter, —
And brother Clarence, — and yoy, brother Gloster, —
Warwick, — and Huntingdon, — go with the king :
And take with you free power, to ratify.
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable for our dignity.
Any thing in, or out of, our demands;
And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister,
Go with the princes, or stay here with us?

Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them;
Haply, a woman's voice may do some good.
When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on.

K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here
with us;
She is our capital demand, compris'd
Within the fore rank of our' articles.

Q.Jsa. She hath good leave.

[Exeunt all but Henry, Katharine, and her
Gentlewoman.

K.Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair!

XX.

Act V.

KING HENRY V.

437

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms,

Such as will enter at a lady's ear,

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot
speak your England.

K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me
soundly with your French heart, 1 will be glad to
hear you confess it brokenly with your English
tongue. Do \ou like me, Kate?

Kath. Pardonnez vioy, 1 cannot tell vat is —
like me.

K.Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are
like an angel.

Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semhlable a leg anges ?

Alice. Ouy, vrayment, (sauf vottre grace) ainsi
dit-il.

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must not
blush to affirm it.

Kath. O bon Dieu! let langues des hommet sont
pleinei des tromperies.

K.Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues
of men are full of deceits?

Alice. Out/; dat de tongues of de mans is be full
of deceits: dat is de princess.

K. Hen. The princess is the better English-woman.
I'faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding
I am glad, thou can'st speak no better English; for,
if thou could'st, thou would'st find me such a plain
king, ' ^) that thou would'st think, 1 had sold my
farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince
it in love, but directly to say — I love you: then,
if you urge me further than to say — Do you in
faith? 1 wear out my suit. Give me your answer;
i'faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain: How
say you, lady?

Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well.

K.Hen. Marry, if you would put me to. verses, or
to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me:
for the one, 1 have neither words nor measure; and
for the other, 1 have no strength in measure, ^')
yet a reasonable measure in strength. If 1 could
win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my
saddle with my armour on my back, under the cor-
rection of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly
leap into a wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love,
or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on
like a butcher, and sit like a jack-an-apes, never
off: but, before God, I cannot look greenly, '^°) nor
gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in
protestation; only downright oaths, which I never
use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou
canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose
face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in
his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let
thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier:
If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to
say to thee — that I shall die, is true : but — for
thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too.
And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of
plain and uncoined constancy; -*) for he perforce
must do thee right, because he hath not the gift
to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite
tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours,

— they do always reason themselves out again.

What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but

a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will

stoop; a black beard will turn white: a curled pate

will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye

will wax hollow; but a good heart, Kate, is the
sun and moon ; or, rather the sun, and not the moon ;
for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps
his course truly. If thou would have such a one,
take me: And take me, take a soldier; take a sol-

dier, take a king: And what sayest thou then to
my love? speak, ray fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy
of France?

K.Hen. No; it is not possible, you should love
the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, you
should love the friend of France; for I love France
so well, that I will not part with a village of it;
I will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is
mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and
you are mine.

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat.

K.Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French;
which, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like
a new -married wife about her husband's neck,
hardly to be shook off. Quand fay la possession
de France, et quand vous avex le possession de
moi, (let me see, what then? Saint Dennis be my
speed!) — done vostre est France, et vous estes
mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer
the kingdom, as to speak so much more French : I
shall never move thee in French, unless it be to
laugh at me.

Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le Franqois que vous
parlez, est meilleur que I'Anglois lequel je parle.

K. Hen. No, 'faith, is't not, Kate : but thy speaking
of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must
needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate,
dost thou understand thus much English? Canst
thou love me?

Kath. 1 cannot tell.

K.Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate?
I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me: and
at night when you come into your closet, you'll
question this gentlewoman about me; and I know,
Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me,
that you love with your heart: but, good Kate,
mock me mercifully ; the rather, gentle princess, be-
cause I love thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine,
Kate, (as I have a saving faith within me, tells
me, — thou shalt,) I get thee with scambling, and
thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-
breeder: Shall not thou and I, between saint
Dennis and saint George, compound a boy, half
French, half English, that shall go to Constanti-
nople, and take the Turk by the beard? shall we
not? what sayest thou, my fair flower-de-luce?

Kath. I do not know dat.

K.Hen. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to
promise : do but now promise, Kate, you will en-
deavour for your French part of such a boy ; and,
for my English moiety, take the word of a king
and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle
Katharine du monde, man tres chere et divine
deesse?

Kath. Your majeste 'ave fausse French enough
to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en
France.

K. Hen. Now, fye upon my false French! By
mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate:
by which honour I dare not swear, thou lovest
me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou
dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering
effect ^-) of my visage. Now beshrew my father's
ambition! he was thinking of civil wars when he
got me; therefore was 1 created with a stubborn
outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come
to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate,
the elder I wax, the better I shall appear: my
comfort is, that old age, that ill-layer-up of beauty,
can do no more spoil upon my face : thou hast me,
if thou hast me at the worst; and thou shalt wear
me, if thou wear me, better and better; And there-

438

KING HENRY V.

Act V.

fore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have
me? Put off your maiden blushes: avodch the
thoughts of your heart with the looks of an em-
press; take me by the hand, and say — Harry of
England, I am thine: which word thou shalt no
sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee
aloud — England is thine, Ireland is thine, France
is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who,
though I speak it before his face, if he be not
fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best
king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken
music; for thy voice is music, and thy English
broken : therefore , queen of all, Katharine, break
thy mind to me in broken English, Wilt thou
have me?

Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mon pere.

K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it shall
please him, Kate.

Kath. Den it shall also content me.

K.Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I
call you — my queen.

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laisaez, laissez: ma
foy, je ne veux point que vous abbaissex vostre
grandeur, en baisant la main d'une vostre indigne
serviteure; excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon tres
puissant seigneur.

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

Kath. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre bai-
sees devant leur nopces, il n'est pas le coHtume
de France.

K.Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says she?

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies
of France, — I cannot tell what is , baiser , en
English.

K.Hen. To kiss.

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moy.

K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in France
to kiss before they are married, would she say?

Alice. Ouy, vrayment.

K.Hen. O, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined
within the weak list^^) of a country's fashion: we
are the makers of manners, Kate: and the liberty
that follows our places, stops the mouths of all
find-faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the
nice fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss:
therefore, patiently, and yielding. [Kissing Aer.] You
have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more
eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in the
tongues of the French council; and they should
sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general
petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.

Enter the French Kins and Qtjebn, BuRGUNDr,

Bedford, Glostbr, Exeter, Westmoreland, and

other French and English Lords.

Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin,
teach you our princess English?

K.Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin,
how perfectly I love her 5 and that is good En-
glish.

Bur. Is she not apt?

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my condi-
tion is not smooth: -■*) so that, having neither the
voice, nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot
so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will
appear in his true likeness.

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, ^^) if I
answer you for that. If you would cqnjure in her,
you must make a circle: if conjure up love in her
in his true likeness, he must appear naked, and
blind: Can you blame her then, being a maid yet

rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty,
if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy
in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard
condition for a maid to consign to.

K.Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield; as love is
blind, and enforces.

Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they
see not what they do.

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin
to consent to winking.

Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if
you will teach her to know my meaning : for maids
well summered and warm kept, are like flies at
Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their
eyes: and then they will endure handling, which
before would not abide looking on.

K.Hen. This moral -'') ties me over to time, and
a hot summer; and so I will catch the fly, your
cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind
too.

Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves.

K.Hen. It is so; and you may, some of you, thank
love for my blindness; who cannot see many a fair
French city, for one fair French maid that stands
in my way.

Fr.King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspec-
tively, the cities turned into a maid; for they are
all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never
entered.

K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife?

Fr. King. So please you.

K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities you
talk of, may wait on her: so the maid, that stood
in the way of ^ ') my wish, shall show me the way
to my will.

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of
reason.

K.Hen. Is't so, my lords of England?

West. The king hath granted every article:
His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all,
According to their firm proposed natures.

Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this: —
Where your majesty demands, — That the king of
France, having any occasion to write for matter of
grant, shall name your highness in this form, and
with this addition, in French, — Notre tres cher
filz Henry roy d Angleterre, heretier de France;
and thus in Latin, — Praclarissimus filius noster
Henricus, rex Anglice, et hares Francia.

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied.
But your request shall make me let it pass.

K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear al-
liance.
Let that one article rank with the rest:
And, thereupon, give me your daughter.

Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and from' her blood
raise up
Issue to me: that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look

pale
With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction
Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.

All. Amen!

K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me
witness all.
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen,

[Flouriih.

Q.Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages.
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
Aa man and wife, being two, are one in love,

Act V.

KING HENRY V.

439

So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy.
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage.
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
To make divorce of their incorporate league;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other ! — God speak this Amen !

All. Amen!

K.Hen. Prepare we for our marriage: — on
which day.
My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. —
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;
And may our oaths well kept and prosp'roas be!

\Exeimt,

Enter Chorus.
Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen,

Our bending ^^) author hath pursu'd the story;
In little room confining mighty men.

Mangling by starts * ') the full course of their
glory.
Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd

This star of England: fortune made his sword;
By which the world's best garden ^'') he achiey'd.

And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king

Of France and England, did this king succeed;
Whose state so many had the managing.

That they lost France, and made his England
bleed :
Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their

sake.
In your fair minds let this acceptance take.

[Exit.

KING

XXI.

HENRY

PART I.

VI.

PERSONS REPBESENTED.

King Henry the Sixth.

Duke of Gloster, XJncle to the King, and Protector.

Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent

of France.
Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great XJncle

to the King.
Henry Beaufort, great Uncle to the King, Bishop

of Winchester, and afterwards Cardinal.
John Beaufort, £arZo/^Somerset ; afterwards Duke.
Richard Plantasbnet, eldest Son of Richard late

Earl of Cambridge; afterwards Duke of

York.
Earl of Warwick.
Earl of Salisbury.
Earl of Suffolk.

Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury:
John Talbot, his Son.
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer.
Sir John Fastolfe.
Sir William Lucy-
Sir William Glansdale.
Sir Thomas Gargravb.
Mayor of London.

WooDviLLB, Lieutenant of the Tower.
Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction.
Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Faction.
CnAUhKs, Dauphin, and afterwards King o/" France.
Reignibr, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of

Naples.
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of ALEN90N.
Governor of Paris.
Bastard of Orleans.

Master- Gunner of Orleans, and his Son.
General of the French Forces in Bourdeaux.
A French Sergeant.
A Porter.
An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle.

Margaret, Daughter to Reignier; aferwards mar-
ried to King Henry.
Countess of Auvergnb.
Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc.

Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders
of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers,
Messengers, and several Attendants both on
the English and French.

Scene — partly in England, and partly in France.

ACT I.

SCENE I. W^estminster Abbey.

Dead March. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth

discovered, lying in state; attended on by the

Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter; the

Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester,

Heralds, ^c.

Bedford.

PIuNG be the heavens with black, ») yield day to

night !
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented unto Henry's death!
2) Henry the fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

Glo. England ne'er had a king, until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command:
His brandlsh'd sword did blind men with his beams ;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.

Exe. We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in
blood ?
Henry is dead, and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately pi'esence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What? shall we curse the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French ^)
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magic verses have contriv'd his end?

Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day
So dreadful will not be, as was his sight.
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.

Glo. The church! where is it? had not church-
men pray'd,
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince.
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.

Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector;
And lookest to command the prince, and realm.
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
More than God, or religious churchmen, may.

Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;

SKI.

Act I.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

441

And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,
Except it be to pray against thy foes.
Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds
in peace!
Let's to the altar: — Heralds, wait on us: —
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms;
Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. —
Posterity, await for wretched years.
When at their mother's moist eyes •*} babes shall suck;
Our isle be made a nourish *) of salt tears,
And none but women left to wail the dead. —
Henry the fifth! thy ghost I invocate;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils!
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
Than Julius Caesar, or bright

Enter a Messenger.

Met$. My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans,
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.

Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's
corse?
Speak softly; or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.

Glo. Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
If Henry were recall'd to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.

Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd ?

Mesi. No treacherj' ; but w ant of men and money.
Among the soldiers this is mutter'd, —
That here you maintain several factions;
And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.
One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
<•; A third man thinks, without expence at all.
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility I
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot;
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.

Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. ")

Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of France : —
Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France. —
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes.
To weep their intermissive miseries. ^)

Enter another Messenger.

2 Mesi. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mis-

chance,
France is revolted from the English quite;
Except some petty towns of no import:
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
The duke of Alen9on flieth to his side.

Exe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?

Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats: —
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.

Bed. Gloster, why doubt' st thou of my forwardness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is over-run.

Enter a third Messenger-

3 Mest. My gracious lords, — to add to your

laments.

Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, —

I must inform you of a dismal fight.

Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French,
Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?

3Met». O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown;

The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.

The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord.

Retiring from the siege of Orleans,

Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.

By three and twenty thousand of the French

Was round encompassed and set upon:

No leisure had he to enrank his men;

He wanted pikes to set before his archers;

Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges.

They pitch'd in the ground confusedly.

To keep the horsemen off" from breaking in.

More than three hours the fight continued;

Where valiant Talbot, above human thought.

Enacted wonders with his sword and lance.

Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;

Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew :

The French exclaim'd. The devil was in arms;

All the whole army stood agaz'd on him:

His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,

A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain.

And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.

Here had the conquest fully been seal'd upi

If sir John Fastolfe ') had not play'd the coward;

He being in the vavvard, (plac'd behind.

With purpose to relieve and follow them,)

Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.

Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;

Enclosed were they with their enemies:

A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace.

Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;

Whom all France, with their chief assembled

strength.
Durst not presume to look once in the face.

Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself.
For living idly here, in pomp and ease,
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid.
Unto his dastard foe-men is betray'd.

3 Me$s. O no, he lives; but is took prisoner.
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford:
Most of the rest slaughter' d, or took, likewise.

Bed. His ransome there is none but I shall pay:
I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne.
His crown shall be the ransome of my friend;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours, —
Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make.
To keep our great saint George's feast w ithal :
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take.
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake,

SMesg. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;
The English army is grown weak and faint:
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
I Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.

Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn;
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly.
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.

Bed. I do remember it; and here take leave.
To go about my preparation, [Exit.

Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste I can.
To view the artillery and munition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit.

Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is.
Being ordain'd his special governor;
And for his safetj' there I'D best devise, [Exit.

Win. Each hath his place and function to attend:
I am left out; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office ;

XKI.

442

KING HENRY VI. PART I,

Act I.

The king from Eltham I intend to send,
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.

[Exit. Scene closes.

SCENE II,

France. Before Orleans.

Enter Chaklbs, with his Forces; ALEN90N,
Reigmkr, and others.

Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens,
So in the earth, to this day is not known :
Late did he shine upon the English side;
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment, but we have?
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans;
Otherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat bull-
beeves ;
Either they must be dieted like mules.
And have their provender tyed to their mouths,
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.

Reig. Let's raise the siege; Why live we idly here?
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
Remaineth none, but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
And he may well in fretting spend his gall.
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war.

Char. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.
Now for the honour of the forlorn BVench:
Him I forgive my death, that killeth me.
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt.

Alarums; Excursions; afterwards a Retreat.

Re-enter Charles, Alen^on, Reignier, and others.

Char. Who ever saw the like? what men have I? —
Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled,
But that they left me 'midst my enemies.

Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
He tighteth as one weary of his life.
The other lords, like lions wanting food.
Do rush upon us as their hungry pi'ey. ' °)

Alen. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records,
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, ' ' )
During the time Edward the third did reign.
More truly now may this be verified;
B^or none but Samsons, and Goliasses,
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
Lean, raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose
They had such courage and audacity?

Char. Let's leave this town; for they are hair-
brain'd slaves.
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:
Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege.

Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals ' *) or device.
Their arms are set, like clocks, still to stril^e on;
Else jie'er could they hold out so, as they do.
By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone.

Alen. Be it so.

Enter the Bastard 0/ Orleans.
Bast. Where's the prince Dauphin? I have news

for him.
Char. Bastard of Orleans, • ^) thrice welcome to us.
Bast. Methlnks, your looks are sad, your cheer
appall'd ;
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand:
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege,

And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome; ^'*)
What's past, and what's to come, she can descry.
Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
For they are certain and unfallible.
Char. Go, call her in : [Exit Bastard.] But first to
try her skill,
Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:
Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern: —
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.

[Retires.

Enter La Pucelle, Bastard 0/ Orleans, and
others.

Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous
feats?

Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me ?
Where is the Dauphin? — come, come from behind;
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me:
In private will I talk with thee apart; —
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.

,Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.

Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd
To shine on my contemptible estate:
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me;
And, in a vision full of majesty,
Will'd me to leave my base vocation,
And free my country from calamity:
Her aid she promis'd, and assur'd success:
In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
And, whereas I was black and swart before.
With those clear rays which she infus'd on me,
That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. ' *)
Ask me what question thou canst possible.
And I will answer unpremeditated:
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st.
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this: "') Thou shalt be fortunate.
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.

Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms;
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, —
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;
And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence.

Puc. I am prepar'd : here is my keen-edg'd sword,
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;
The which, at Touraine, in saint Katharine's church-
yard,
' ' ) Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth.

Char. Then come o'God's name, I fear no woman.

Puc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.

[They fight.

Char. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too
weak.

Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must
help me:
Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so.
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be;
'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love.
For my profession's sacred from above:
When I have chased all thy foes from hence.
Then will I think upon a recompense.

BBI.

Act I.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

443

Char. Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate
thrall.

Reig. My lord, methinks. is very long in talk.

^/rn. Doubtless, he shrires this woman to her smock;
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.

Reig. Shall we disturb him,«ince he keeps no mean?

Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do

know :
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

Reig. My lord, where are you? what demise you on?
Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

Char. What she says, I'll confirm ; we'll fight it out.

Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect saint Martin's summer, '*) halcyon days.
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water.
Which never ceases to enlarge itself.
Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought.
With Henrj's death, the English circle ends;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship,
Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor J et saint Philip's daughters, ' ') were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'd down on the earth.
How may I reverently worship thee enough?

Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our
honours;
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.

Char. Presently we'll try: — Come, let's away
about it:
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. \Exema.

SCENE m.

London. Hill before the Tower.

Enter, at the Gates, the Duke o/ Glostb*, tnth
his Serving-men, in blue coats.

Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this day;
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. -°)
Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
Open the gates; Gloster it is that calls.

[Servanta knock.
1 Ward. [Within.] Who is there that knocks so
imperiously ?

1 Sere. It is the noble duke of Gloster.

2 Ward. [TFithin.] Whoe'er he be, you may not be

let in.
1 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains?
1 Ward. [Within.] The Lord protect him! so we
answer him:
We do no otherwise than we are wiird.
Glo. Who willed you? or whose will stands, but
mine?
There's none protector of the realm, but I. —
Break up the gates, -') I'll be your warrantize:
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

Servants rush at the Tower Gates. Enter y to

the Gates, Woodvillb, the Lieutenant.
Wood. [Within.] What noise is this? what traitors

have we here?
Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear?
Open the gates; here's Gloster, that would enter.
Wood. [Within.] Have patience, noble duke; I may
not open;

The cardinal of Winchester forbids:
F'rom him I have express commandment.
That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in.

Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me?
Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate,
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook ?
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king:
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.

1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector;
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

Enter Wikchbstbr, attended by a Train of
Servants >n tawny coats. -^)

Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey ? what means
this?

Glo. Piel'd priest, -^) dost thou command me to
be shut out?

Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor.
And not protector of the king or realm.

Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator;
Thou, that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord;
Thou, that gav'st w hores indulgences to sin : ^ *)
I'll canvas thee ^*) in thy broad cardinal's hat.
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge afoot;
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, -')
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou %vilt.

Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing cloth
I'll use, to carry thee out of this place.

Win. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.

Glo. What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face? —
Draw, men, for all this privileged place;
Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard ;
[G1.08TER and hit Men attack the Bishop.
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly:
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;
In spite of pope, or dignities of church.
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.

Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope.

Glo. Winchester goose, - ") I cry — a rope! a rope!
Now beat him hence. Why do you let them stay ? —
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. —
Out, tawny-coats! — out, scarlet hypocrite!

Here a great Tumult. In the midst of it, enter

the Mayor 0/* London, and Officers.

May. Fye, lords! that you, being supreme magis-
trates.
Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

Glo. Peace, mayor; thou know'st little of my wrongs ;
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king.
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.

Win. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens;
One that still motions war, and never peace,
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines;
That seeks to overthrow religion.
Because he is protector of the realm;
And would have armour here out of the Tower,
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince.

Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but blows.
[Here they »kirmi$h again.

May. Nought rests for me, in this tiunultuous strife.
But to make open proclamation: —
Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou can'st.

Off. All manner of men, assembled here in arm*
this day, against Gods peace and the king's,
we charge and command you, in his highness^
name, to repair to your several dwelling-
places; and not to wear, handle, or use, any
sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon
pain of death.

KBX

444

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act I.

Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.

Win. Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear cost, be sure:
Thy heart-blood I will have, for this daj's work.

May. I'll call for clubs, if you will not away : — - ^)
This cardinal is more haughty than the devil.

Glo. Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou
may'st.

Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head;
For I intend to have it, ere long. [Exeunt.

May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will de-
part. —
Good God ! that nobles should such stomachs - ') bear !
I myself fight not once in forty year. ^'*) [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

France. Before Orleans.

Enter, on the Walls, the Master-Gunner and
his Son.

M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be-
sieg'd ;
And how the English have the suburbs won.

Son. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
Howe'er unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.

M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd

by me:
Chief master gunner am I of this town;
Something I must do, to procure me grace.
The prince's espials ^') have informed me.
How the English, in the suburbs close entrench'd.
Wont through a secret grate of iron bars
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city;
And thence discover, how, with most advantage.
They may vex us, with shot, or with assault.
To intercept this inconvenience,
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd;
And fully even these three days have I watch'd.
If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch,*-)
For I can stay no longer.
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit.

Son. Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.

Enter in an upper Chamber of a Tower, the Lords

Salisbury, and Talbot, Sir VVilliam Glansdale,

Sir Thomas Gargravk, and others.

Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
How wert thou handled, being prisoner?
Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top.

Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner.
Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him I was exchanged and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far,
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me:
Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death
Rather than I would be so pil'd esteem'd. ^ ^)
In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart!
Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
If I now had him brought into my power.

Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertain'd.

Ta/. With scoffs and scorns, and contumelious taunts.
In open market-place produc'd they me,
To be a public spectacle to all ;
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
The scare-crow that affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the officers that led me;
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.

My grisly countenance made others fly;

None durst come near, for fear of sudden death.

In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;

So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread.

That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel.

And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:

Wherefore a guard of chosen siiot I had.

That walk'd about me every minute-while:

And if I did but stir out of my bed.

Ready they were to shoot nie to the heart.

Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
Here, through this grate, I can count every one, ^'*)
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify;
Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee. —
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale!
Let me have your express opinions,
Where is best place to make our battery next.

Gar. I think at the north gate ; for there stand lords.

Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd.
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

[Shot from the Town. Salisbury and
Sir Thomas Gargrave fall.

Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners !

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!

Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath cross'd
us? —
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou can'st speak;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off! — *^)
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand.
That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy !
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars;
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up.
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. —
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech

doth fail.
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. —
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive.
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! —
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. —
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;

Thou shalt not die, whiles

He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me;
As who should say. When I am dead and gone.
Remember to avenge me on the French. —
Plantagenet, I will; and Nero-like, ^^)
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
Wretched shall France be only in my name.

[Thunder heard; afterwards an Alarum.
What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise?

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, my lord, the BVench have gather'd
head:
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, —
A holy prophetess, new risen up, —
Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

[Salisbury groans.

Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan!
It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd. —
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you : —
Pucelle or puzzel, ^') dolphin or dogfish.
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. —

SKI.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART I

445

Convey ine Salisbury into his tent,
And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen
dare. [Exeunt, bearing out the Bodien.

SCENE V.

The same. Before one of the Gates.

Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dau-
phin, and driceth him in: then enter Joan la
PuciiLLK, driving Englishmen before her. Then
enter Talbot.

Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and ray
force ?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them!
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them.

Enter La Pucellk.

Here, here she comes: I'll have a bout with thee;

Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:

Blood will I draw on thee, ^'') thou art a witch.

And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.

Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace
thee. [They fight.

Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage.
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.

Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
1 must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament:
This day is ours, as many more shall be.

[PucELLB enters the Town, with Soldiers.

Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
A witch, by fear, ^9) not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists:
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench.
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.

[A short Alarum.
Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight.
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf.
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard.
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

[Alarum. Another Skirmish.
It will not be : — Retire into your trenches :
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
In spite of us or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury !
The shame hereof will make me hide my head!
[Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his Forces, ^c.

SCENE VI.

The same.

Enter, on the Walls, Pdcellb, Ciiarlbs,
Reignikr, ALEN90N, and Soldiers.

Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls;

Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves: *<»}

Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.

Char. Divinest creature, brigiit Astraea's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens.

That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.

France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess !

Recover'd is the town of Orleans:

More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.

Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the
town? *')
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires,
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy.
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.

Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
For which, I will divide my crown with her:
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear.
Than Rhodope's, ♦-) or Memphis', ever was:
In memory of her, when she is dead.
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, *^)
Transported shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France.
No longer on saint Dennis will we cry.
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
Come in: and let us banquet royally.
After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter, to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and
two Sentinels.

Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant:
If any noise, or soldier, you perceive,
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign.
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. ')

1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.

Thus are poor serritors
(When others sleep upon their quiet beds)
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.

Enter Talbot, Bedford, BuRcuNor, and Forces,

with scaling Ladders; their Drums beating a

dead march.

Tal. Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, —
By whose approach, the regions of Artois,
Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us, —
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure.
Having all day carous'd and banqueted:
Embrace we then this opportunity;
As fitting best to quittance their deceit,
Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery.

Bed. Coward of France! — how much he wrongs
his fame.
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude.
To join with witches, and the help of hell.

Bur. Traitors have never other company. —
But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure?

Tal. A maid, they say.

Bed. A maid ! and be so martial !

Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long;
If underneath the standard of the French,
She carry armour, as she hath begun.

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with
spirits :
God is our fortress; in whose conquering name.
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

Tal. Not all together: better far, I guess,
That we do make our entrance several ways;
That, if it chance the one of us do fail.
The other yet may rise against their force.

Bed. Agreed; I'll to yon corner.

446

KING HENRY VI. PART I

Act II.

Bur. And I to this.

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his
grave. —
Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both.

I The English scale the walls, crying St. George !
a Talbot ! and all enter by the Town.
Se7it. [Within.] Arm, arm! the enemy doth make
assault !

The French leap over the walls in their shirts.

Enter, several ways, Bastard, ALEN90N, Reignier,

half ready, and half unready.

Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so? -)

Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.

Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds.
Hearing alannns at our chamber doors.

Alen. Of all exploits, since fiist I follow'd arms,
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize
More venturous, or desperate than this.

Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

Alen. Here cometh Charles ; I marvel, how he sped.

Enter Charles and La Pucblle.

Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.

Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain.
That now our loss might be ten times so much?

Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his fiiend?
At all times will you have my power alike?
Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail.
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good.
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.

Char. Duke of Alenfon, this was your default;
That, being captain of the watch to-night.
Did look no better to that weighty charge.

Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept.
As that whereof I had the government.
We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd.

Bast. Mine was secure.

Reig. And so was mine, my lord.

Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night.
Within her quarter, and my own precinct,
I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels:
Then how, or which way, should they first break in?

Buc. Question, my lords, no further of the case,
How, or which way ; 'tis sure, they found some place
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this, —
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
And lay new platforms ^) to endamage them.

Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying a
Talbot ! a Talbot ! They fly, leaving their clothes
behind.
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
For I have loaden me with many spoils,
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Orleans. Within the Town.

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain,
and others.

Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled.
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.

Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.

[Retreat sounded.

Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury:
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town. —
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him.
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.
And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death.
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
1 muse, we met not with the Dauphin's grace;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc;
Nor any of his false confederates.

Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight
began,
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds.
They did, amongst the troops of armed men.
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.

Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern.
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,)
Am sure, I scar'd the Dauphin, and his trull;
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running.
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves.
That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here,
We'll follow them with all the power we have.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. All hail, my lords! which of this princely
train
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of France?

Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergue,
With modesty admiring thy renown.
By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies; *)
That she may boast, she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud I'eport.

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars
Will turn into a peaceful comic sport.
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. —
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of men
Could not prevail with al« their oratory.
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled: —
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on h6r. —
Will not your honours bear me company?

Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will :
And I have heard it said, — Unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.

Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] — You perceive ray
mind.

Capt. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Auvergne. Court of the Castle.

Enter the Countkss and her Porter.

Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

HXI.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

447

Port. Madam, I will. [Exit.

Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears.
To give their censure ^) of these rare reports.

Enter Messenger and Talbot.

Mess. Madam,
According as your ladyship desir'd.
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come.

Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?

Mess. Madam, it is.

Count. Is this the scourge of France?

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad.
That with his name the mothers still their babes?
I see, report is fabulous and false:
1 thought, I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect.
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf:
It cannot be, this weak and writhled ') shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you:
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.

Count. What means he now? — Go ask him, whither
he goes.

Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I go to certify her, Talbot's here.

Re-enter Porter, with keys.

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

Tal. Pi'isoner! to whom?

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord;

And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs :
But now the substance shall endure the like;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine.
That hast by tyranny, these many years.
Wasted our country, slain our citizens.
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

Tal. Ha, ha, ha!

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall
turn to moan.

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, ')
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow,
Whereon to practise your severity.

Count. Why, art not thou the man?

Tal. I am indeed.

Count. Then have I substance too.

Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
For what you see, is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity:
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here.
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch.
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it.

Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
He will be here, and yet he is not here:
How can these contrarieties agree?

Tal. That wdll I show you presently.

He winds a Horn. Drums heard; then a Peal of

Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers.
How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded.
That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,

With which he yoked your rebellious necks;
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,
And in a moment makes them desolate.

Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, *)
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
Let ray presumption not provoke thy wrath;
For I am sorry, that with reverence
I did not entertain thee as thou art.

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done, hath not offended me:
No other satisfaction do I crave.
But only (with your patience,) that we may
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have;
F'or soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

London. The Temple Garden.

Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and War-
wick; Richard Plantagenkt, Vernon, and
another Lawyer.

Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this
silence ?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth?

Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud ;
The garden here is more convenient.

Plan. Then say at once. If I maintain'd the truth ;
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error?

Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law;
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will.

Sam. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be-
tween us.

War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher
pitch.
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,
Between two blades, which bears the better temper,
Between two horses, which doth bear him best, ')
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment;
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance :
The truth appears so naked on my side,
That any purblind eye may find it out.

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd.
So clear, so shining, and so evident.
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.

Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to
speak.
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth.
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth.
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.

Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no tlatteier.
But dare maintain the party of the truth.
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.

War. I love no colours; '") and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pliu;k this white rose, with Plantagenet.

Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset;
And say withal, I think he held the right.

Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more,
Till you conclude — that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree.
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

EXI.

448

KING HENRY YI. PART I.

Act II.

Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected; i»)
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

Plan. And I.

Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off;
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
And fall on my side so against your will.

Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed.
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt,
And keep me on the side where still I am.

Som. Well, well, come on: Who else?

Law. Unless my study and my books be false,
The argument you held, was wrong in you;

[To Somerset.
In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too.

Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that,
Shall die your white rose in a bloody red.

Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our
roses ;
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.

Som. No, Plantagenet,

'Tis not for fear; but anger, — that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses;
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.

Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

So7n. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding-
roses.
That shall maintain what I have said is true,
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy fashion, '^) peevish boy.

Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him
and thee.

Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole!
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him.

War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him,
Somerset ;
His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence,
Third son to the third Edward king of England ;
Spring crestless yeomen '^) from so deep a root?

Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, "*)
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
On any plot of ground in Christendom:
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted.
Corrupted, and exempt '*) from ancient gentry?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted;
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
For your partaker Poole, "') and you yourself,
I'll note you in my book of memory,
To scourge you for this apprehension: ''')
Look to it well: and say you are well warn'd.

Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still:
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes;
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear.

Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I for ever, and my faction, wear;

Until it wither with me to my grave.
Or flourish to the height of my 'degree.

Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!
And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit.

Som. Have with thee, Poole. — Farewell, ambitious
Richard. [Exit.

Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en-
dure it !

War. This blot, that they object against your house,
Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, ^

Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster:
And, if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee.
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
And here I prophesy, — This brawl to-day.
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden.
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.

Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same.

Law. And so will I.

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say,
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The same. A Room in the Tower.

Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chair by two
Keepers.

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. —
Even like a man new haled from the rack.
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment:
And these grey locks, the pui'suivants of death, ' ^)
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes, — like lamps whose wasting oil is

spent, —
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent: ")
Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief;
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
That droops his sapless branches to the ground : —
Yet are these feet — whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay, —
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave.
As witting I no other comfort have. —
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.
We sent unto the temple, to his chamber;
And answer was return'd, that he will come.

Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. —
Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
(Before whose glory I was great in arms,)
This loathsome sequestration have I had;
And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance:
But now, the arbitrator of despairs.
Just death, kind umpire -") of men's miseries.
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence;
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost.

Enter Richard Plantagenet.
1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come?
Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
Your nephew, late-despised-^) Richard, comes.

KXI.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

449

Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in liis bosom spend my latter gasp :
O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks.
That I may kindly give, one fainting kiss. —
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock.
Why didst thou say — of late thou wert despis'd ?

Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. ^-)
This day, in argument upon a case,
W)me words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Among which terms, he used his lavish tongue,
► And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue.
Else with the like I had requited him:
Therefore, good uncle, — for my father's sake.
In honour of a true Plantagenet,
And for alliance' sake, — declare the cause
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.

Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me.
And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth.
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine.
Was cursed instrument of his decease.

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was;
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.

Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit,
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his nephew Richard; Edward's son.
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
During whose reign, the Percies of the north.
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne:
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this.
Was — for that (young king Richard thus remov'd.
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,)
I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
To king Edward the third, whereas he,
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree.
Being but fourth of that heroic line.
But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt, ^^)
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the fifth, —
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, — did reign.
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, — then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York, —
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was.
Again, in pity of my hard distress.
Levied an army; weening to redeem.
And have install'd me in the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.

Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.

Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue have;
And that my fainting words do warrant death:
Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather ;- *)
And yet be wary in thy studious care.

Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail >vith me:
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;
Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence;
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.

Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young
years.
Might but redeem the passage of your age!

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me ; as the slaught'rer
doth.
Which giveth many Wounds, when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only, give order for my funeral;
And so farewell; and fair be all thy hopes!
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war ! [Diet.

Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage.
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. —
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest. —
Keepers, convey him hence: and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life. —

[Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mobtisisb.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort: —
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries.
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, —
I doubt not, but with honour to redress:
And therefore haste I to the parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood.
Or make my ill - *) the advantage of my good. [Exit.

ACT m.

SCENE I. The same. TAe Parliament-House.

Flourish. Enter King Hbnby, Exbtbr, Glostbh,
Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk; Me Bishop of
Winchester, Richard Plantacenbt, and others.
Gloster offers to put up a bill; ') Wikchbstbb
snatches fly and tears it.

Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphry of Gloster? if thou canst accuse.
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge.
Do it without invention suddenly;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my
patience.
Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes.
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession, and degree;
And for thy treachery. What's more manifest?
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted.
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelUng heart.

Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse.
As he will have me. How am I so poor?
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissention. Who preferreth peace
More than I do, — except I be provoked?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke:
It is, because no one should sway but he;
No one, but he, should be about the king;

29

450

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act III.

And that engenders thunder in his breast,
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know, I am as good

Glo. As good?

Thou bastard of my grandfather! — -)

Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne?

Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest?

Win. And am I not a prelate of the church?

Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps.
And useth it to patronage his theft.

Win. Unreverend Gloster!

Glo. Thou art reverent

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

Win. This Rome shall remedy. ^)

War. Roam thither then. '')

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.

Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.

War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler;
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.

War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that?
Is not his grace protector to the king?

Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue;
Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords ?
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside.

K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal;
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail.
To join your hearts in love«and amity.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown,
That two such noble peers as ye, should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell.
Civil dissention is a viperous worm.
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. —

[A noise within; Down with the tawny coats!
What tumult's this?

War. An uproar, I dare warrant,

Begun through malice of the bishop's men.

[A noise again; Stones! Stones!

Enter the Mayor oy London, attended.
May. O, my good lords, — and virtuous Henry, —
Pity the city of London, pity us!
The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men.
Forbidden late to carry any weapon.
Have filled their pockets full of pebble-stones;
And banding themselves in contrary parts.
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in every street.
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops.

Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster

and Winchester, with bloody pates.
K.Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself.
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace.
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.

1 Serv. Nay, if we be

Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.

2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

[Skirmish again.

Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil.
And set this unaccustom'd fight *) aside.

1 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
Inferior to none, but his majesty: ''}
And, ere that we will suffer such a prince.
So kind a father of the commonweal,
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, ')

We, and our wives, and children, all will fight,
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.

2 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Skirmish again.

Glo. Stay, stay, I say !

And, if you love me, as you say you do.
Let me persuade you to forbear a while.

K.Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! —
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? *
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace, *

If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War. My lord protector, yield; — ^} yield, Win-
chester; —
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse.
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too.
Hath been enacted through your enmity;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield.

Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop ;
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.

War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury.
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:
Why look you still so stern, and tragical?

Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee ray hand.

K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard you
preach.
That malice was a great and grievous sin:
And will not you maintain the thing you teach.
But prove a chief offender in the same?

War. Sweet king! — the bishop hath a kindly
gird. — 9)
B^or shame, my lord of Winchester! relent;
What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.

Glo. Ay; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. —
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen;
This token serveth for a flag of truce.
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers:
So help me God, as I dissemble not!

Win. So help me God, as I intend it not! [Aside.

K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster,
How joyful am I made by this contract! —
Away, my masters ! trouble us no more ;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

1 Serv. Content ; I'll to the surgeon's.

2 Serv. And so will I.

3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern af-

fords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, ^c.

War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign;
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
We do exhibit to your majesty.

Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick ; — for, sweet
prince,
An if your grace mark every circumstance.
You have great reason to do Richard right:
Especially, for those occasions
At Eltham-piace I told your majesty.

K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force :
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is.
That Richard be restored to his blood.

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood;
So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.

Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.

K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone,
But all the whole inheritance I give,
That doth belong unto the house of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.

XKI.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

451

Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And humble service, till the point of death.

K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against
my foot:
And, in reguerdon *") of that duty done,
I girt thee with the valiant sword of York:
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet;
And rise created princely duke of York.

Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall!
And as my duty springs, so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty!

All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of York!

Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York!

[Aiide.

Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty.
To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France:
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends;
As it disanimates his enemies.

K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry
goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.

Glo. Your ships already are in readiness.

[Exeunt all but Exeteb.

Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue:
This late dissention, grown betwixt the peers,
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love,
And will at last break out into a flame:
As fester'd members rot but by degrees.
Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away.
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy.
Which, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth.
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, —
That Henry, bom at Monmouth, should win all;
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all:
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit.

SCENE n.

France. Before Ro&en.

Enter La Pucbllb, disguised; and Soldiers

dretsed like Countrymen, with Sacks upon their

backs.

Puc. These are thy city gates, the gates of Rouen,
Through which our policy must make a breach:
Take heed, be wary how you place your words ;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men.
That come to gather money for their com.
If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,}
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends.
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.

1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
Therefore we'll knock. [Knockt.

Guard. [JTithin.] Qui est la?

Puc. Pai'sans, pauvret gens de France:
Poor market-folks, that come to sell their com.

Chiard. Enter, go in; the market-bell is mng.

[Oj>en» the Gates.

Puc. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the
ground. [Pbcklle, ^c. enter the City.

Enter Chaklbs, Bastard of Orleans, Albn^on,
and Forces.

Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem!
And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
Batt. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants; » *)

Now she is there, how will she specify
Where is the best and safest passage in?
Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ;
Which, once discern'd, shows, that her meaning is, —
No way to that, ' *) for weakness, which she enter'd.

Enter La Pucblle on a Battlement : holding out
a Torch burning.

Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch.
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen:
But burning fatal to the Talbotites.

Bast. See, noble Charles! the beacon of our fnend.
The burning torch in yonder turret stands.

Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes!

Alen. Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends;
Enter, and cry — The Dauphin! — presently.
And then do execution on the watch. [They enter.

Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English.

Tal. France, thou shsdt rue this treason with thy
tears.
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. —
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress.
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares.
That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. '^)

[Exeunt to the Town.

Alarum: Excursions. Enter, from the Town, Bed-
ford, brought in sick, in a Chair, with Talbot,
BuRGDNDY, and the English Forces. Then, enter
on the Walls, La Pucellb, Charles, Bastard,
ALEK90N, and others.

Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye com for
bread?
I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast.
Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
'Twas full of darnel; Do you like the taste?

Bur. Scoff' on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan!
I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own.
And make thee curse the harvest of that com.

Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that
time.

Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason !

Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break
a lance.
And ran a tilt at death within a chair?

Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age.
And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again.
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.

Puc. Are you so hot, sir? — Yet, Pucelle, hold
thy peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. —

[Talbot, and the rest contult together.
God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?

Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field ?

Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours, or no. ,

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alen^on, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?

Alen. Signior, no.

Tal. Signior, hang! — base muleteers of France!
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls.
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.

Puc. Captains, away: let's get us from the walls;
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks.
God be wi' you, my lord ! we came, mt, » *) but to
tell you

KZI.

29

452

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act hi.

That we are here.

[Exeunt La Pccellb, f^c. from the Walls.

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long,
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame! —
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
(Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in France,)
Either to get the town again, or die:
And I, — as sure as English Henry lives,
And as his father here was conqueror;
As sure as in this late-betrayed town
Great Coeur- de-lion's heart was buried;
So sure I swear, to get the town, or die.

Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.

Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince.
The valiant duke of Bedford; — Come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me :
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,
And will be partner of your weal, or woe.

Bur. Courageous Bedford, let ais now persuade you.

Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I read.
That stout Pendragon, '•'^) in his litter, sick.
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes:
Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
Because I ever found them as myself.

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! —
Then be it so : — Heavens keep old Bedford safe ! —
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand.
And set upon our boasting enemy.

\Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces,
leaving Bedfobd, and others.

Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfk,

and a Captain.

Cap. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such

haste ?
Fast. Whither away? to save myself by flight;
We are like to have the overthrow again.
Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot?
Fast. Ay,

All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. \Exit.
Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!

\Exit.

Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the Town, La
PucKLLK, ALEN90N, Charles, ^c. and exeunt,

flying.
Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please;
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
They, that of late were daring with their scoffs.
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.

[Dies, and is carried off in his Chair.

Alarum: Enter Talbot, Bubgdndy, and others.

Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
This is a double honour. Burgundy:
Yet, heavens have glory for this victory!

Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument.

Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle
now?
I think, her old familiar is asleep:
Now Where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his

gleeks ?
What, all a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for grief.
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order '^) in the town.
Placing therein some expert officers;

And then depart to Paris, to the king;

For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies.

Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy.

Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,
But see his exequies fulfiU'd in Roiien;
A braver soldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court:
But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die;
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The same. The Plains near the City.

Enter Charles, the Bastard, ALEN90N, La
Pucelle, and Forces.

Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while,
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train.
If Dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd.

Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence;
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.

Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies,
And we will make thee famous through the world.

Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place.
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint;
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.

Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words,
We will entice the duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.

Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us.
But be extirped *') from our provinces.

Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd *^) from
France,
And not have title to an earldom here.

Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will work.
To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drums heard.
Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

An English March. Enter, and pass over at a

distance, Talbot and his Forces.
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread;
And all the troops of English after him.

A French March. Enter the Duke of BuRSUNDr
and Forces.
Now, in the rearward, comes the duke, and his;
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley, we will talk with him.

[A Parley sounded.
Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy.
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun-
tryman.
Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am march-
ing hence.
Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with thy

words.
Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.
Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defac'd

BXI.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

453

By wasting ruin of the cruel foe!

As looks the mother on her lowly babe,

When death doth close his tender dying eyes,

See, see, the pining malady of France;

Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds.

Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast!

O, turn thy edged sword another way;

Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help !

One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom.

Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore;

Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears.

And wash away thy country's stained spots!

Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words.
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation.
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake;
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill.
Who then, but English Henry, will be lord,
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive?
Call we to mind, — and mark but this, for proof; —
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was he not in England prisoner?
But, when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free, without his ransome paid.
In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen.
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord;
Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms.

Bur. I am vanquished; these haughty ^^) words
of hers
Have batter'd me like the roaring cannon-shot,
And made me almost yield upon my knees. —
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen!
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
My forces and my power of men are yours; —
So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.

Puc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn
again! -°)

Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes
us fresh.

Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this.
And doth deserve a coronet of gold.

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Paris. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Gloster, and otJier Lords,

Vernon, Basset, ^c. To them Talbot, and

some of his Officers.

Tal. My gracious prince, — and honourable peers, —
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have a while given truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my sovereign:
In sign whereof, this arm — that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses.
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Besides five hundred prisoners of esteem, —
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet;
And, with submissive loyalty of heart
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got,
First to my God, and next unto your grace.

K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster,
That hath so long been resident in France?

&o. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.

K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious lord !

When I was young (as yet I am not old,)

I do remember how my father said, ^')

A stouter champion never handled sword.

Long since we were resolved ^-) of your truth.

Your faithful service, and your toil in war;

Yet never have you tasted our reward.

Or been reguerdon'd ^^) with so much as thanks,

Because till now we never saw your face:

Therefore stand up; and, for these good deserts.

We here create you earl of Shrewsbury;

And in our coronation take your place.

[Exeunt King Hbkrv, Gloster, Talbot, and IVobles.

Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea.
Disgracing of these colours that I wear ^'*)
In honour of my noble lord of York, —
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?

Bas. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord, the duke of Somerset.

Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.

Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as York.

Ver. Hark ye; uot so: in witness, take ye that.

[Strikes hint.

Bas. Villain, thou know'st, the law of arms is such.
That, who so draws a sword, 'tis present death; -*)
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost.

Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
And, after, meet you sooner than you would.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same. A Room of State.

Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suf-
folk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Talbot,
the Governour o/" Paris, and others.

Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.

Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixth!

Glo. Now, governour of Paris, take your oath, —

[Governour kneelt.
That you elect no other king but him:
Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends;
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend *)
Malicious practices against his state:
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!

[Exeunt Gov. and his Train.

Enter Sir John' Fastolfe.

Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
To haste unto your coronation,
A letter was deliver'd to my hands.
Writ to y^our grace from the duke of Burgundy.

Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee!
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg, ^)

[Plucking it off.
(Which I have done) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that higli degree. —
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
When but in all I was six thousand strong,
And that the French were almost ten to one, —
Before we met, or that a stroke was given.
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred naen;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside.
Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;

HXI.

454

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act IV.

Or -whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.

Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous,
And ill beseeming any common man;
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.

Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
Knights of the garter were of noble birth;
Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage, ^)
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
But always resolute in most extremes, '*)
He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort.
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight.
Profaning this most honourable order;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge,)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen ! thou hear'st thy
doom :
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight;
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. —

[Exit FastoIiFE.
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy.
Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd
his style? \_Viewing the superscription.

No more but, plain and bluntly, — To the king ?
Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend *) some alteration in good will ?
What's here? — / have, upon especial cause, — •

[Ready.

Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,

Together with the pitiful complaints

Of such as your oppression feeds upon, —

Forsaken your pernicious faction,

And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of
France.

0 monstrous treachery! Can this be so;
That in alliance, amity, and oaths.

There should be found such false dissembling guile?

K.Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?

Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe.

K.Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain?

Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.

K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk
with him.
And give him chastisement for this abuse: —
My lord, how say you? ') are you not content?

Tal. Content, my liege? Yes; but that I am pre-
vented, ■')

1 should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.
K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto

him straight:
Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason;
And what offence it is, to flout his friends.
Tal. 1 go, my lord; in heart desiring still,
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit.

Enter Vernon and Basset.
Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!
Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!
York. This is my servant; Hear him, noble prince!
Som. And this is mine; Sweet Henry, favour him!
K.Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave to
speak. —
Say, gentlemen, What makes you thus exclaim?
And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?
Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.
Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong.
K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both

complain ?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.

Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saying — the sanguine colour of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks.
When stubbornly they did repugn the truth, 8)
About a certain question in the law,
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him;
With other vile and ignominious terms:
In confutation of which rude reproach.
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.

Ver. And that is my petition, noble lords
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit.
To set a gloss upon his bold intent.
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge.
Pronouncing — that the paleness of this flower
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart,

York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?

Som. Your private grudge, iny lord of York, will out.
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.

K. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in brain-
sick men;
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause,
Such factious emulations shall arise! —
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.

York. Let this dissention first be tried by fight.
And then your highness shall command a peace.

Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.

York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.

Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.

Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.

Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
Presumptuous vassals ! are you not asham'd,
With this immodest clamorous outrage
To trouble and disturb the king and us?
And you, my lords, — methinks, you do not well,
To bear with their perverse objections;
Much less, to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves;
Let me persuade you take a better course.

Exe. It grieves his highness; — Good my lords;
be friends.

K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combatants :
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour.
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. —
And you, my lords, — remember where we are;
In France, amongst a fickle Avavering nation:
If they perceive dissention in our looks,
And that within ourselves we disagree.
How will their grudging stomachs 'be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel?
Beside, What infamy will there arise.
When foreign princes shall be certified,
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility,
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of F'rance?
O, think upon the conquest of my father,
My tender years; and let us not forego
That for a trifle that was bought with blood!
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,

[Putting on a red rote.
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset, than York:
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
As well they may upbraid me with my crown.
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade,

KUT.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

455

Than I am able to instruct or teach:

And therefore, as we hither came in peace,

So let us still continue peace and love. —

Cousin of York, we institute your grace

To be our agent in these parts of France: —

And good my lord of Somerset, unite

Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; —

And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,

Go cheerfully together, and digest

Your angry choler on your enemies.

Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest.

After some respite, will return to Calais;

From thence to England, where I hope ere long

To be presented, by your victories,

With Charles, Alen9on, and that traitorous rout.

\Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som.
Win. Suf. and Basset.

War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.

York. And so he did; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.

War. Tush ! that was but his fancy, blame him not ;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.

York. And, if I wist, he did, — But let it rest;
Other affairs must now be managed.

[Exeunt York, Wabwick, and Vernon.

Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppiess thy voice ;
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagln'd or suppos'd.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility,
This should'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that it doth presage some ill event.
'Tis much, ') when scepters are in children's hands ;
But more, when envy breeds unkind division; '")
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit.

SCENE II.

France. Before Bourdeaux.

Enter Talbot, with his Forces.

Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their general unto the wall.

Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter on the Walls,

the General of the French Forces, and others.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry, king of England :
And thus he would, — Open your city gates,
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
And do him homage as obedient subjects.
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace.
You tempt the fury of my three attendants.
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers.
If you forsake the offer of their love.

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge!
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter, but by death:
For, I protest, we are well fortified.
And strong enough to issue out and fight:
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed.
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd.
To wall thee from the liberty of flight:
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,

But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,

And pale destruction meets thee in the face.

Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament,

To rive their dangerous artillery '')

Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.

Lo ! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,

Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit:

This is the latest glory of thy praise,

That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; ^-)

For ere the glass, that now begins to run.

Finish the process of his sandy hour,

These eyes, that see thee now well coloured.

Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead.

[Drum afar off.
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.

[Exeunt General, ^c. from the Walla.
Ta/. He fables not, I hear the enemy; —
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. —
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood : * ^)
Not rascal-like, ' *) to fall down with a pinch ;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags.
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel.
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
Sell every man his life as dear as mine.
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. —
God, and saint George! Talbot, and England's right!
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! [Exeunt.

SCENE III,

Plains in Gas cony.
Enter York, with Forces; to him a Messenger.

York. Are not the speedy scouts retum'd again.
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?

Mess. They are return'd, my lord : and give it out,
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power.
To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along.
By your espials were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led;
Which join'd with him, and made their march for
Bourdeaux.

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset;
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am lowted **) by a traitor villain.
And cannot help the noble chevalier:
God comfort him in this necessity!
If he miscaiTy, farewell wars in France.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength.
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron,
And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, York !
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.

York. O God ! that Somerset — who in proud heart
Doth stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place !
So should we save a valiant gentleman.
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire, and wrathful fury makes me weep,
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.

Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord !

York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word ;

KKI.

456

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act IV.

We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.

Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul !
And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since,
I met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
And now they meet where both their lives are done. ' '')

York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
Away! vexation almost stops my breath.
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. —
Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can.
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. —
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Turns, are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay- [Exit.

Lucy. Thus while the vulture ") of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders.
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the fifth: — Whiles they each other cross.
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Other Plains ©/"Gascony,

Enter Sombrset, with his Forces; an Officer of
Talbot'* with him.

Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now:
This expedition was by York, and Talbot,
Too rashly plotted ; all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour.
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
York set him on to fight, and die in shame.
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.

Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me
Set from our o'er match'd forces forth for aid.

Enter Sir William Lucy.

Som. How now, sir William? whither were you sent?

Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold
lord Talbot; 'S)
Who, ring'd about ^') with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
And, in advantage ling'ring, 2°) looks for rescue.
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour.
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. ^ ^)
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid.
Whiles he, renowned noble gentleman.
Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, ^ ^)
Alen9on, Reignier, compass him about,
And Talbot perisheth by your default.

Som. York set him on, York should have sent
him aid.

Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
Swearing that you withhold his levied host.
Collected for this expedition.

Som. York lies; he might have sent and had the
horse :
I owe him little duty, and less love;
And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending.

Lucy, The fraud of England, not the force of France,
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
Never to England shall he bear his life;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.

Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen
straight :
Within six hours they will be at his aid.

Lucy. Too late comes rescue ; he is ta'en, or slain :
For fly he could not, if he would have fled ;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu!
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The English Camp near Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot and John 7iis Son.

Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee,
To tutor thee in stratagems of war;
That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd.
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs.
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, — O malignant and ill-boding stars ! —
Now thou art come unto a feast of death, ^^)
A terrible and unavoided 2*) danger;
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone.

John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother.
Dishonour not her honourable name.
To make a bastard, and a slave of me:
The world will say, — He is not Talbot's blood.
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. 2*)

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.

John. He that flies so, will ne'er return again.

Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.

John. Then let me stay; and, fathei", do you fly:
Your loss is great, so your regard -*) should be;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
But mine it will, that no exploit have done :
You fled for vantage, every one will swear;
But, if I bow, they'll say — it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay.
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality.
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb ?

John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.

Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go.

John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.

Tal. Part of thy father may by sav'd in thee.

John. No part of him, but will be shame in me.

Tal. Thou never had'st renown, nor canst not lose it.

John. Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight
abuse it?

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that
stain.

John. You cannot witness for me, being slain.
If death be so apparent, then both fly.

Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die ?
My age was never tainted with such shame.

John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
No more can I be sever'd from your side.
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
For live I will not, if my father die.

Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
Born to eclipse - ') thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.

[Exeunt.

BXI.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

457

SCENE VI.

A Field of Battle.

Alarum: Excursions, wherein Talbot'* Son is
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him.

Tal. Saint George and victory ! figlit, soldiers, fight :
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
And left us to the rage of France his sword.
Where is John Talbot ? — pause, and take thy breath ;
I gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from death.

John. O twice my father! twice am I thy son:
The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done;
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate.
To my determin'd time ^*) thou gav'st new date.

Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword
struck fire,
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage,
Beat down Alenpon, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans — that drew blood
From thee, my boy ; and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight — I soon encountered;
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace.
Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base.
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine.
Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine.
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my braveboy: —
Here purposing the Bastard to destroy.
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care;
Art not thou weary, John? How didst thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead:
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot.
To hazard all our lives in one small boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
By me they nothing gain, an if I stay,
'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day:
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame :
All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay;
All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away.

John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart,
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart :
On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) *')
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die!
And like me to the peasant boys of France; 3°)
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance!
Surely, by all the glory you have won.
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son :
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Another part of the same.

Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded,
supported by a Servant.

Tal. Where is my other life? — mine own is
gone; —
O, Where's young Talbot? where is valiant John? —

Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity! *')
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee: —
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee.
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me.
And, like a hungry lion, did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience;
But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tend'ring my ruin, ^^) and assail'd of none,
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart.
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust'ring battle of the French:
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His overmounting spirit; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.

Enter Soldiers, bearing the Body of John .
Talbot.
Serv. O my dear lord ! lo, where your son is borne !
Tal. Thou antic death, ^ ^) which laugh'st us here
to scorn,
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity.
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, ^'*)
In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. —

0 thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath :
Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no;
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. —

Poor boy ! he smiles, raethinks ; as who should say — ■
Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms;
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have.
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.

[Din.

Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving
the two Bodies. Enter Charles, ALKN90N, Bur-
gundy, Bastard, La Pucbllb, and Forces.

Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in.
We should have found a bloody day of this.

Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging
wood, ^*)
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood! ^*')

Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said.
Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:
But — with a proud, majestical high scorn, —
He answer'd thus; Young Talbot was not bom
To be the pillage of a giglot wench: ^')
So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.

Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight:
See, where he lies inhersed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.

Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder ;
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.

Char. O, no; forbear; for that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong the dead.

Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; a French
Herald preceding.

Lucy. Herald,
Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent; to know
Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.

Char. On what submissive message art thou sent?

Lucy. Submission, Dauphin? 'tis a mere French
word ;
We English warriors wot not what it means.

1 come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en.
And to survey the bodies of the dead.

Char. For prisoners ask thou? hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st.
Lucy. Where is the great AJcides of the field,

HKI.

458

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act V.

Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury?
Created, for his rare success in arms,
Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence;
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackinere, lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Shef-
field,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge ;
Knight of the noble order of saint George,
Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece;
Great mareshal to Henry the sixth,
Of all his wars within the realm of France?

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed !
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this. —
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles,
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet.

Lucy. Is Talbot slain ; the Frenchmen's only scourge,
Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemesis?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd,
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces 1
O, that I could but call these dead to life !
It were enough to fright the realm of France:
Were but his picture left among you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies; that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as beseems their worth.

Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
For God's sake, let him have 'em ; to keep them here,
They would but stink, and putrefy the air.

Char. Go, take their bodies hence.

Lucy. I'll bear them hence :

But from their ashes shall be rear'd
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.

Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what
thou wilt.
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter.

K.Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the pope.
The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac?

Glo. I have, my lord ; and their intent is this, —
They humbly sue unto your excellence,
To have a godly peace concluded of.
Between the realms of England and of France.

K. Hen. How doth your grace aff"ect their motion ?

Glo. Well, my good lord; and as the only means
To stop effusion of our Christian blood.
And 'stablish quietness on every side.

K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle: for I always thought,
It was both impious and unnatural.
That such immanity ^) and bloody strife
Should reign among professors of one faith.

Glo. Beside, my lord, — the sooner to effect,
And surer bind, this knot of amity, —
The earl of Armagnac — near knit to Charles,
A man of great authority in France, —
Proffers his only daughter to your grace
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.

K. Hen. Marriage, uncle ! alas ! my years are young ;
And fitter is my study and my books.
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
Yet, call the ambassadors; and, as you please,
So let them have their answers every one:
I shall be well content with any choice.
Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal.

Enter a Legate, and two Ambassadors, with
Winchester, in a Cardinal's habit.

Exe. What! is my lord of Winchester install'd,
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree! ^)
Then, I perceive, that will be verified,
Henry the fifth did sometime prophecy, —
If once he come to be a cardinal.
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.

K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several suits
Have been considex-'d and debated on.
Your purpose is both good and reasonable:
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd
To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean, *
Shall be transported presently to France.

Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your master, —
I have inform'd his highness so at large.
As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts.
Her beauty, and the value of her dower, —
He doth intend she shall be England's queen.

K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract.
Bear her this jewel, [to the Ambass.] pledge of my

affection.
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded.
And safely brought to Dover; where, inshipp'd,
Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

[Exeunt King Henry and Train; G1.08TEB,
EsETEH, and Ambassadors.

Win. Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receive
The sum of money, which I promised
Should be deliver'd to his holiness
For clothing me in these grave ornaments.

Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.

Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow.
Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
Humphrey of Gloster, thou shait well perceive,
That, neither in birth, ^) or for authority,
The bishop will be overborne by thee:
I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee,
Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

France. Plains in Anjou.

Enter Charles, Burgundy, A1.EN90N, LaPucblle,
and Forces, marching.

Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our droop-
ing spirits :
'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt.
And turn again unto the warlike French.

Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
And keep not back your powers in dalfiance.

Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
Else, ruin combat with their palaces!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Success unto our valiant general.
And happiness to his accomplices!

Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee,
speak.

Mess. The English army, that divided was
*) Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one;
And means to give you battle presently.

Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is ;
But we will presently provide for them.

Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there;
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.

Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : —
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine;
Let Henry fret, and all the world repine.

Char. Then on, my lords; And France be fortunate!

[Exeutit.

KXI.

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART I

459

SCENE III.

The same. Before Anglers.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter La Pdcbllb.

Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. —
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts; *^
And ye choice spirits that admonish me,
And give me signs of future accidents! [Thunder.
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north, ^)
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize!

Enter Fiends.
This speedy quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustora'd diligence to me.
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
Out of the powerful regions under earth,
Help me this once, that France may get the field.
[They walk about, and speak not.
O, hold me not with silence over-long!
Where ') I was wont to feed you with my blood,
I'll lop a member oflF, and give it you,
In earnest of a further benefit;
So you do condescend to help me now. —

[They hang their heads.
No hope to have redress? — My body shall
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.

[They shake their bead*.
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice,
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all.
Before that England give the French the foil.

[They depart.
See! they forsake me. Now the time is come.
That BVance must vail her lofty-plumed crest, ^)
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My ancient incantations are too weak.
And hell too strong for me to buckle with;
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit.

Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting.

La Pucellb and York fight hand to hand. La

PucELLB is taken. The French fly.

York. Damsel of France, I think, I have you fast :
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms.
And try if they can gain your liberty. —
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape.

Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.

York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.

Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee !
And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!

York. B'ell, banning hag! ') enchantress, hold thy
tongue.

Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while.

York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the
stake. [Exeunt,

Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady
Makcabbt.
Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.

[Gazes on her.

0 fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly;

For I will touch thee but with reverent hands,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.

1 kiss these fingers [kissing her hand] for eternal peace :
Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.

Mar. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king,
The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.

Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
Be not offended, nature's miracle.
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save.
Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings.
Yet if this servile usage once offend.
Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.

[She turns away as going.
O, stay ! — I have no power to let her pass ;
My hand would free her, but my heart says — no.
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, ^°)
Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:
I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind:
Fye, De la Poole! disable not thyself; ")
Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such.
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough. '^)

Mar. Stay, earl of Suffolk, — if thy name be so, —
What ransome must I pay before I pass?
For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner.

Suf How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit,
Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside.

Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransome must
I pay?

Suf She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd:
She is a woman; and therefore to be won. [Aside.

Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransome, yea or no?

Suf. Fond man! remember, that thou hast a wife;
Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? [Jside.

Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.

Suf There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling card.

Mar. He talks at random; sure the man is mad.

Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had.

Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me.

Suf. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom?
Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing. *^)

Mar. He talks of wood: It is some carpenter.

Suf. Yet so my fancy **) may be satisfied.
And peace established between these realms.
But there remains a scruple in that too :
For though her father be the king of Naples,
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor.
And our nobility will scorn the match. [Jside.

Mar. Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure?

Suf It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much;
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. —
Madam, I have a secret to reveal.

Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a
knight,
And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside.

Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.

Mar. Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French;
And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside.

Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause —

Mxir. Tush! women have been captivate ere now.

[Aside.

Suf Lady, wherefore talk you so?

Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.

Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
Your bondage happy to be made a queen?

Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile.
Than is a slave in base servility;
For princes should be free.

Suf. And so shall you.

If happy England's royal king be free.

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?

Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen;
To put a golden scepter in thy hand.
And set a precious crown upon thy head.
If thou wilt condescend to be my —

460

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act V.

Mar. What?

Suf. His love-
Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.
Suf. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
And have no portion in the choice myself.
How say you, madam; are you so content?
Mar. An if my father please, I am content.
Suf. Then call our captains, and our colours, forth :
And, madam, at your father's castle walls
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.

[Troops come forward.

A Parley sounded. Enter Rbignibr, on the Walls.

Suf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner.

Reig. To whom?

Suf. To me.

Reig. Suffolk, what remedy?

I am a soldier: and unapt to weep.
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.

Suf Yes, there is remedy enough, my lordi
Consent, (and, for thy honour, give consent,)
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
And this her easy-held imprisonment
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.

Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks ?

Suf. Fair Margaret knows,

That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, **) or feign.

Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend.
To give thee answer of thy just demand.

[Exit, from the Walls.

Suf And here I will expect thy coming.

Trumpets sounded. Enter Rbignibr, belou>.

Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories;
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.

Suf Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child.
Fit to be made companion with a king:
What answer makes your grace unto my suit?

Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth.
To be the princely bride of such a lord;
Upon condition I may quietly
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou,
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war.
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.

Suf. That is her ransome, 1 deliver her;
And those two counties, I will undertake.
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.

Reig. And I again, — in Henry's royal name.
As deputy unto that gracious king,
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.

Suf Reignier of B'rance, 1 give thee kingly thanks.
Because this is in traffic of a king:
And yet, methinks, I could be well content
To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside.

I'll over then to England with this news.
And make this marriage to be solemniz'd;
So, farewell, Reignier ! Set this diamond safe
In golden palaces, as it becomes.

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here.

Mar. Farewell, my lord ! Good wishes, praise, and
prayers,
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going.

Suf B'arewell, sweet madam! but hark you, Mar-
garet;
No princely commendations to my king?

Mar. Such commendations as become a maid,

A virgin, and his servant, say to him.
Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed.

But, madam, I must trouble you again, —

No loving token to bis majesty?

Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart.
Never yet taint with love, I send the king.

Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her.

Mar. That for thyself; I will not so presume.
To send such peevish tokens '*) to a king.

[Exeunt Reigmer and Maugabet.

Suf. O, wert thou for myself! — But, Suffolk, stay 5
Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth;
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk.
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise:
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount;
Mad, *') natural graces that extinguish art;
Repeat their semblance often on the seas.
That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet.
Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder.

[Exit.

SCENE rv.

Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou.
Enter York, Warwick, and others.
York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to bum.

Enter La Puceli-b, guarded, and a Shepherd.

Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart out-
right !
Have I sought every country far and near.
And, now it is my chance to find thee out.
Must I behold thy timeless '8) cruel death?
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter, Joan, I'll die with thee!

Puc. Decrepit miser! ") base ignoble wretch!
I am descended of a gentler blood ;
Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine.

Shep. Out, out! — My lords, an please you, 'tis
not so;
I did beget her, all the parish knows:
Her mother liveth yet, can testify.
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.

War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?

York. This argues what her kind of life hath been ;
Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.

Shep. Fye, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle! ^°)
God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh ;
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan.

Puc. Peasant, avaunt! — You have subom'd this

man.
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.

Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest.
The morn that I was wedded to her mother. —
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
Of thy nativity! I would, the milk
Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast,
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ?
O, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good. [Exit.

York. Take her away ; for she hath liv'd too long,
To fill the world with vicious qualities.

Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con-
demn'd :
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain.
But issued from the progeny of kings;
Virtuous and holy; chosen from above,
By inspiration of celestial grace.
To work exceeding miracles on earth.
I never had to do with wicked spirits :
But you, — that are polluted with your lusts,
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents.

KHZ.

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

461

Corrupt and tainted with a thouaand vices, —
Because you want the grace that others have.
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders, but by help of devils.
No, misconceiv'd ! - ' ) Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy.
Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.

York. Ay, ay ; — away with her to execution.

War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
Spare for no faggots, let there be enough;
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake.
That so her torture may be shortened.

Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? —
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity;
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. —
I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
Murder not then the fruit within my womb.
Although ye hale me to a violent death.

York. Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with
child?

War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
Is all your strict preciseness come to this?

York. She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
I did imagine what would be her refuge.

War. W ell, go to ; we will have no bastards live ;
Especially, since Charles must father it.

Puc. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of Ms;
It was Alen9on, that enjoy'd my love.

York. Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.

Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you;
'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd.
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.

War. A married man! that's most intolerable.

York. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not
well.
There were so many, whom she may accuse.

War. It's sign, she hath been liberal and free.

York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. —
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee:
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.

Puc. Then lead me hence; — with whom I leave

my curse:
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode!
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you; till mischief, and despair.
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves !- ')

[Exit, guarded.

York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes.
Thou foul accursed minister of hell!

Enter Cardinal Bbaufort, attended.

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
With letters of commission from the king.
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
Mov'd with remorse-^) of these outrageous broils.
Have earnestly implor'd a general peace
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train,
Approacheth, to confer about some matter.

York. Is all our travail tum'd to this efi"ect?
After the slaughter of so many peers,
i So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers.
That in this quarrel have been overthrown.
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit.
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
Have we not lost most part of all the towns.
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,
Our great progenitors had conquered? —

O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
The utter loss of all the reahn of France.

War. Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace.
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.

Enter Chablbs, attended; Albn^on, Bastard,
Rbigmer, and others.

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed.
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
We come to be informed by yourselves
What the conditions of that league must be.

York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
The hollow passage of my poison'd voice.
By sight of these our baleful enemies. -•*)

Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
That — in regard king Henry gives consent.
Of mere compeission, and of lenity.
To ease your country of distressful war,
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, —
You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
To pay hiin tribute, and submit thyself.
Thou shalt be plac'd £is viceroy under him.
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.

Alen. Must he be then as shadow of himself?
Adorn his temples with a coronet;-*)
And yet, in substance and authority,
Retain but privilege of a private man?
This proffer is absurd and reasonless.

Char. 'Tis known, already that I am possessed
With more than half the Gallian territories.
And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king:
Shall I, for lucre of the rest imvanquish'd.
Detract so much from that prerogative,
As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?
No, lord ambassador; I'll rather keep
That which I have, than, coveting for more.
Be cast from possibility of all.

York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by secret means
Used intercession to obtain a league;
And, now the matter grows to compromise,
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison? -')
Either accept the title thou usurp'st.
Of benefit ^ ' ) proceeding from our king.
And not of any challenge of desert.
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.

Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
To cavil in the course of this contract:
If once it be neglected, ten to one.
We shall not find like opportunity.

Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy.
To save your subjects from such massacre.
And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen
By our proceeding in hostility:
And therefore take this compact of a truce.
Although you break it when your pleasure serves.

[Aaide to Charles.

War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our con-
dition stand?

Char. It shall:
Only reserv'd, you claim no interest
In any of our towns of garrison.

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty;
As thou art knight, never to disobey.
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. —
[Charles, and the rest, give token* of fealty.
So, now dismiss your army when ye please;
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still.
For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Exeunt.

UHl.

462

KING HENRY VI. PART I.

Act V.

SCENE V.

London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk;
GtiOSTER and Exeter following.

K. Hen. Your wond'rous rare description, noble earl,
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:
Her virtues, graced with external gifts.
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart:
And like as rigour in tempestuous gusts
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide;
So am I driven, ^^) by breath of her renown,
Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive
Where I may have fruition of her love.

Suf Tush! ray good lord! this superficial tale
Is but a preface of her worthy praise:
The chief perfections of that lovely dame,
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them,)
Would make a volume of enticing lines,
Able to ravish any dull conceit.
And, which is more, she is not so divine,
So full replete with choice of all delights,
But, wi£h as humble lowliness of mind,
She is content to be at your command;
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,
To love and honour Henry as her lord.

K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent.
That Margaret may be England's royal queen.

Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin.
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
Unto another lady of esteem;
How shall we then dispense with that contract,
And not deface your honour with reproach ?

Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;
Or one, that, at a triumph ^') having vow'd
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
By reason of his adversary's odds:
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds.
And therefore may be broke without offence.

Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than
that?
Her father is no better than an earl.
Although in glorious titles he excel.

Suf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king,
The king of Naples, and Jerusalem;
And of such great authority in France,
As his alliance will confirm our peace.
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.

Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do.
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.

Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal dower;
While Reignier sooner will receive, than give.

Suf. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,
That he should be so abject, base, and poor.
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love.
Henry is able to enrich his queen,

And not to seek a queen to make him rich:

So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,

As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.

Marriage is a matter of more worth,

Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; ^°)

Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects.

Must be companion of his nuptial bed :

And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,

It most of all these reasons bindeth us.

In our opinions she should be preferr'd.

For what is wedlock forced, but a hell,

An age of discord and continual strife?

Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, ^')

And is a pattern of celestial peace.

Whom should we match, with Henry, being a king,

But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?

Her peerless feature, joined with her birth.

Approves her fit for none, but for a king:

Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit,

(More than in women commonly is seen,)

VVill answer our hope in issue of a king;

For Henry, son unto a conqueror,

Is likely to beget more conquerors.

If with a lady of so high resolve.

As is fair Margaret, he be llnk'd in love.

Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me.

That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.

K. Hen. Whether It be through force of your report.
My noble lord of Suffolk; or for that
My tender youth was never yet attaint
With any passion of inflaming love,
I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd,
I feel such sharp dissention In my breast.
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear.
As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;
Agree to any covenants; and procure
That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen:
For your expences and sufficient charge.
Among the people gather up a tenth.
Be gone, I say; for, till you do return,
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. —
And you, good uncle, banish all offence :
If you do censure ^^) me by what you were,
Not what you are, I know it will excuse
This sudden execution of my will.
And so conduct me, where from company,
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. ^^) [Exit.

Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
[Exeunt Globteb and Exeter.

Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and thus he goes.
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece;
With hope to find the like event in love.
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [Exit.

Ban.

KING

XXII.
HENRY

PART II.

VI.

PEBSON8 BEPBE8ENTED.

King Henry the Sixth.

Humphrey, Duke of Gloster, hit Uncle.

Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Wincliester, great

Uncle to the King.
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York.
Edward and Richard, his Sons.
Duke of Somerset, \

Duke of Suffolk, |

Duke ^ Buckingham, > of the King'« Party.
Lord Clifford, |

Young Clifford, his Son, j
Earl 0/ Salisbury, i , ,^^ York Faction.
Earl of Warwick, f •'
Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower.
Lord Say.

Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother.
Sir John Stanley.
A Sea-Captain, Master, and Master'* Mate, and

Walter Whitmore.
Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk.
A Herald.
Vaux.

HuMB and Southwell, tteo Priests.

BoLiNGBROKE, fl Conjurer.

A Spirit raised by him.

Thomas Horner, an Armourer.

Peter, his Man.

Clerk of Chatham.

Mayor of Saint Alban'«.

Simpcox, an Impostor.

Two Murderers.

Jack Cade, a Rebel:

George, John, Dick, Smith, the IFieaver, Michael,

&c. his Followers.
Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman.

Margaret, Queen to King Henry.
Eleanor, Duchess of Gloster.
Margery Jourdain, a Witch.
Wife to Simpcox.

Lords, Ladies, an(? Attendants ; Petitioners, Aldermen,
a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers; Citizens,
Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Mes-
sengers, ^c.

Scene — dispersedly in various parts of England.

ACT I.

Scene I. London. A Room of State in the
Palace.

Flourish of Trumpets: then Hautboys. Enter, on
one side, King Henry, Duke of Gloster, Salis-
bury, Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort; on the
other, Queen Margaret, led in by Suffolk ; York,
Somerset, Buckingham, and others following.

Suffolk.
As by your high *) imperial majesty,
I had in charge at my depart for France,
As procurator to your excellence.
To marry princess Margaret for your grace;
So, in the famous ancient city. Tours, —
In the presence of the kings of France and Sicil,
The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and

Alen9on,
'Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bi-
shops, —
*I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd:
'And humbly now upon my bended knee.
In sight of England and her lordly peers.
Deliver up my title in the queen
To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
Of that great shadow I did represent;
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave.
The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd.

'■K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Margaret:
'I can express no kinder sign of love,
'Than this kind kiss. — O Lord, that lends me life,
'Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
'For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face,
'A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
'If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

'■Q.Mar. Great king of England, and my gracious
lord;
'The mutual conference -) that my mind hath had —
'By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams;
'In courtly company, or at my beads, —
'With you mine alder-liefest sovereign, ^)
'Makes me the bolder to salute my king
'With ruder terms; such as my wit affords,
'And over-joy of heart doth minister.

^K. Hen. Her sight doth ravish : but her grace in
speech,
'Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
'Makes me from wondering, fall to weeping joys;
'Such is the fulness of my heart's content. —
'Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

All. Long live queen Margaret, England's happiness!

Q.Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish.

Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace.
Here are the articles of contracte4 peace.
Between our sovereign, and the French king Charles,
'For eighteen months concluded by consent.

Glo. [Reada.] Imprimis, Jt is agreed between tlie

464

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act I.

French king, Charles, and William de la Poole,
marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry king
of England, — that the said Henry shall espouse
the Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier king
of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem; and crown her
queen of England, ere the thirtieth of May next

ensuing. Item, — That the duchy of Anjou

and the county of Maine, shall be released and

delivered to the king her father

P. Hen. Uncle, how now?

Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord;

Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart,
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.
K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.
Win. Item, — It is further agreed between them —
that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
released and delivered over to the king her father;
and she sent over of the king of England's own
proper costs and charges, without having dowry.
K. Hen. They please us well. — Lord marquess,
kneel down;
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
And girt thee with the sword. —
Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace
From being regent in the parts of France,
Till term of eighteen months be full expir'd. —
Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and Buck-
ingham,
Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick;
We thank you all for this great favour done,
In entertainment to my princely queen.
Come, let us in; and with all speed provide
To see her coronation be perform'd.

[Exeunt King, Qdeen, and Suffolk,
Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
'To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
'Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
'What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
'His valour, coin, and people, in the wars?
'Did he so often lodge in open field,
'In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
'To conquer France, his true inheritance?
'And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
'To keep by policy what Henry got?
'Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
'Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
'Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy?
'Or hath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself,
'With all the learned council of the realm,
'Studied so long, sat in the council-house,
'Early and late, debating to and fro
'How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe ?
'And hath his highness in his infancy
'Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes?
'And shall these labours, and these honours, die?
'Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
'Your deeds of war, and all our council, die?
'O peers of England, shameful is this league!
'Fatal this marriage! cancelling your fame:
'Blotting your names from books of memory:
'Razing the characters of your renown;
'Defacing monuments of conquer'd France;
'Undoing all, as all had never been!
*Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis-
course ?
*Thi8 peroration with such circumstance? *)
'For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

"Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
*But now it is impossible we should:
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
'Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine
*Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style
*Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

1

*Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all,
'These counties were the keys of Normandy: —
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

'•War. For grief, that they are past recovery:
'For were there hope to conquer them again,
'My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
'Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
'Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
'And are the cities, *) that I got with wounds,
'Deliver'd up again with peaceful words?
'Mort Dieu!

* York. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocate,
*That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
'France should have torn and rent my very heart,
'Before I would have yielded to this league.
'I never read but England's kings have had
'Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives:
'And our king Henry gives away his own,
'To match with her that brings no vantages.

*Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before,
'That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth,
*B^r costs and charges in transporting her!
'She should have staid in France, and starv'd in

France,
'Before

*Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot;
'It was the pleasure of my lord the king.

*Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
"Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
'But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you,
'Rancour will out: Proud prelate, in thy face
'I see thy fury: If I longer stay,
'We shall begin our ancient bickerings. —
Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied — France will be lost ere long. \Exit,

Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage.
'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy:
'Nay, more, an enemy unto you all;
'And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
'Consider, lords, — he is the next of blood,
'And heir apparent to the English crown;
'Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
'And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
'There's reason he should be displeas'd at it.
'Look to it, lords ; let not his smoothing words
'Bewitch your hearts; be wise, and circumspect
'What though the common people favour him,
'Calling him — Humphrey, the good duke of Gloster
'Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice —
'■Jesu maintain your royal excellence!
'With — God preserve the good duke Humphrey I
'I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
'He will be found a dangerous protector.

"Buck. Why should he then protect our sovereign
'He being of age to govern of himself? —
'Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, '

'And all together — with the duke of Suffolk, —
'We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his sea(

*Car. This weighty business will not brook delay
'I'll to the duke of Suffolk presently. [ExH

'■Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's
pride,
'And greatness of his place be grief to us,
'Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal;
'His insolence is more intolerable
'Than all the princes in the land beside;
'If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector.

Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protecto]
'Despight duke Humphrey, or the Cardinal.

[Exeunt Buckingham and Someus

Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him
'While these do labour for their own preferment,
'Behoves it us to labour for the realm.

HKn.

Act I.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

465

I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster
Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
'Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal —
More like a soldier, than a man o'the church,
•As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, —
Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself
■Unlike the ruler of a common-weal. —
•Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age!
•Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house- keeping,
Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
•Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. —
•And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
'In bringing them to civil discipline ;
'Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France,
'When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
'Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd, of the people : —
'Join we together, for the public good;
'In what we can, to bridle and suppress
'The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal,
•With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
'And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds,
'While they do tend the profit of the land.

* War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
*And common profit of his country!
'York. And so says York, for he hath greatest

cause.
Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto

the main.
War. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;
'That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win,
*And would have kept, so long as breath did last:
Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine;
Which I will win from France, or else be slain.

[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.
York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French;
"Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
'Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:
'Suffolk concluded on the articles;
*The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd,
*To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
'I cannot blame them all; What is't to themV
"Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
'Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,
'And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,
'Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone:
'While as the silly owner of the goods
'Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands,
'And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,
'While all is shar'd, and all is borne away:
'Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own.
'So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
'While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold.
'Methinks, the reahns of England, France, and Ire-
land,
'Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood,
'As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd,
'Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. "')
Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French!
Cold news for me; for I had hope of France,
Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
A day will come, when York shall claim his own;
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts.
And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey,
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown.
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right.
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist.
Nor wear the diadem upon his head.
Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown.
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do sene:
Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep.
To pry into the secrets of the state ;
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love.

With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen.
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose.
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd;
And in my standard bear the arms of York,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown.
Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.

[Exit.

SCENE n.

TJie same. A Room in the Duke o^ Gloster'*
House.

Enter Glostbr and the Dpchess.

Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn.
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
'Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows,
'As frowning at the favours of the world?
'Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth,
'Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
'What see'st thou there? king Henry's diadem,
'Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?
'If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
'Until thy head be circled with the same.
'Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : —
'What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:
'And, having both together heav'd it up,
'We'll both together lift our heads to heaven;
'And never more abase our sight so low,
'As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

'G/o. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
'Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts:
'And may that thought, when I imagine ill
'Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
'Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
'My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

Duch. What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll
requite it
'With the sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

^Glo. Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in
court,
'Was broke in twain; by whom, I have forgot,
'But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;
'And, on the pieces of the broken wand
'Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset,
'And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk.
'This was my dream ; what it doth bode, God knows.

^Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument.
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove,
'Shall lose his head for his presumption.
'But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke;
'Methought, I sat in seat of majesty,
'In the cathedral church of Westminster,
'And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
'Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me,
'And on my head did set the diadem.

'Cr/o. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
'Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! ')
Art thou not second woman in the realm;
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him?
'Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,
'Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
'To tumble down thy husband, and thyself,
'From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
Away from me, and let me hear no more.

'■Duch. What, what, my lord! are you so choleric
'With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
'Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
'And not be check'd.

'■Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again.

KKn. 30

466

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act J.

Enter a Messenger.

'■Mesa. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure,
'You do prepare to ride unto St. Alban's,
'Whereas *) the king and queen do mean to hawk.

Glo. I go. — Coine, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

'■Duck. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently.
[Exeunt Glostek and Mesttengcr.
*Follow I must, I cannot go before,
•While Gloster bears this base and humble mind.
•Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
*I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks,
'And smooth my way upon their headless necks:
•And, being a woman, 1 will not be slack
•To play my part in fortune's pageant.
'Where are you there? sir John! ') nay, fear not, man,
'We are alone; here's none but thee, and I.

Enter Hume.

Hume. Jesu preserve your royal majesty !

'■Duch. What say'st thou, majesty! I am but grace.

Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's
advice,
'Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

'■Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet
conferr'd
'With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch;
'And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
'And will they undertake to do me good?

'■Hume. This they have promised, — to show your
highness
'A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground,
'That shall make answer to such questions,
'As by your grace shall be propounded him.

'DucA. It is enough ; I'll think upon the questions :
'When from St. Alban's we do make return,
'We'll see these things effected to the full.
'Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,
'With thy confederates in this weighty cause.

[Exit Duchess.

*Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess'
gold;
'Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume?
'Seal up your lips, and give no words but — mum !
'The business asketh silent secrecy.
•Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch:
•Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
'Yet have I gold, flies from another coast:
'I dare not say, from the rich cardinal,
'And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk;
'Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain,
'They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
'Have hired me to undermine the duchess,
'And buz these conjurations in her brain.
'They say, A crafty knave does need no broker; *°)
*Yet am i Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
*Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
*To call them both — a pair of crafty knaves.
*Well, so it stands; And thus, I fear, at last,
'Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck;
'And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:
•Sort how it will, * ' ) I shall have gold for all. [Exit.

SCENE III.

The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Peter, and others, with Petitions.

'1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close ; my lord pro-
'tector will come this way by and by, and then we
'may deliver our supplications in the quill. *-)

'2 Pet. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a
'good man! Jesu bless him!~

Enter Suffolk and Queen Margaret.

*1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen
'with him: I'll be the first, sure.

'2 Pet. Come back, fool ; this is the duke of Suf-
'folk, and not my lord protector.

""Suf. How now, fellow ? would'st any thing with me ?

'1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me ! I took ye for
'my lord protector.

'Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.] To my lord
^protector! are your supplications to his lordship?
'let me see them: what is thine?

'1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against
'John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping
'my house, and lands, and wife, and all, from me.

'^Suf. Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed. —
'What's your's? — What's here? [Reads.] Against
'the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons
'of Melford. — How now, sir knave ?

'2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our
whole township.

'Peter. [Presenting his petition.] Against my master,
'Thomas Horner, for saying, That the duke of York
'was rightful heir to the crown.

'Q. Mar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of York
'say, he was rightful heir to the crown?

'Peter. That my master was? '^) No, forsooth:
'my master said, That he was; and that the king
'was an usurper.

'Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servants.] — Take this
'fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant
'presently : — we'll hear more of your matter before
'the king. [Exeunt Servants, with Peteb.

'Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be protected
'Under the wings of our protector's grace,
'Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.

[Tears the petition.
'Away, base cullions ! — Suffolk, let them go.

*AIL Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners.

'Q.Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
•Is this the fashion in the court of England?
*Is this the government of Britain's isle,
'And this the royalty of Albion's king?
'What, shall king Henry be a pupil still,
'Under the surly Gloster's governance?
'Am I a queen in title and in style,
'And must be made a subject to a duke?
'I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours
'Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love,
'And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France;
'I thought king Henry had resembled thee,
'In courage, courtship, and proportion:
'But all his mind is bent to holiness,
*To number Ave-Maries on his beads:
'His champions are — the prophets and apostles;
'His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ:
'His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
'Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints.
'I would, the college of cardinals
'Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
'And set the triple crown upon his head ;
'That were a state fit for his holiness.

'Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause
'Your highness came to England, so will I
'In England work your grace's full content.

Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we
Beaufort,
'The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,
'And grumbling York: and not the least of these,
'But can do more in England than the king.

"Suf And he of these, that can do most of all,
'Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:
•Salisbury and Warwick, are no simple peers.

Act I.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

467

*Q.Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much,
'As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.
'She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
'More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife;
Strangers in court do take her for the queen:
'She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
*And in her heart she scorns our poverty:
"Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her?
'Contemptuous base-bom caliat as she is,
'She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day.
The very train of her worst wearing-gown
Was better worth than all my father's lands,
*Till SufTolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.

'S«/". Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her;
*And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds,
'That she will light to listen to the lays,
*And never mount to trouble you again.
*So, let her rest: And, madam, list to me;
*For I am bold to counsel you in this.
"Although we fancy not the cardinal,
*Yet must we join with him, and with the lords,
'Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace.
*As for the duke of York, — this late complaint '*)
•Will make but little for his benefit:
•So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
'And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.

Enter King Hknrt, Yobk, and Somkrsbt, convert-
ing with him; Duke and Duchess of Gloster,
Cardinal Bbaufort, Bcckinguam, SALisBURr,
and Warwick.

^K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
'Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me.

^York. If York have ill demeau'd himself in France,
'Then let him be denay'd the regentship.

^Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
'Let York be regent, I will yield to him.

'■War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no,
'Dispute not that: York is the worthier.

^Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

War. The cardinal's not my better in the field.

'■Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, War-
wick.

War. Warwick may live to be the best of all.

'Sal. Peace, son; and show some reason, Buck-
ingham,
•Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this.

Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.

'■Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself
'To give his censure; ^*) these are no women's mat-
ters.

Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your grace
'To be protector of his excellence?

'■Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm;
'And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.

Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence.
'Since thou wert king (as who is king, but thou?)
'The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck:
•The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;
•And all the peers and nobles of the reahn
•Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

•Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's
bags
*Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

*Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's
attire,
*Have cost a mass of public treasury.

'Buck. Thy cruelty in execution,
•Upon offenders, hath exceeded law. \
*And left thee to the mercy of the law.

'Q.Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, —
*If they 'were known, as the suspect is great, —

ICKII.

•Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.

[Exit Glostek. The Queen dropn her fan
'Give me my fan: What, minion! can you not?

[Give* the Duchess a box on the ear.
'I cry yon mercy, madam; Was it you?
*Duch. Was't 1? yea, I it was, proud French-
woman :
'Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
I'd set my ten commandments in your face.
K.Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.
'■Duch. Against her will! Good king, look to't in
time;
'She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
'Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd.

[Exit DvcHEss.
*Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
'And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:
'She's tickled now; her fume can need no spurs, *')
•She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction.

[£jrt( BUCKIKGHAH.

Re-enter Glosteb.

'Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown,
'With walking once about the qxiadrangle,
•I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
*As for your spiteful false objections,
•Prove them, and I lie open to the law:
•But God in mercy so deal with my soul,
•As I in duty love my king and country!
•But, to the matter that we have in hand: —
•[ say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
*To be your regent in the reahn of France.

'Suf. Before we make election, give me leave
'To show some reason, of no little force,
'That York is most unmeet of any man.

'■York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet.
'First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride:
•Next, if I be appointed for the place,
•My lord of Somerset will keep me here,
•Without discharge, money, or furniture,
•Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands.
"Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will,
•Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost.

'War. That I can witness; and a fouler fact
'Did never traitor in the land commit.

Suf. Peace, head-strong Warwick!

War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace ?

Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner
and Peter.

Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason:
Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself!

'York. Doth any one accuse Y'ork for a traitor?

'K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ? tell me :
What are these?

*Suf Please it, your majesty, this is the man
'That doth accuse his master of high treason:
'His words were these ; — that Richard, duke of York,
♦Was rightful heir unto the English crown;
'And that your majesty was an usurper.

'K.Hen. Say, man, were these thy words?

Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said
nor thought any such matter: God is my witness,
I am falsely accused by the villain.

'P«t. By these ten bones, *') my lords, [holding up
'hit hand*,] he did speak them to me in the garret,
'one night, as we were scouring my lord of York's
armour.

'York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical,
•I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech : —
'I do beseech your royal majesty,
'Let hun have all the rigour of the law.

30*

468

KING HENRY VI. PART II

Act I.

Hor. Alas, my lord, hang rae, if ever I spake the
words. My accuser is my prentice; and when I did
correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow
upon his knees he would be even with me: I have
good witness of this ; therefore I beseech your ma-
jesty, do not cast away an honest man for a vil-
lain's accusation.

K.HcH. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

'■Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge.
'Let Somerset be regent o'er the French,
'Because in York this breeds suspicion:
'And let these have a day appointed them
'For single combat, in convenient place;
'For he hath witness of his servant's malice:
'This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom.

K. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset,
We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. ' ')

Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty.

Hor. And I accept the combat willingly.

Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; *for God's sake,
*pity my case! the spite of man prevaileth against
*me. O, Lord have mercy upon me! I shall never
*be able to fight a blow : O Lord, my heart !

Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.

^K. Hen. Away with them to prison: and the day
'Of combat shall be the last of the next month. —
*Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. TAe Duke o/Gloster's Garden.

Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, Southwell,

and BOLINGBROKE.

*Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you,
*expects performance of your promises.

*Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided :
'Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?^ ')

"Hume. Ay; What else? fear you not her courage.

^Baling. I have heard her reported to be a woman
*of an invincible spirit: But it shall be convenient,
*master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we
*be busy below ; and so, I pray you, go in God's
'name, and leave us. [Exit Hume.] 'Mother Jourdain,
'be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth : — 'John
•Southwell, read you; and let us to our work.

Enter Duchess, above.
'Duch. Well said, my masters; and welcome all.
'To this geer; the sooner the better.
'Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their
times :
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
'The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
'The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs

howl, 2 0)
'And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves,
'That time best fits the work we have in hand.
'Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise,
'We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.

[Here they perform the Ceremonies appertaining, and
make the Circle; Bolingbroke, or Southwell,
reads, Conjuro te ^c. It thunders and lightens
terribly; then the Spirit riseth.
*Spir. Adsum.
*M. Jourd. Asmatfa,
'By the eternal God, whose name and power
'Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
'For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.
'<Sp»r. Ask what thou wilt: That I had said and

done! 21)
Boling. First, of the king. What shall of him
become? [Reading out of a paper.

Spir. The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose ;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.

[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the
answer.
Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ?
Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end.
Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset?
Spir. Let him shun castles ;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains.
Than where castles mounted stand.
'Have done, for more I hardly can endure.
Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake :
'False fiend, avoid!

[Thunder and Lightning. Spirit descends.

Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with their
Guards, and others.

^York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their
trash.
'Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. —
'What, madam, are you there? the king and com-
monweal
'Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains;
'My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
'See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

*Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
'Injurious duke; that threat'st where is no cause.

*Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you
this? [Shewing her the papers.

'Away with them; let them be clapp'd up close,
'And kept asunder : — You, madam, shall with us : —
'Stafford, take her to thee. —

[Exit Duchess from above.
'We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming;
'AH. — Away!

[Exeunt Guards, with South. Boling. ^-c.

*York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd
her well :
'A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
What have we here? [Reads.

The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.
'Why, this is just,

*Aio te, jEacida, Romanos vincere posse.
Well, to the rest:

Tell me, -^) what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk?
By water shall he die, and take his end. —
What shall betide the duke of Somerset?
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,
Than where castles mounted stand.
'Come, come, my lords;
'These oracles are hardily attain'd,
'And hardly understood.
'The king is now in progress toward Saint Alban's,
'With him, the husband of this lovely lady:
'Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry

them ;
'A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

'■Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord
of York,
'To be the post, in hope of his reward.

'■York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who's
'within tliere, ho!

Enter a Servant.

'Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick,
'To sup ^ith me to-morrow night. — Away!

[Exeunt.

xKn.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART II

469

ACT U.

SCENE I. Saint Alban'«.

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Glostbr,
Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers, hollaing.

^Q.Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, *)
'I saw not better sport these seven years' day :
'Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

^K, Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon
made,
'And what a pitch she flew above the rest! —
'To see how God in all his creatures works!
*Yea, man and birds, are fain^) of climbing liigh.

Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty.
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
They know, their master loves to be aloft,
*And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.

*Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
'That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

^Car. I thought as much ; he'd be above the clouds.

*Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal ; How think you by that?
Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven?

"K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy !

*Car. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and
thoughts
'Beat on a crown, ^) the treasure of thy heart;
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer.
That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!

'C/o. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown
peremptory?
*Tantane animis coelestibus ira?
'Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;
'With such holiness can you do it?

^Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
•So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer.

Glo. As who, my lord?

Suf. Why, as you, my lord;

An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

Glo. Why, Sufi'olk, England knows thine insolence.

Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace.

Good queen: and whet not on these furious peers.
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
Against this proud protector with my sword!

Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that !
[Aside to the Cabdinal.

•Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Aside.

*Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter,
'In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside.

'■Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou
dar'st,
'This evening, on the east side of the grove. [Aside.

'■K.Hen. How now, my lords?

'■Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster,

'Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
'We had had more sport. — Come with thy two-
hand sword. [Aside to Glo.

Glo. True, uncle.

Car. Are you advis'd? — the east side of the grove?

Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside.

K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster!

'■Glo. Talking of hawking : nothing else, my lord. —
Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown

for this,-
'Or all my fence shall fail. '>) [Aside.

•Car. Medice te ipsum; \ .

♦Protector, see to't well, protect yourself, f L^«"^«-

K.Hen. The winds grow high ;^ so do your stomachs,

lords.
•How irksome is this music to my heart!

'When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
*I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

Enter an Inhabitant e/ Saint Alban'#, crying
A miracle! ^)

Glo. What means this noise?
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

Inhab. A miracle! a miracle!

Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle.

Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine.
Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight;
A man, that ne'er saw in his life before.

^K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd! that to believing
souls
'Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

Enter the Mayor o/Saint Alban'g, an rf his Brethren;

anrfSiMPcox, borne between two Persons in a Chair;

his Wife and a great Mnliiiude following.

*Car. Here come the townsmen on procession,
*To present your highness with the man.

*K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
'Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

*Glo, Stand by, my masters, bring him near the

*His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

"K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
'That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd ?

Si7np. Born blind, an't please your grace.

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he.

Sz^. What woman is this?

Wife. His wife, an't like your worship.

Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st
have better told.

K. Hen. Where wert thou born?

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

'jfiC. Hen. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath been great
to thee:
'Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
'But still remember what the Lord hath done.

'Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here
by chance,
*0r of devotion, to this holy shrine?

^Siinp. God knows, of pure devotion: being call'd
'A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep
'By good Saint Alban ; who said, — Simpcox, come ;
'■Come, offer at my shrine-, and' I will help thee.

' Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft
'Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

Car. What, art thou lame ?

Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me !

Suf. How cam'st thou so?

Simp. A fall off of a tree.

Wif«. A plum-tree, master.

Glh. How long hast thou been blind?

Simp. O, born so, master.

Glo. What, and would'st climb a tree?

Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.

"Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.

*Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums, well, that would'st
venture so.

^Simp. Alas, good master, »y wife desir'd some
damsons,
'And made me climb, with danger of my life.

*Glo. A subtle knave? but yet it shall not serve. —
'Let me see thine eyes? — wink now; now open

them: —
'In my opinion, yet thou see'st not welL

^Simp. Yes, master, dear as day ; L thank God,
and Saint Alban.

Glo. Say'stthoomeso? What colour is this cloak of ?

470

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act II.

Simp. Red, master; red as blood.

Glo. Why, that's well said: What colour is my
gown of?

Simp. Slack, forsooth; coal-black, as jet.

K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet
is of?

Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day, a many.

*Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life.

Olo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

Simp. Alas, master, I know not.

Glo. What's his name?

Simp. I know not.

Glo. Nor his?

Simp. No, indeed, master.

Glo. What's thine own name?

Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, ') the lying'st
knave
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind.
Thou ffiight'st as well have known our names, '}

as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.
Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly
To nominate them all, 's impossible. — ^)
My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle;
And would ye not think that cunning to be great.
That could restore this cripple to his legs again?

Si7np. O, master, that you could !

Glo. My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not
beadles in your town, and things called whips ?

May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

Glo. Then send for one presently.

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

[Exit an Attendant.

Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A
stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save
yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool,
and run away.

Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone;
You go about to torture me in vain.

Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle.

Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.

Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same

stool.

Bead. I will, my lord. — Come on, sirrah ; off with

your doublet quickly.

Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not
able to stand.

\Jfter the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over
the stool, and runs away ; and the People follow,
and cry, A miracle !
*K. Hen. O God, see'st thou this, and bear'st so

long?
*Q. Mar. It made me laugh, to see the villain run.
"Glo. Follow the knave; and take this drab away.
*Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.
Glo. Let them be whipped through every market
town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came.
[Exeunt Major, Beadle, Wife, ^c.
^t:ar. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.
'Sw/. True; made the lame to leap, and fly away.
'6r/o. But you have done more miracles than I;
♦You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.

Enter Buckingham.

*K.Hen. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

'■Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
'A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, — - ')
'Under the countenance and confederacy
'Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
'The ringleader and head of all this rout, —

'Have practis'd dangerously against your state,
'Dealing with witches, and with conjurors:
'Whom we have apprehended in the fact;
'Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
'Demanding of king Henry's life and death,
'And other of your highness' privy council,
'As more at large your grace shall understand.

'■Car. And so, iny lord protector, by this means
'Your lady is forthcoming '") yet at London.
'This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge ;
"Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

[Aside to Glostgr.

'G/o. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart !
'Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers :
*And vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
*Or to the meanest groom.

"K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked
ones;
'Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

*Q.Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest:
*And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

'■Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven 1 do appeal,
'How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal :
'And for my wife, I know not how it stands;
'Sorry I am to hear what I have heard ;
'Noble she is; but if she have forgot
'Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such
'As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
'I banish her my bed, and company;
'And give her, as a prey, to law and shame,
'That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name.

'■K.Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us here :
'To-morrow, toward London, back again,
'To look into this business thoroughly,
'And call these foul offenders to their answers;
'And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
'Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre-
vails. [Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.

London. The Duke of York'« Garden.

Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.

' Yorh. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War-
wick,
'Our simple supper ended, give me leave,
'In this close walk, to satisfy myself,
'In craving your opinion of my title,
'Which is infallible, to England's crown.
"Sal My lord, I long to hear it at full.
War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,
The Nevils are thy subjects to command.

York. Then thus:
'Edward the third, my lords, had seven sons;
'The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of VVales;
'The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third,
'Lionel, duke of Clarence; next to whom
'Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster;
'The fifth, was Edmond Langley, duke of York;
'The sixth, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of

Gloster ;
'William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
'Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father;
'And left behind him Richard, his only son,
'Who, after Edward the third's death, reigned as

king;
'Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster,
'Tiie eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
'Crown'd by the name of Henry the fourth,
'Seiz'd on the realm; depos'd the rightful king;
'Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she
came,

xKn.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

471

'And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
'Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.

'War. Father, the duke hath told the truth;
'Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

'York. Which now they hold by force, and not
by right;
*For Richard, the first son's heir being dead,
•The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

'Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

"York. The third son, duke of Clarence, (from
whose line
*I claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter,
*Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March,
'Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March :
'Roger had issue — Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.

'■Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
•As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
'And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
'Who kept him in captivity, till he died,
'But, to the rest.

'■York. His eldest sister, Anne,

'My mother, being heir unto the crown,
'Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was son
'To Edmund Langley, Edward the third's fifth son.
'By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
'To Roger, earl of March ; w ho was the son
'Of Edmund '') Mortimer; who married Philippe,
'Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence:
'So, if the issue of the elder son
'Succeed before the younger, I am king.

'^War. What plain proceedings are more plain than
this?
'Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
♦The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
'Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign:
'It fails not yet; but flourishes in thee,
'And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. —
'Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together:
'And, in this private plot, '-) be we the first,
'That shall salute our rightful sovereign
'With honour of his birthright to the crown.

Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's
king '.

*York. Vie thank you, lords. But I am not your king
♦Till 1 be crown'd; and that my sword be stain'd
♦With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
*And that's not suddenly to be perform'd;
*But with advice, and silent secrecy.
'Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days,
*Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence,
*At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
'At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
'Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,
'That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey :
"Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,
'Shall find their deaths, if York can prophecy.

'Sal. My lord, break we off"; we know your mind
at full.

♦ War. My heart assures me, that the earl of Warwick
•Shall one day make the duke of York a king.

'■York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, —
♦Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick
♦The greatest man in England, but the king. [Exema.

SCENE HI.
The same. A Hall of Juitice.
Trumpets sounded. Enter King Hbnby, Queen
Margarkt, Glostbr, York, Suffolk, and Salis-
bury; the Duchess o/^Glostkr, Margery Jourdain,
Southwell, HuMK, and Bolingbrokk, under Guard.

'^. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobhaun, Glos-
ter's wife:

'In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great;
'Receive the sentence of the law, for sins
'Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. —
'You four, from hence to prison back again;

[To JoDKB. ^e.
'From thence, unto the place of execution:
'The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
'And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
'You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
'Despoil'd of your honour in your life,
'Shall, after three days' open penance done,
'Live in your country here, in banishment,
'With sir John Stanley, in the isle of Man.

'D«cA. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my
death.

'Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee;
'I cannot justify whom the law condemns. —

[Exeunt the Ddcubs?, and the other Prisioaers, guarded.
♦Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
'Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
'Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! —
'I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
'Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. **)

'JSl. Hen. Stay, Humphrey, duke of Gloster : ere
thou go,
'Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself
'Protector be: and God shall be my hope,
'My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet;
'And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd,
'Than when thou wert protector to thy king.

•Q. Mar. I see no reason, why a king of years
'Should be to be protected like a child. —
'God and king Henry govern England's helm:
'Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.

'G/o. My staff! — here, noble Henry, is my staff:
'As willingly do I the same resign,
'As ere thy father Henry made it mine:
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it.
As others would ambitiously receive it.
'Farewell, good kings when I am dead and gone.
May honourable peace attend thy throne! [Exit.

'Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret
queen ;
'And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself,
'That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once, —
'His lady banisb'd, and a limb lopp'd off;
'This staff of honour raught: — '*) There let it stand,
'Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

*Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his
sprays ;
'Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.

' York. Lords, let him go, — Please it your majesty,
♦This is the day appointed for the combat;
'And ready are the appellant and defendant,
'The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
'So please your highness to behold the fight.

'Q Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
'Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

^K. Hen. O'God's name, see the lists and all things fit;
♦Here let them end it, and God defend the right!

'York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, '*)
'Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
'The servant of this armourer, my iords.

Enter, on one side, Horner, and his Neighbours.
drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and
enters bearing his staff" with a sand bag fastened
to it; »<^) a drum before him: at the other side,
Petbr, tvitk a drum and a similar staff; accom-
panied by Prentices drinking to him.
1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to yon
in a cup of sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall
do well enough.

xxn.

472

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act II.

2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of
charneco. *')

3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer,
neighbour: drink, and fear not your man.

Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all;
And a fig for Peter!

1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not
afraid.

2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master:
fight for credit of the prentices.

Peter. I thank you all: *drink, and pray for me,
*I pray you; for, I think, I have taken my last
*draught in this world.* — Here, Robin, and if I
die, I give thee my apron ; and, Will, thou shalt
have my hammer: — and here, Tom, take all the
money that I have. — O Lord, bless me, I pray
God! for I am never able to deal with my master,
he hath learnt so much fence already.

Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. —
Sirrah, what's thy name?

Peter. Peter, forsooth.

Sal. Peter! what more?

Peter. Thump.

Sal. Thump ! then see thou thump thy master well.

Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon
my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and
myself an honest man: ''and touching the duke of
"York, — will take my death, I never meant him
any ill, nor the king, nor the queen : *And therefore,
Peter, have at thee with a downright blow, as Bevis
of Southampton fell upon Ascapart.

* York. Despatch ; — this knave's tongue begins to

double.
*Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants.

[Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes
down his Master.
Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess treason.

[Vies.

* York. Take away his weapon : — Fellow, thank
*God, and the good wine in thy master's way.

'■Peter. O God ! have I overcome mine enemies in
'this presence? O Peter, hast thou prevailed in right!

K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight :
For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt: '")
And God, in justice, hath I'eveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. —
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. A Street.

Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning
cloaks.

*Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a
cloud;
*And, after summer, evermore succeeds
'Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:
*So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
Sirs, what's o'clock?

Serv. Ten, my lord.

'■Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me,
'To watch the coming of my punlsh'd duchess:
'Uneath "J may she endure the flinty streets,
'To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people, gazing on thy face.
With envious^") looks still laughing at thy shame;
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels.
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
'But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare
'My tear-strain'd eyes to see her miseries.

Enter the Duchess of Glostkr, in a white sJieet,

with papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare,

and a taper burning in her hand; Sir John

Stanleit, a Sheriff, and Officers.

Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from
the sheriff.

Glo. No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.

Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze !
'See, how the giddy multitude do point,
'And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee !
'Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks;
'And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame.
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine.

Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself:
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
'Methinks, I .should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up in shame, -*) with papers on my back;
'And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
'To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet-^) groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet;
And, when I start, the envious people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.
'Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
'Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world;
'Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun?
'No; dark shall be my light, and night my day";
'To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife;
And he a prince, and ruler of the land:
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was.
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
'Was made a wonder, and a pointing stock.
To every idle rascal follower.
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame;
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will.
B'or Suffolk, — he that can do all in all
'With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all, — -
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest.
Have all llm'd bushes to betray thy wings.
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
'But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd,
'Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

*Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry;
*I must offend, before I be attainted:
'And had I twenty times so many foes,
'And each of them had twenty times their power,
'All these could not procure me any scathe, ^^)
'So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
'Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach?
'Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd aw.ay,
'But I in danger for the breach of law.
'Thy greatest help is quiet, 2") gentle Nell:
'I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
'These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.

Enter a Herald.

Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's par-
liament, holden at Bury the first of this next month.

Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there.

[Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave: — and, master sheriff.
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sher. An't please your grace, here my commission
stays :
'And sir John Stanley is appointed now
'To take her with him to the isle of Man.

'6r/o. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here?

XKII.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

473

'■Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please your
grace.

Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray
You use her well: the world may laugh again: **)
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell.

Duch. What gone, my lord ; and bid me not farewell ?

^Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

[^Exeunt Gloster and Servants.

'■Duch. Art thou gone too? 'All comfort go with
thee!
*For none abides with me: my joy is — death;
'Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,
'Because I wish'd this world's eternity. —
'Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence;
'I c^lre not whither, for I beg no favour,
Kinly convey me where thou art commanded.

'Stan. Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man;
'There to be used according to your state.

*Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach :
'And shall I then be us'd reproachfully?

'Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's
lady,
'According to that state you shall be used.

'■Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare;
'Although thou hast been conduct of my shame! ^'')

'iSAer. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

'■Duch. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd. —
'Come, Stanley, shall we go?

'■Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this
sheet,
'And go we to attire you for our joiu^ney.

'•Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
'No, it will hang upon my richest robes,
'And show itself, attire me how I can.
'Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. ^')

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury.

Enter to the Parliament, King Henry, Queen

Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York,

Buckingham, and others.

'■K.Hen. I muse, ') my lord of Gloster is not come:
''Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
'Whate'er occasion keeps hira from us now.

'Q.Mar. Can you not see? or will you not observe
'The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
'With what a majesty he bears himself;
'How insolent of late he is become,
'How proud, peremptory, -) and unlike himself?
'We know the time, since he was mild and affable;
'And, if we did but glance a far-off look,
'Immediately he was upon his knee,
'That all the court admir'd him for submission;
'But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
'When every one will give the time of day,
'He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye,
'And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
'Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
'Small curs are not regarded, when they grin;
'But great men tremble, when the lion roars;
'And Humphrey is no little man in England.
'First, note, that he is near you in descent;
'And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
'Me seemeth ^) then, it is no policy, —
'Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
'And his advantage following your decease, —
'That he should come about your royal person,
'Or be admitted to your highness' council.

'By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts;

'And, when he please to make commotion,

''Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.

'Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ;

'Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden,

'And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

'The reverent care, I bear unto my lord,

'Made me collect "*) these dangers in the duke.

'If it be fond, *) call it a woman's fear;

'Which fear if better reasons can supplant,

'I will subscribe and say — I wrong'd the duke.

'My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham, — and York, —

'Reprove my allegation, if you can;

'Or else conclude my words effectual.

'■Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
'And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think, I should have told your grace's tale. ')
'The duchess, by his subornation,
'Upon my life, began her devilish practices:
'Or if he were not privy to those faults,
'Yet, by reputing of his high descent, ')
'(As next the king, he was successive heir,)
'And such high vaunts of his nobility,
'Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess,
'By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep;
*And in his simple show he harbours treason.
The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

'Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law,
'Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

York. And did he not, in his protectorship,
'Levy great sums of money through the realm,
'For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
'By means whereof, the towns each day revolted.

'Buck. Tut! These are petty faults to faults un-
known,
'Which time will bring to light in smooth duke
Humphrey.

*K. Hen. My lords, at once : The care you have
of us,
'To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
'Is worthy praise: But shall I speak my conscience?
'Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent
'From meaning treason to our royal person,
'As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove;
'The duke is virtuous, mild; and too well given,
'To dream on evil, or to work my downfall.

'Q.Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond
affiance !
'Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd,
'For he's disposed as the hateful raven.
'Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
'For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves.
'Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit?
'Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
'Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

Enter Somerset.
*Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign!
K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news from

France ?
'SoHi. That all your interest in those territories
'Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.
K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset : But God's will

be done!
York. Cold news for me; for I had hope of France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
'Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
'And caterpillars eat my leaves away :
'But I will remedy this gear *) ere long,
'Or sell my title for a glorious grave. [Aaide.

KKn.

474

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act hi.

Enter Gloster.

*Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king!
Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long.

Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too
soon,
'Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art;
I do arrest thee of high treason here.

Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet') thou shaltnot see me blush.
Nor change my countenance for this arrest;
*A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
'The purest spring is not so free from mud,
'As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes
of France,
And, being protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay;
By means whereof, . his highness hath lost France.

Glo. Is it but thought so? What are they, that
think it?
'I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
'Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
'So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, —
'Ay, night by night, — in studying good for England !
'That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
'Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
'Be brought against me at my trial day!
'No! many a pound of mine own proper store,
'Because I would not tax the needy commons,
'Have I dispursed to the garrisons,
'And never ask'd for restitution.

*Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

*Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God!

York. In your protectorship, you did devise
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of.
That England was defam'd by tyranny.

Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was pro-
tector,
Pity was all the fault that was in me;
*For I should melt at an offender's tears,
'And lowly words were ransome for their fault.
'Unless it were a bloody murderer,
'Or foul felonious thief, that fleec'd poor passengers,
'I never gave them condign punishment:
'Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
'Above the felon, or what trespass else.

'■Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, ^°) quickly
answer'd :
'But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
'Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
'I do arrest you in his highness' name;
'And here commit you to my lord cardinal
'To keep, until your further time of trial.

'JfiC. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope,
'That you will clear yourself from all suspects;
My conscience tells me, you are innocent.

Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous!
'Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition,
'And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand;
'Foul subornation is predominant,
'And equity exil'd your highness' land.
*I know, their complot is to have my life;
'And, if my death might make this island happy,
'And prove the period of their tyranny,
'I would expend it with all willingness:
'But mine is made the prologue to their play;
'For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
'Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
'Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,

'And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;

'Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue

'The envious load that lies upon his heart:

'And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,

'Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
'By false accuse *^) doth level at my life: —
'And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
'Causeless have laid disgraces on my head;
'And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up
'My liefest *-) liege to be mine enemy: —
*Ay, all of you have laid your heads together,
'Myself had notice of your conventicles,
'And all to make away my guiltless life: *^)
'I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
'Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;
'The ancient proverb will be well affected, —
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

'Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable:
'If those, that care to keep your royal person
'From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage,
'Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,
'And the offender granted scope of speech,
"Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here,
'With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
'As if she had suborned some to swear
'False allegations to o'erthrow the state?

'Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide.

Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant: I lose indeed; —
'Beshrew the winners, for they played me false!
'And well such losers may have leave to speak.

Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day:
'Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

'■Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.

Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch,
Before his legs be firm to bear his body:
'Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
'And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
'Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
'B'or, good king Henry, thy decay I fear.

[Exeunt Attendants, with Giostkh.

K.Hen. My lords, what to your wisdom seemeth best,
Do, or undo, as if ourself were here.

Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the par-
liament ?

K.Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with
grief,
'Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes;
'My body round engirt with misery;
'For what's more miserable than discontent? — •
'Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
'The map of honour, truth, and loyalty;
'And yet, good Humphrey! is the hour to come,
'That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith.
'What low'ring star now envies thy estate,
'That these great lords, and Margaret our queen,
'Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
'Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong:
'And as the butcher takes away the calf,
'And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
'Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house;
'Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence.
'And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
'Looking the way her harmless young one went,
'And can do nought but wail her darling's loss:
'Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case,
'With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes
'Look after him, and cannot do him good;
'So mighty ar,e his vowed enemies.
'His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan,
'Say — Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none. [Exit.

"Q. Mar. Free lords, *•*) cold snow melts with the
sun's hot beams.
'Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
'Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster's show
'Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
'With sorrow snares relenting passengers;

XKII.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

475

li

*Or as the snake, roU'd in a flowering bank, **)
*With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child,
'That, for the beauty, thinks it excellent.
'Believe me, lords, were none more Avise than I,
'(And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,)
'This Gloster should be quickly rid the world,
'To rid us from the fear we have of him.

'Car. That he should die, is worthy policy:
'But yet we want a colour for his death:
"Tis meet, he be condemn'd by course of law.

'Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy:
'The king will labour still to save his life,
'The commons haply rise to save his life;
'And we yet have but trivial argument,
'More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

• York. So that, by this, you would not have him die.

'Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.

'York, "i'is York that hath more reason for his
death. —
'But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk, —
'Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, —
'VVer't not all one, an empty eagle were set
'To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
'As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of
death.

•Suf. Madam, 'tis true : And wer't not madness then
'To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
'Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,
'His guilt should be but idly posted over,
'Because his purpose is not executed.
'No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
'By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,
'Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood;
'As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. ^')
'And do not stand on quillets, how to slay him:
'Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty,
'Sleeping, or waking, 'tis no matter how,
'So he be dead ; for that is good deceit
'Which mates him first, that first intends deceit. • ')

'Q.Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

*Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done;
'For things are often spoke, and seldom meant:
'But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue, —
'Seeing the deed is meritorious,
'And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, —
'Say but the word, and I will be his priest. '*)

"Car. But 1 would have him dead, my lord of
Suffolk,
'Ere you can take due orders for a priest:
'Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, * ')
'And I'll provide his executioner,
'I tender so the safety of my liege.

'Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

'Q. Mar. And so say I.

'York. And I: and now we three have spoke it,
'It skills not - °) greatly who impugns our doom.

Enter a Messenger.

^Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
'To signify — that rebels there are up,
'And put' the Englishmen unto the sword:
'Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
'Before the wound do grow incurable ;
•For, being green, there is great hope of help.

'Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient

stop! ^')
'What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

'^York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither;
''Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd;
'Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

'5o;/». If York, with all his fiar-fet policy.

'Had been the regent there instead of me,
'He never would have staid in France so long.

^York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
'I rather would have lost my life betimes,
'Than bring a burden of dishonour home,
'By staying there so long, till all were lost.
'Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:
'Men's flesh pjreserv'd so whole, do seldom win.

'Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging
fire,
'If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with: —
'No more, good York; — sweet Somerset, be still; —
'Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
'Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

York. What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame
take all!

*Som. And, in the number, thee, that wishest shame!

^Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is.
'The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms,
'And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
'To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
'Collected choicely, from each county some,
'And try your hap against the Irishmen?

'York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

'Suf. Why, our authority is his consent;
'And, what we do establish, he confirms:
'Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

*York. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords,
'Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

^Suf A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd.
'But now return we to the false duke Humphrey.

^Car. No more of hun; for I will deal with hun,
'That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more.
'And so break off; the day is almost spent:
'Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

^York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days,
'At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
'For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suf. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York.

[Exeunt all but YoBK.

*York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful
thoughts,
'And change misdoubt to resolution:
'Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art
'Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying:
'Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-bom man,
'And find no harbour in a royal heart.
'Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought on

thought ;
'And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
'My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
'Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
'Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,
'To send me packing with an host of men:
'I fear me, you but warm the starved snake,
'Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your

hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me:
'I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur'd
'You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
'Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
'I will stir up in England some black storm,
•Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell:
'And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
'Until the golden circuit on my head,
'Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
'Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. ^-)
'And, for a minister of my intent,
'I have seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman,
'John Cade of Ashford,
'To make commotion, as full well he can,
'Under the title of John Mortimer.
'In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade

KKn.

476

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act III.

'Oppose himself against a troop of kernes; -^)
*And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
*Were almost like a sharp-quilled porcupine:
*And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him
*Caper upright like a wild Mdrisco, -^)
'Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
*Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne,
*Hath he conversed with the enemy;
'And undiscover'd come to me again,
'And given me notice of their villainies.
'This devil here shall be my substitute;
'For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
'In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
'By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
'How they affect the house and claim of York.
'Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortur'd ;
'I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
'Will make him say — I mov'd him to those arms.
'Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,)
'Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
'And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd:
'For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
'And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Bury. A Room in the Palace.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily.

IMur. Run to my lord of Sufi"olk; let him know,
'We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

*2 Mur. O, that it were to do ! — What have we
done?
'Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter Suffolk.

'1 Mur. Here comes my lord.

'■Suf. Now, sirs, have you

'Despatch'd this thing?

'1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

''Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my
house ;
'I will reward you for this venturous deed.
'The king and all the peers are here at hand : —
'Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
'According as I gave directions?

'1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord.

''Suf. Away, be gone! [Exeunt Murderers.

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal
Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and others.

^K.Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight:
'Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,
'If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

'Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit.

'K.Hen. Lords, take your places; — And, I pray
you all,
'Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,
'Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
'He be approv'd in practice culpable.

'Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail,
'That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
'Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion!

*K.Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words con-
tent me much. —

Re-enter Suffolk.

'How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest

thou?
'Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk?

iS«/ Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead.

'Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend!

*Car. God's secret judgment: — I did dream to-
night,
'The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word.

[The King swoorus.

'Q. Mar. How fares my lord ? — Help, lords ! the
king is dead.

"Soni. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

'Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help! — O, Henry, ope
thine eyes !

*Suf. He doth revive again ; — Madam, be patient.

K. Hen. O heavenly God !

*Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord?

Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry, com-
fort!

K.Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now^*) to sing a raven's note,
'Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
'By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
'Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
'Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.
'Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
'Their touch aff"rights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
'Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
'Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
'Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding : —
'Yet do not go away; — Come, basilisk,
'And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight:
'For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
'In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead.

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus?
'Although the duke was enemy to him,
'Yet he, most christian-iike, laments his death:
'And for myself — foe as he was to me,
'Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
'Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
*I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
'Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs,
'And all to have the noble duke alive.
'What know I how the world may deem of me?
'For it is known, we were but hollow friends;
'It may be judg'd, I made the duke away:
'So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
'And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
'This get I by his death : Ah me, unhappy !
'To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy !

'jfiC. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man !

Q. Mar. Be woe for me, - ') more wretched than he is.
What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper, look on me.
'What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
'Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen.
'Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
'Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy:
'Erect his statue then, and worship it,
'And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea;
'And twice by awkward wind fron> England's bank
'Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind
Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest,
'Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?
'What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts,
'And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves;
'And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
'Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?
'Yet iEolus would not be a murderer,
'But left that hateful office unto thee:
'The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me;
'Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on

shore,
'With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness:

KKH.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

477

'The splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking sands, ^'')

*And Avould not dash me with their ragged sides;

"Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,

"Might in thy palace perish Margaret. -")

'As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,

'When from the shore the tempest beat us back,

'I stood upon the hatches in the storm:

"And when the dusky sky began to rob

'My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,

"1 took a costly jewel from my neck, —

'A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, —

'And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'd it;

'And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart:

'And even with this, I lost fair England's view,

"And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart;

'.\nd call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,

'For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.

'How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue

■(The agent of thy foul inconstancy,)

'To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,

"When he to madding Dido, would unfold

"His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy?*')

'Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like

him?
■ Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret!
'For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long.

A'owc within. Enter Warwick and Salisbchy.
The Commons press to the door.

'•War. It is reported, mighty sovereign.

That good duke Humphrey traitorously is mnrder'd
'By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means.
•The commons, like an angry hive of bees,
'That want their leader, scatter up and down,
'And care not who they sting in his revenge.
'Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
'Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
But how he died, God knows, not Henry:
'Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
'And comment then upon his sudden death.

War. That I shall do, my liege : — Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, till I return.

[Warwick goe» into an inner Room, and
Salisbury retires.

*K. Hen. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my
thoughts ;
*My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul,
'Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
'If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;
'For judgment only doth belong to thee!
'Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
'With twenty" thousand kisses, and to drain
'Upon his face an ocean of salt tears;
'To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
'And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
'But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
'And, to survey his dead and earthly image,
'What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

The folding Doors of an inner Chamber are throvm

open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his Bed:

Warwick and others standing by it.

*War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this
body.

*K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made :
'For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace:
'For seeing him, I see my life in death. ^'»)

^War. As surely as my soul intends to live
'With that dread King, that took our state upon him
'To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
'I do believe that violent hands were laid
'Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

Suf A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue !

'What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow?

'■War. See, how the blood is settled in his face!

Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, ^ * )

'Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and bloodless,

'Being all descended to the labouring heart;

'Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,

'Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;

'Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth

'To blush and beautify the cheek again.

'But, see, his face is black, and full of blood;
'His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd,
'Staring full ghastly like a strangled man:
'His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strug-
gling;
'His hands abroad display'd, ^J) as one that grasp'd,
'And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.
'Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking;
'His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged,
'Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.
'It cannot be, but he was murder'd here;
'The least of all these signs were probable.

''Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to
death?
'Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection;
'And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

''War. But both of you were vow'd duke Hum-
phrey's foes;
'And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
"Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend;
'And 'tis well seen, he found an enemy.

Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
'As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death.

War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh,
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe.
But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest.
But may imagine how the bird was dead.
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

'Q.Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk; where's
your knife?
Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons?

Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men;
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease.
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart.
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge:
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickslure,
That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death.

\Exeunt Cardinal, Som. and others.

War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk
dare him?

Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say ;
For every word, you speak in hb behalf.
Is slander to your royal dignity.

'■Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour!
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much.
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stem untutor'd churl, and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou art.
And never of the Nevils' noble race.

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee.
And I should rob the deadisman of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames.
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
And say — It was thy mother that thou mean'st.
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy:
And, after all this fearful homage done.

478

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act hi.

Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men!

Suf. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood,
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.

IVar. Away even now, or I will drag thee h»nce:
*Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,
*And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost.

[Exeunt Suffolk and Waewick.

'K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart
untainted ?
*Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just;
'And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
*VVhose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

[A Noiae within.

Q.Mar. What noise is this?

Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their

Weapons drawn.

K.Hen. Why, how now, lords? your wrathful

weapons drawn
'Here in our presence? dare you be so bold? —
'Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury,
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.'

Noise of a Croud within. Re-enter Salisbury.

*Sal. Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your
mind. — [Speaking to those within.

Dread lord, the commons send you word by me.
Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death.
Or banished fair England's territories,
'They will by violence tear him from your palace,
*And torture him with grievous ling'ring death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died;
'They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
'And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, —
'Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
'As being thought to contradict your liking, —
'Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
'They say, in care of your most royal person,
*That, if your highness should intend to sleep,
*And charge — that no man should disturb your rest,
*In pain of your dislike, or pain of death;
'Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict,
'Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
'That slily glided towards your majesty,
'It were but necessary you were wak'd;
'Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
'The mortal worm ^ ') might make the sleep eternal :
'And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
'That they will guard you, whe'r you will or no,
'From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
'With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
'Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
'They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons. [TFithin.] An answer from the king, my
lord of Salisbury.

Suf. 'Tis like, the commons, rude nnpolish'd hinds,
Could send such message to their sovereign:
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ 'd,
To show how quaint an orator ^'*) you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won.
Is — that he was the lord ambassador,
Sent from a sort ^*) of tinkers to the king.

Commons, [inthin.] An answer from the king, or
we'll all break in.

'■K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
'I thank them for their tender loving care;
'And had I not been cited so by them,
'Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
'For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
'Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.
'And therefore, — by His majesty I swear,

'Whose far unworthy deputy I am, —

'He shall not breathe infection in this air *')

'But three days longer, on the pain of death.

[Exit Salisbury.

'Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk !

'■K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk.
'No more, I say; if thou dost plead lor him,
'Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
'Had I but said, I would have kept my word;
'But, when I swear, it is irrevocable: —
*lf, after three days' space, thou here be'st found
'On any ground that 1 am ruler of,
'The world shall not be ransome for thy life. —
'Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
'I have great matters to impart to thee.

[Exeunt K, Henbv, Warwick, Lords, ^c.

^Q.Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you !
'Heart's discontent, and sour affliction,
'Be playfellows to keep you company !
'There's two of you; the devil make a third!
'And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

*Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
'And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

'Q. Mar. Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted
wretch !
'Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?

Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should I

curse them?
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, ^')
'I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
'As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
'With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave:
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words :
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint:
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink !
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings!^')
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss;
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell —

Q.Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st
thyself;
'And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass,
'Or like an overcharged gun, — recoil,
'And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf.You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?^')
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from.
Well could I curse away a winter's night.
Though standing naked on a mountain top.
Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.

'Q. Mar. O, let me intreat thee, cease! Give me
thy hand,
'That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
'Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
'To wash away my woeful monuments.
'O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand;

[Kisses Am hand.
'That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
'Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for

thee! *»)
'So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
"Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by,
'As one that surfeits, thinking on a want.
'I will repeal thee, or be well assured,
'Adventure to be banished myself:

Kxn.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

479

'And banished I am, if but from thee.

*Go, speak not to roe ; even now be gone. —

*0, go not yet ! — Even thus two friends condemnM

*Einbrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaTes,

*Loather a hundred times to part than die.

'Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished.
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
"Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence;
*A wilderness is populous enough,
*So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
*For where thou art, there is the world itself,
*With every several pleasure in the world;
*And where thou art not desolation.
*I can no more: — Live thou to joy thy life;
'Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.

Enter Vaux.

'Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news,
I pr'ythee?

^Vaux. To signify unto his majesty,
That cardinal Ueaufort is at point of death:
'For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
'That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
'Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.
'Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost
'Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
'The secrets of his overcharged soul :
'And I am sent to tell his majesty,
'That even now he cries aloud for him.

^Q.Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king.

[Exit Vaux.
'Ah me ! what is this world ? what news are these ?
'But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
'Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
'Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
'And with the southern clouds contend in tears :
'Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sor-
rows ?
Now, get thee hence: The king, thou know'st, b

coming :
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

•Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live:
And in thy sight to die, what were it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
'As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe.
Dying with mother's dug between its l?^s:
Where,*') from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
'And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
'To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
'So should'st thou either turn my flying soul,
■Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee, were but to die in jest;
From thee to die, were torture more than death:
O, let me stay, befall what may befall.

•Q. Mar. Away! though parting be a fretful cor-
rosive, '♦^)
'It is applied to a deathful wound.
'To France, sweet Suffolk: Let me hear from thee;
'For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris *^) that shall find thee out.

Suf. I go.

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee.

Suf A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we;
This way fall I to death,

Q. Mar. This way for me.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE m.

London. Cardinal Beaufort'* Bed-chamber.

£n/*r King Henrt, Salisboky, Warwick, anrfothers.
The Cardinal in Bed; Attendants with him.

*K. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, to
thy sovereign.

^Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's
treasure,
'Enough to purchase such another island,
'So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

*K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
'When death's approach is seen so terrible!

*War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

'Car. Bring me unto ray trial, when you will.
'Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? —
*0! torture me no more, I will confess. —
'Alive again? then show me where he is;
'I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. —
'He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. —
'Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
'Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul! —
'Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
'Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

*K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
'Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
'O, beat away the busy meddling fiend,
'That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
'And from his bosom purge this black despair!

'■War. See, how the pangs of death do make him
grin.

*Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

*K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea-
sure be!
'Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
'Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. —
'He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him!

'■War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

*K.Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. —
'Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;
'And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. *♦)

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Kent. The Sea-thore near Doyer.

Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Booty a
Captain, a Master, a Master'»-Mate, Wai-
ter Whitmorb, and others; with them Suffolk,
and other Gentlemen, prisoners.

'Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful ') day
'Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
'And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
'That drag the tragic melancholy night;
'Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
'Clip dead men's graves, -) and from their misty jaws
'Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
'Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
'For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
'Here shall they make their ransome on the sand,
'Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore. —
'Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; —
'And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; —
'The other [pointing to Scffoik] Walter Whitmore,
is thy share.

'1 Gent. What is my ransome, master? let me know.

'■Matt. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your
head.

'Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes
yours.

xxn.

480

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act IV.

*Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand
crowns,
*And bear the name and port of gentlemen? —
*Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall;
*The lives of those which we have lost in fight,
'Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum.

*1 Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

'2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it
straight.

^WJiit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
'And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;

[To Suffolk.
'And so should these, if I might have my will.

*Cap. Be not so rash: take ransome, let him live.

'^Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman;
'Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

' Whit. And so am I ; my name is — Walter Whit-
more.
'How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death
affright?

^Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
'A cunning man did calculate my birth,
'And told me — that by Water I should die:
'Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded;
'Thy name is — Gualtier, being rightly sounded.

'Whit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;
'Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name,
'But with our sword we wip'd away the blot;
'Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
'Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
'And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!

[Lays hold on Suffolk.

^Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince,
The duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

'■Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags!

Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke;
Jove sometime went disguis'd. And why not I ?

Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

'-Sm/; Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood.
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
'Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. ^)
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup ?
'Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule,
'And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
'How often hast thou waited at my cup,
'Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
'When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
*Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n ;
*Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride: '*)
*How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
*And duly waited for my coming forth?
'This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
'And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

* Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain ?

*Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

*Suf. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art
thou.

'■Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side
'Strike off his head.

Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own.

Cap. Yes, Poole.

Suf. Poole?

Cap. Poole? sir Poole? lord?

'Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
'Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
'Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
'For swallowing the treasure of the realm:
'Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the

ground :
'And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's
death,

'Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain,

*Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again:

*And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,

*For daring to affy *) a mighty lord

*Unto the daughter of a worthless king,

*Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.

*By devilish policy art thou grown great,

*And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd

*With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.

*By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France:

*The false revolting Normans, thorough thee,

*Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy

*Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts,

*And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.

*The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, —

* Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, —

*As hating thee, are rising up in arms:

*And now the house of York — thrust from the

crown,
*By shameful murder of a guiltless king,
"And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, —
*Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
'Advance our half-tac'd sun, striving to shine,
*Under the which is writ — Invitis nuhibus.
*The commons here in Kent are up in arms:
*And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary,
*Is crept into the palace of our king,
*And all by thee: — Away! convey him hence.

*Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
*Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
'Small things make base men proud : 'this villain here,
'Being captain of a pinnace, <') threatens more
'Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.
'Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives.
'It is impossible that 1 should die
'By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
'Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me:
'I go of message from the queen to France;
'I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel,

'■Cap. Walter,

' Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

*Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus; — ') 'tis thee
I fear.

'■Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I
leave thee.
'What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

'1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him
fair.

'■Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
'Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.
'Far be it, we should honour such as these
'With humble suit: no, rather let my head
'Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any,
'Save to the God of heaven, and to my king;
'And sooner dance upon a bloody pole,
'Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
'True nobility is exempt from fear: —
'More can I bear, than you dare execute.

'■Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

'<S«/. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
'That this my death may never be forgot! —
'Great men oft die by vile bezonians: '*')
'A Roman sworder ') and banditto slave,
'Murder'd sweet TuUy; Brutus' bastard hand
'Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders,
'Pompey the great: '") and Suffolk dies by pirates.
[Exit Suf. with Whit, and others.

Cap. And as for these whose ransome we have set.
It is our pleasure, one of them depart : —
Therefore come you with us, and let him go.

[Exeunt all but the first Gentlemaa.

Re-enter Whitmorb, with Suffolk'* Body.

^With. There let his head and lifeless body lie,

'Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit

Hsn.

J

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

481

'1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
'His body will I bear unto the king:
'If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
'So will the queen, that living held him dear.

[Exit, voith the Body.

SCENE II.

Blackheath.

Enter Georgr Bevis and John Holland.

'■Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of
'a lath; they have been up these two days.

'■John. They have the more need to sleep now then.

'■Geo. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier means to
'dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new
'nap upon it.

John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well,
I say, it was never merry world in England, since
gentlemen came up. ' ' )

*Geo. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in
*handycrafts-men.

'■John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather
'aprons.

"Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good
'workmen.

'John. True; And yet it is said, — ■ Labour in thy
'vocation: which is as much to say, as, — let the
'magistrates be laboiuing men; and therefore should
*we be magistrates.

'Geo. Thou hast hit it: for there's no better sign
*of a brave mind, than a hard hand.

'John. I see them ! I see them ! There's Best's son,
*the tanner of Wingham:

'Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to
'make dog's leather of.

John. And Dick the butcher,

'Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and
'iniquity's throat cut like a calf.

'John. And Smith the weaver.

'Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun.

*John. Come, come, let's fall in with them.

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the
Weaver, and others in great number.

'■Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed
'father,

Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. *-)

[Aside.

'■Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, '^)
'inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and
'princes, — Command silence.

Dick. Silence!

Cade. My father was a Mortimer, —

Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick-
layer. [Aside.

'Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, —

'Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. [Aside.

'■Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, —

Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and
sold many laces. [Aside.

^Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with
'her furred pack, »*) she washes bucks here at home.

[Aside.

'■Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house.

Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable; ^5)
and there was he born, under a hedge; for his fa-
ther had never a house, but the cage. ''") [Aside.

'Cade. Valiant I am.

'Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant.

[Aside.

Cade. I am able to endure much.

Dick. No question of that; for I have seen him
whipped three market-days together. [Aside.

Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire.

Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat
is of proof. *') [Aside.

Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire,
being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep. [Aside.

Cade. Be brave then; for your captain is brave,
and vows reformation. There shall be, in England,
seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny : the three-
hooped pot shall have ten hoops; ' ') and I will
make it felony, to drink small beer: all the realm
shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my
palfry go to grass. And, when I am king, (as king
I will be)

All. God save your majesty !

'■Cade. I thank you, good people: — there shall
'be no money; ") all shall eat and drink on my
'score; and I will apparel them all in one livery,
'that they may agree like brothers, and worship me
'their lord.

'^Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the
'lawyers.

Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a la-
mentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb
should be made pEirchment? that parchment, being
scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some say, the
bee stings : but I say, 'tis the bee's wax, for I did
but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine
own man since. How now? who's there?

Enter some, bringing in the Clerk o/^ Chatham.

Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and
read, and cast accompt.

Cade. O monstrous! ""

Smith. We took hira setting of boys' copies.

Cade. Here's a villain!

Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red let-
ters in't.

Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer.

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, - ") and write
court-hand.

^Cade. I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man,
'on mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall
'not die, — Come hither, sirrah, I must examine
'thee: What is thy name?

Clerk. Immanuel.

Dick. They use to write it on the top of let-
ters;— ^*) 'Twill go hard with you.

'Carfe. Let me alone: — Dost thou use to write
'thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an
'honest plain-dealing man?

Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well
brought up, that I can write my name.

'■All. He hath confessed: away with him; he's a
'villain, and a traitor.

'■Cade. Away with him, I say: hang him with his
'pen and inkhorn about his neck.

[Exeunt some with the Clerk.

Enter Michael.

'■Mich. Where's our general?

'■Cade. Here I am, thou pjurticular fellow.

'■Mich. Fly, fly, fly, sir Humphrey Stafford and his
'brother are hard by, with the king's forces.

'■Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down:
'He shall be encountered with a man as good as
'himself: He is but a knight, is 'a?

'Mich. No.

'Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight
'presently; Rise up, sir John Mortimer. Now have
'at him.

31

^

482

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act IV.

Enter Sir Hdmphrby Stafford, and William his
Brother, with Drum and Forces.

"Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
*Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down,
'Home to your cottages, forsake this groom; —
"The king is merciful, if you revolt. *

*W.Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood,
"If you go forward: Tiierefore yield, or die.

Cade. As for these silken- coated slaves, I pass
not; ")
It is to you, good people, that I speak,
*0'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
*For I am rightful heir unto the crown.

••Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
♦And thou thyself, a shearman, Art thou not?

Cade. And Adam was a gardener.

'W. Staf. And what of that?

Cade. Marry, this: — Edmund Mortimer, earl of
March,
Married the duke of Clarence' daughter; — Did
he not'?

^Staf. Ay, sir.

Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth.

W. Staf. That's false.

'Cade. Ay, .there's the question; but, I say, 'tis true:
'The elder of them, being put to nurse,
'Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away;
'And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
'Became a bricklayer, when he came to age:
'His son am I; deny it, if you can.

Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be king.

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's
house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify
it; therefore, deny it not.

*Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words,
'That speaks he knows not whatV

*All. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.

W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught
you this.

*Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside. —
Go to, sirrah. Tell the king from me, that — for
his father's sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time
boys went to span-counter for French crowns, —
I am content he shall reign; but I'll be protector
over him.

'Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's
'head, for selling the dukedom of Maine.

'Cade. And good reason, for thereby is England
'maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my
'puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you,
'that that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth,

'and made it an eunuch: and more than that, he

'can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor.

'Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance !

'Cade. Nay, answer, if you can: The Frenchmen

'are our enemies: go to then, I ask but this; Can

'he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a

'good counsellor, or no?
'^411. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.
*IV. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,

*Assail them with the army of the king.
'Staf. Herald, away : and, throughout every town,

'Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;

'That those, which fly before the battle ends,

'May, even in their wives' and children's sight,

'Be hang'd up for example at their doors: —

'And you, that be the king's friends, follow me.

[Exeunt the two Stafkobd8, and Forces.
*Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow
me. —

*Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty.

*We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:

'Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon;

*For they are thrifty honest men, and such

*As would (but that they dare not) take our parts.

"Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us.

*Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most
*out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

Another part o/" Blackheath.

Alarums. The two Parties enter, and fight, and
both the Staffords are slain.

'Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

'Dick. Here, sir.

'Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen,
'and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been
'in thine own slaughter-house: therefore thus will
'I reward thee, — The Lent shall be as long again
'as it is; and thou shalt have a license to kill for
'a hundred lacking one. -^)

'Dick. I desire no more.

*Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less.
*This monument of the victory will I bear; and the
'bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I
*do come to London, where we will have the mayor's
'sword borne before us.

*Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break
*open the gaols, and let out the prisoners.

'Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's
*march toward London. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, reading a Supplication; the

Duke 0/ Buckingham, and Lord Say with him: at

a distance, Queen Margaret, mourning over

Suffolk'* Head.

*Q.Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens
the mind,
*And makes it fearful and degenerate;
"Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.
*But who can cease to weep, and look on this?
'Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast:
'But Where's the body that I should embrace?

'Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels'
'supplication?

*K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat :
'B'or God forbid, so many simple souls
'Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
'Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
'Will parley with Jack Cade their general. —
'But stay, I'll read it over once again.

'Q.Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely
face
'Rul'd, like a wandering planet, -'*) over me:
'And could it not enforce them to relent,
'That were unworthy to behold the same?

'K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have
thy head.

'Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his.

K. Hen. How now, madam ? Still
Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death?
I fear, my love, if that I had been dead,
Thoti wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me.

Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die
for thee.

Enter a Messenger.
"K.Hen. How no'w! what news? why com'st thou
in such haste?

Act IV

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

483

'•Men. The rebels are in Southwark; Fly, my lord !
'Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer,
'Descended from the duke of Clarence' house;
'And calls your grace usurper, openly,
'And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
'His array is a ragged multitude
'Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless:
JSir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
'Hath given them heart and courage to proceed;
'AH scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
'They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death.

'K. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what
they do.

'■Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth,
'Until a power be rais'd to put them down.

'Q.Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive,
*These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd.

^K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee,
'Therefore away with us to Kenelworth.

^Satf. So might your grace's person be in danger;
'The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
'And therefore in this city will I stay,
'And live alone as secret as I may.

Enter another Messenger.
* 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gottea London-bridge;
the citizens
*Fly and forsake their houses:
*The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
*Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear,
*To spoil the city, and your royal court.
'Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; aw ay, take horse.
'K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will

succour us.
* Q.Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd.
*K. Hen. Farewell, my lord; [to Lord Say] trust

not the Kentish rebels.
'Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd.
'S«y. The trust I have is in mine innocence,
'And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt.

' SCENE V.

The tame. The Tower.

Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the Walls.
Then enter certain Citizens, below.

Scaleg. How now? is Jack Cade slain?

1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for
they have won the bridge, killing all those that
withstand them : The lord mayor craves aid of your
honour from the Tower, to defend the city from
the rebels.

Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall command ;
But I am troubled here with them myself.
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
But get you to Smithheld, and gather head.
And thither I will send you Matthew Gough:
Fight for your king, your country, and your lives;
And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The same. Cannon-street.

Enter Jack Cadb, and his Followers. He strikes
his Staff on London-stone.

Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And
here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com-
mand, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit
run nothing but claret wine this first year of our
reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason
for any that calls me other than — lord INIortimer.

Enter a Soldier, running.

Sold. Jack Cade! Jack Cade!

Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him.

'Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call
*you Jack Cade more; I think he hath a very fair
'warning.

Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together
in Smithtield.

Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them: But,
first go and set London-bridge on fire; and, if you
can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE vn.

The same. Smithfield.

Alarum. Enter, on one side. Cade and his Com-

■pany; on the other, Citizens, and the King'*

Forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They fight;

the Citizens are routed, and Matthew Gough

is slain.

Cade. So, sirs: — Now go some and pull down
the Savoy; others to the inns of court; down with
them all.

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship.

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that
word.

*Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come
'out of your mouth.

^John. Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was
'thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole
'yet. [Atide.

'^Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his
'breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside.

'Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so.
'Away, burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth
'shall be the parliament of England.

'John. Then we are like to have biting statutes,
'unless his teeth be pulled out. [J»ide.

'Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in

Enter a Messenger.

*Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the lord

'Say, which sold the towns in France; *he that

*made us pay one and twenty fifteens, -^) and one

*ahilling to the pound, the last subsidy.

Enter George Bevis, tcith the Lord Sir.
' Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times,
' — Ah, thou say, thou serge, ^') nay, thou buckram
'lord! now art thou within point-blank of our juris-
'diction regal. W^hat canst thou answer to my ma-
'jesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsieur
'Basimecu, the dauphin of France? Be it known
'unto thee, by these presence, even the presence of
'lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must sweep
'the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou
'hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the
'realm, in erecting a gramm2Lr-school : and whereas,
'before, our fore-fathers had no other books but the
^score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to
'be used; -') and, contrary to the king, his crown
'and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will
'be proved to thy face, that thou hast men about
'thee, that usually talk of a noun, and a verb; and
'such abominable words, as no Christian ear can
'endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of
'peace, to call poor men before them about matters
'they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou
'hast put them in prison; and because they could
'not read, thou hast hanged them; ^^) when, indeed,

31*

484

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act JV.

'only for that cause they have been most worthy

'to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth, -') dost
'thou not?
Say. What of that?

Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse
wear a cloak, ^<') when honester men than^thou go
in thfcir hose and doublets.

*Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself,
*for example, that am a butcher.

Say. You men of Kent, —

Dick. What say you of Kent?

^Say. Nothing but this: 'Tis bona terra, mala

gens.
'■Cade. Away with him, away with him ! he speaks
Latin.

*Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where
you will.
'Kent, in the commentaries Caesar ^vrit,
'Is termed the civil'st place of all this isle:
'Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
'The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;
'Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
'I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy:
*Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
* Justice with favour have I always done;
"Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never.
*When have I aught exacted at your hands,
*Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you?
*Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
"Because my book preferr'd me to the king;
*And — seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
"Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, —
"Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
"You cannot but forbear to murder me.
"This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
"For your behoof, —

*Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in the
"field?

*Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft have
I struck
"Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.

*Geo. O monstrous coward! what, to come behind
folks?

*Say. These cheeks are pale for watching ^') for
your good.

*Cade. Give him a box o'the ear, and that will
"make 'em red again.

"Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.

*Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and
"the pap of a hatchet.*-)

*Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man?

'^Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me.

'■Cade. Nay, he nods at us; as who should say,
'I'll be even with you. I'll see if his head will
'stand steadier on a pole, or no: Take him away,
'and behead him.

"Say. Tell me wherein I have off^ided most?
"Have I affected wealth, or honour? speak;
"Are my chests filled up with extorted gold?
"Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
"Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death?
"These hands are free from guiltless blood-shed-
ding, 3 3)
"This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
'O, let me live!

"Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words:
"but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for
"pleading so well for his life. * *) Away with him !
"he has a familiar under his tongue; ^^) he speaks
'not o'God's name. 'Go, take him away, 1 say,
'and strike off his head presently: and then break
'into his son-in-law's house, sir James Cromer, *'■)

'and strike off his head, and bring them both upon
'two poles hither.

All. It shall be done.

*Say. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your
prayers,
"God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
"How would it fare with your departed souls?
"And therefore yet relent, and save my life.

*Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye.
[^Exeunt some, with Lord Say.
'The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a
'head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute;
'there shall not a maid be married, but she shall
'pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it: Men
'shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and
'command, that their wives be as free as heart can
'wish, or tongue can tell.

'■Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside,
'and take up commodities upon our bills? *')

^Cade. Marry, presently.

'All. O brave!

Re-enter Rebels, witik the heads o/" Lord Say
and his Son-in-law.
'Cade. But is not this braver? — Let them kiss
'one another, for they loved well, when they were
'alive. Now part them again, lest they consult
'about the giving up of some more towns in France.
'Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night:
'for with these boi'ne before us, instead of maces,
'will we ride through the streets; and, at every
'corner, have them kiss. — Away ! [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

Southwark.

Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Rabblement.

" Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' corner !

"kill and knock down! throw them into Thames! —

[v4 Parley sounded, then a Retreat,

"What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to

"sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill ?

Enter Buckingham, and old Clifford, with
Forces.

'Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb
thee:
'Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
'Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled:
'And here pronounce free pardon to them all,
'That will forsake thee, and go home in peace.

'■Clif. What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,
'And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis ofl"er'd you;
'Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths?
'Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon,
'Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty!
'Who hateth him, and honours not his father,
'Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake,
'Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by.

'All. God save the king! God save the king!

'Cade. What, Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye so
'brave? — And you, base peasants, do ye believe
'him? will you needs be hanged with your pardons
'about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke
'through London Gates, that you should leave me
'at the White Hart in Southwark? I thought, ye
'would never have given out these arms till you
'had recovered your ancient freedom : but you are
'all recreants, and dastards; and delight to live in
'slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs
'with burdens, take your houses over your heads,
'ravish your wives and daughters before your faces*

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

485

'For me, — I will make shift for one; and so —
'God's curse light upon you all!

'■All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade.

'C/j/ Is Cade the Son of Henry the fifth,
'That thus you do exclaim — you'll go with him?
'Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
'And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
•Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;^
'Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil,
■Unless by robbing of your friends, and us.
•Weret not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
'The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
'Should meike a start o'er seas, and vanquish you?
■Methinks, ahready, in this civil broil,
'1 see them lording it in London streets.
•Crying — Villageois! unto all they meet.

Better, ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry,
•Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.

To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
•Spare England, for it is your native coast:
•Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;
•God on our side, doubt not of -victory.

'All. A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king,
•and Clifford.

•Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and
•fro, as this multitude ? the name of Henry the fifth
•hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes
'them leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads
'together, to surprize me: my sword make way for
•lae, for here is no staying. — In despight of the
•devils and hell, have through the very midst of
'you! and heavens and honour be witness, that no
'want of resolution in me, but only my followers'
'base and ignominious treasons, makes me betake me
to my heels. [Exit.

'■Buck. What, is he fled ? go some, and follow him ;
'And he that brings his head unto the king,
'Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. —

[Exeunt some of them.

'Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean
I 'To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Kenelworth Castle.

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and
Somerset, on the Terrace of the Cattle.

"K. Hen. Was ever king, that joy'd an earthly throne,
*And could command no more content than I?
*No sooner was I crept out of my cradle,
*But I was made a king, at nine months old:
•Was never subject long'd to be a king,
•As I do long and wish to be a subject.

Enter BocKmeHAM and Clifford.

'Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty !
*K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade
surpriz'd ?
'Or is he but retir'd to make him strong?

It

Enter, beloic, a great number of Cade's Followers,
with Halters about their Necks.

'■Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield ;
•And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
•Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death.
'jK. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting
gates,

'To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! —
'Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives,
'And show'd how well you love your prince and
country;

'Continue still in this so good a mind,
'And Henry, though he be infortunate,
'Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:
'And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all,
'I do dismiss you to your several countries.
All. God save the king! God save the king!

Enter a Messenger.

*Me»s. Please it your grace to be advertised,
*The duke of York is newly come from Ireland:
*And with a puissant and a mighty power,
*0f gallowglasses, and stout kernes, ^*)
*I8 marching hitherward in proud array;
•And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
•His arms are only to remove from thee
'The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.

*K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and
York distress'd;
*Like to a ship, that having 'scap'd a tempest,
*Is straightway calm'd ^•) and boarded with a pirate:
*But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;
'And now is York in arms to second him. — ■
*I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him:
'And ask him, what's the reason of these arms.
'Tell him, I'll send duke Edmond to the Tower; —
'And Somerset, we will commit thee thither,
'Until his army be dismiss'd from him.

'Som. My lord,
'I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
'Or unto death, to do my country good.

*K.Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms;
'For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language.

'Buck. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal,
'As all things shall redound unto your good.

'K. Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern
better ;
•For yet may England curse my wretched reign.

[ExevM.

SCENE X.

Kent. Iden'» Garden. *<>)

Enter Cade.

'Cade. Fye on ambition! fye on myself; that have
*a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five
'days have I hid me in these woods; and durst
'not peep out, for all the country is lay'd for me;
'but now I am so hungry, that if I might have a
'lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay
'no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I
'climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass,
'or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss
'to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. And, I
'think, this word sallet was bom to do me good:
'for, many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan**)
'had been cleft with a brown bill ; and many a time,
'when I have been dry, and bravely marching, it
'hath served me instead of a quart pot to drink in;
'And now the word sallet must serve me to feed on.

Enter Idbn, leith Servants*

'/de». Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
'And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
'This small inheritance, my father left me,
'Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy.
'I seek not to wax great by others' waning;
'Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy;
'Sufficeth, that I have maintains my state,
'And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.

'■Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize
'me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without

486

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act V.

'leave. Ah, -villain, thou wilt betray roe, and get a
'thousand crowns of the king for carrying my head

'to him ; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich,
'and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou
'and I part.

'■Iden. Why, rude companion, A^rhatsofe'er thou be,
'I know thee not; Why then should I betray theeV
'Is't not enough, to break into my garden,
'And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,
'Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,
'But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?

Cade. Brave thed? ay, by the best blood that ever
was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me
well : I have eat no meat these five days : yet, come
thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you
all as dead as a door nail, I pray God, I may ne-
ver eat grass more.

^Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England
stands,
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
'Oppose thy stedfast gazing eyes to mine,
'See if thou canst outface me with thy looks.
'Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
'Thy hand is but a finger to my fist;
'Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon;
'My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
'And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
'Thy grace is digg'd already in the earth.
'As for more words, *-) whose greatness answers

words,
'Let this my sword report what speech forbears.

*Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion
*that ever I heard. — 'Steel, if you turn the edge,
'or cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of
'beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God
'on my knees, thou mayest be turned to hobnails.
^ [They fight. Cade /«««.] O, I am slain! famine, and
'no other, hath slain me: let ten thousand devils
'come against me, and give me but the ten meals I
'have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden;
'and be henceforth a burying place to all that do
'dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul
'of Cade is fled.

*Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous
traitor ?
'Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed,
'And hang thee o'er my tomb, when lam dead :
*Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
*But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
*To emblaze the honour that thy master got.

'■Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory;
'Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man,
'and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that
'never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by
'valour. [I»;e«.

*Iden, How much thou wrong'st me, *^) heaven,
be my judge.
*DIe, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare

thee!
*And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
"So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. **)
'Hence I will drag thee headlong by the heels
'Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave,
'And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
'Which I will bear in triumph to the king,
'Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.

[Exit, dragging out the Body.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The tame. Field$ between D&rtf or A
and Blackheath.

The King's Camp on one side. On the other,

enter York attended, with Drum and Colours; his

Forces ai some distance.

^York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim
his right,
'And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
'Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright;
'To entertain great England's lawful king.
Ah, sancta majestasi who would not buy thee

dear?
'Let them obey, that know not how to rule;
'This hand was made to handle nought but gold:
'I cannot give due action to my words,
'Except a sword, a scepter, balance it. ')
'A scepter shall it have, have I a soul;
'On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.

Enter Buckingham.

'Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
'The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.

^Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee
well.

'■York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy
greeting.
'Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

'Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
'To know the reason of these arms in peace;
'Or why, thou — being a subject as I am, —
'Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
'Should'st raise so great a power without his leave,
'Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.

'York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so^
great.
'O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint, ]
'I am so angry at these abject terms;
'And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
'On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury ! \ Aside.
'I am far better born than is the king;
'More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts :
'But I must make fair weather yet a while, |
'Till Henry be more weak, and I more

strong. —
'O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me,
'That I have given no answer all this while,
'My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
'The cause why I have brought this army hither,
'Is — to remove pi'oud Somerset from the king,
'Seditious to his grace, and to the state.

'Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part :
'But if thy arms be to no other end,
'The king hath yielded unto thy demand;
'The duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?

Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

'York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my
powers. —
'Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
'Meet me to-morrow in Sa«*nt George's field,
'You shall have pay, and every thing you wish.
*And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
*Command my eldest son, — nay, all my sons,
*As pledges of my fealty and love,
'I'll send them all as willing as I live;
*Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have
*Is his to use, so Somerset may die.

'Buck. York, I commend this kind submission:
'We twain will go into his highness' tent.

Rxn.

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

487

Enter King Henuy, attended.
'•K. Hen, Buckingham, doth York intend no harm
to us,
'That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?

* York. In all submissiofi and humility,
*York doth present himself unto your highness.
*K.Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost

bring?
*York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence;
'And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade,
'Who since I heai'd to be discomfited.

Enter Iden, with Cade's Head.

'Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition,
'May pass into the presence of a king,
'Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,
'The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

'K.Hen. The head of Cade? — Great God, how
just art thou! —
'O, let me view his visage being dead,
'That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
'Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?

'■Iden. I was, an't like your majesty.

'iC. Hen. How art thou call'd ? and what is thy
degree ?

^Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name;
'A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

'Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
*He were created knight for his good service.

^K. Hen. Iden, kneel down; [he kneelt] Rise up a
knight.
'We give thee for reward a thousand marks;
'And will, that thou henceforth attend on us.

'■Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
'And never live but true unto his liege!

'■K. Hen. See, Buckingham ! Somerset comes with
the queen;
'Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.

Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset.

'Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide
his head,
'But boldly stand, and front him to his face.

'■York. How now! is Somerset at liberty?
'Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts,
'And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
'Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? —
'False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
'Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
'King did I call thee? no, thou art not king;
'Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
'Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
'That head of thine doth not become a crown;
'Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
'And not to grace an awful princely scepter.
'That gold must round engirt these brows of mine;
'Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
'Is able with the change to kill and cure.
'Here is a hand to hold a scepter up,
'And with the same to act controlling laws.
'Give place; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
'O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler.

'■Som. O monstrous traitor! — I arrest thee, York,
'Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown:
'Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

*York. Would'st have me kneel? first let me ask
of these,
*If they can brook I bow a knee to man. —
'Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;

\_Exit an Attendant.
*I know, ere they will have me go to ward,
'They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.

'■Q.Mar. Call hither ClifTord; bid him come amain,

[Exit BUCKINGUAH.

'To say, if that the bastard boys of York
'Shall be the surety for their traitor father.

*York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
'Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge !
'The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
'Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
'That for my surety will refuse the boys.

Enter Edward and Richard P^antagenet, with

Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces
also, old Clifford and his Son.
'See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make
it good.

*Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their
bail.

^Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king!

[Kneela.

*^York. I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news
with thee?
'Nay, do not fright us with an angry look:
'We are thy sovereign, ClifTord, kneel again;
'For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.

'^Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
'But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do: —
'To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?

'jBT. Hen. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambitious
humour
'Makes him oppose himself against his king.

'■Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
'And chop away that factious pate of his.

'Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey;
'His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.

'■York. Will you not, sons?

Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.

'■Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons
shall.

*Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!

'York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so;
'I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. —
'Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
'That, with the very shaking of their chains,
'They may astonish these fell lurking curs;
'Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come -) to me.

Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisburt, with
Forces.

'•Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears
to death,
'And manacle the bear -ward in their chains,
'If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.

'Rich. Oft have 1 seen a hot o'erweening cur
'Run back and bite, because he was withheld ;
'Who, being suffer'd ^) with the bear's fell paw,
'Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd:
'And such a piece of service will you do,
'If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick.

'Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
'As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!

'York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.

'Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn
yourselves.

*K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot
to bow?
'Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair,
'Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! —
'What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
'And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
'O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
'If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
'Where shall it find a harbour in the earth? —
'Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war.

xxn.

488

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

Act V.

*And shame thine honourable age with blood?
*Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
•Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
*For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me,
*That bows unto the grave with mickle age.

*Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself
*The title of this most renowned duke;
*And in my conscience do repute his grace
*The rightful heir to England's royal seat.

*K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?

*Sal. I have.

*K.Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such
an oath?

*Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin;
*But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath.
*VVho can be bound by any solemn vow
*To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
*To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
'To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
*To wring the widow from her custom'd right;
*And have no other reason for this wrong,
*But that he was bound by a solemn oath?

Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.

'-K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.

'■York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou
hast,
'I am resolv'd for death, or dignity.

'Cft/. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.

'■War. You were best to go to bed, and dream
again.
To keep thee from the tempest of the field.

Clif. 1 am resolv'd to bear a greater storm.
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day:
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, •*)
Might I but know thee by thy houshold badge.

War. Now, by thy father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
(As on a mountain-top the cedar shows.
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,)
Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear,
And tread it under foot with all contempt,
'Despight the bearward that protects the bear.

'Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father,
*To quell the rebels, and their 'complices.

Rich. Fye ! charity, for shame ! speak not in spite.
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.

'Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, *) that's more than thou
canst tell.

^Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.

\_Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

Saint Alban'«.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls!
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm.
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, —
Clifford, I say, come forth and light with me!
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

Enter York.

'How now, my noble lord? what all a-foot?

' York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed ;
'But match to match I have encounter'd him,
'And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
'Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.

Enter Clifford.

^War. Of one or both of us the time is come.
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other
chace,
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou
fight'st. —
'As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day.
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

[Exit Wakwick.
^Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost

thou pause?
^York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love,
'But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
^Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and
esteem,
'But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason.

'■York. So let it help me now against thy sword,
'As I in justice and true right express it!
'Clif. My soul and body on the action both!
'^York. A dreadful lay! — *) address thee instantly.
[They fight, and Cliffoed falls.
'Clif. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies. ')

'York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou
art still.
'Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will. [Exit.

Enter young Clifford.

* Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout ;
"Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
*Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
*Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
*Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
*Hot coals of vengeance! — Let no soldier fly:
*He that is truly dedicate to war,
*Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself,
*Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
*The name of valour. — O, let the vile world end,
[Seeing his dead Father.
*And the premised flames 8) of the last day
"Knit earth and heaven together!
"Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
"Particularities and petty sounds
*To cease! ') Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
*To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve ^'')
*The silver livery of advised age; ^')
*And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
'To die in ruffian battle? — Even at this sight,
*My heart is turned to stone: and, while 'tis mine,
*It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
*No more will I their babes: tears virginal
'Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
'And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
'Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
'Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity:
♦Meet I an infant of the house of York,
'Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
'As wild Medea young Absyrtus did; '^)
'In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
'Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house:

[Taking up the Body.
'As did vEneas old Anchises bear,

'So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;

'But then ^neas bare a living load,

'Nothing 30 heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit.

Enter Richard Plantagenbt and Somerset,
fighting, and Somerset is killed.

Rich. So, lie thou there; —
'For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign.
The Castle of Saint Alban's, Somerset

XKU.

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART II.

489

Hath made the wizard famous in his death, — *^)
"Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
'Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit.

Alarums: Excursiom. Enter King Hbnry, Queen

Margaret, and others, retreating.

'^Q.Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame,

away!
*K.Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Mar-
garet, stay.
*Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight,
nor fly:
*Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
*To give the enemy way; and to secure us
'By what we can, which can no more but fly.

\Alarum afar off.
*If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
•Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,
•(As well we may, if not through your neglect,)
*We shall to London get; where you are lov'd;
•And where this breach, now in your fortunes made,
'May readily be stopp'd.

Enter young Clifford.
* Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set,
•I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
'But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
•Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. '*)
'Away, for your relief! and we will live
•To see their day, and them our fortune give:
•Away, my lord, away! [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

Fields near Saint Alban'«.

Alarum: Retreat. Flourish; then enter York,

Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers,

with Drum and Colours.

^York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him;

'That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets
'Aged contusions and all brush of time ; • *)
'And like a gallant in the brow of youth, »*)
'Repairs him with occasion? this happy day
'Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
*If Salisbury be lost.
'■Rich. My noble father,

'Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
'Three times bestrid him, ''') thrice I led him off,
'Persuaded him from any further act:
'But still, where danger was, still there I met him ;
'And like rich hangings in a homely house,
'So was his will in his old feeble body.
'But, noble as he is, look where he comes.

Enter Salisbury.

^Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought
to-day;
'By the mass so did we all. — I thank you, Richard:
'God knows, how long it is I have to live;
'And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day
'You have defended me from imminent death. —
'Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: •8)
"Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
•Being opposites of such repairing nature. •')

'■York. I know, our safety is to follow them:
'For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
'To call a present court of parliament.
'Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth: —
'What says lord Warwick? shall we after them?

War. After them! nay, before them, if we can.
Now by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. —
Sound, drums and trumpets ; — and to London all :
And more such days as these to us befall!

[Exeunt.

BKII.

K I N G

XXIII.
HENRY

PART III.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

VI. 1)

King Henry the Sixth.

Edward, Prince of Wales, his Son.

Lewis XI. King of France.

Duke of Somerset,

Duke of Exeter,

Earl of Oxford,

Earl of Northumberland,

Earl of Westmoreland,

Lord Clifford,

Richard Plantagknet, Duke of York,

Edward, Earl of March, afterwards

King Edward IV.
Edmund, Earl of Rutland,
George, afterwards Duke of Clarence,
Richard, afterwards Duke of Glocester,

Duke of ISORFOLK,

Marquis of Montague,

Earl of Warwick, f of the Duke of York's

Earl of Pembroke, f Party,

Lord Hastings,

Lord Stafford,

Lords on King
Heme's Side.

his Sons.

Sir John Mortimer, ) rr 7 ^ *7 r. i ^xr i
Sir Hugh Mortimrr, J Ancles to the Duke of York.

Henry, Earl of Richmond, a Youth.

Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Grey.

Sir William Stanlky.

Sir John Montgomery.

Sir John Somerville.

Tutor to Rutland.

Mayor of York.

Lieutenant of the Tower.

A Nobleman.

Two Keepers.

A Huntsman.

A Son that has killed his Father.

A Father that has killed his Son.

Queen Margaret.

Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV.

Bona, Sister to the French Queen.

Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and
King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, cj-c.

Scene — during part of the third Act, in France ; during all the Rest of the Play,

in England.

ACT I.

Scene I. Jjondon. The Parliament -House.

Drums. Some Soldiers of York's Party break in.

Then, enter the Duke of York, Edward, Richard,

Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and others,

with white Roses in their Hats.

Warwick.
I WONDER, how the king escap'd our hands.
York. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the
north.
He slily stole away, and left his men:
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
'Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
'Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast,
'Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in,
'Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.

Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham,
'Is either slain, or wounded dangerous:
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow;
'That this is true, father, behold his blood.

[Showing hig bloody Swortl.

Mont. And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's

blood, [To YoHK, showing hit.

Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.

Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did.

[Throwing down the Duke of Somerset'* Head.

*York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. —
What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset?

Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt !

Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head.

War. And so do I. — Victorious prince of York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king,
'And this the regal seat : possess it, York ;
For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs.'

York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
'For hither we have broken in by force.

Norf. We'll all assist you ; he, that flies, shall die.

York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk, — Stay by me, my
lords ; —
'And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night.

War. And, when the king comes, offer him no
violence,
'Unless he seek to thrust you out by force.

[They retire.

*York. The queen, this day, here holds her par-
liament,
*But little thinks, we shall be of her council:
*By words, or blows, here let us win our right.

Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this
house.

War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king;

xKm.

Act I.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

491

And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice
Hath made us by-words to our enemies.

'lorit. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
I mean to take possession of my right.

War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
'The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. -)
'I'll plant Planta'genet, root him up who dares: —
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.

[Warwick leads Yobk to the Throne, tebo
seat* himself.

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northcm-

BKRLAKD, Westmorklakd, Exbter, and others,
with red Roses in their Hats.

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
Even in the chair of state! belike he means,
(Back'd by the power of War^vick, that false peer,)
To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king. —
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father; —
And thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd

revenge
On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends.

^North. If I be not, heavens, be reveng'd on me!

C/if. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.

West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him
down :
'My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it.

K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland.

Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he ; ^}
He durst not sit there, had your father liv'd.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.

North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so.

K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favours them,
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?

Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'il C[U»culy fly.

K. Hen. Far be the thought of this froiu Henry's
heart.
To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats,
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. —

[They advance to the Duke.
Thou factions duke of York, descend my throne,
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
I am thy sovereign.

York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine.

Exe. For shame, come down; he made thee duke
of York.

York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.

Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.

War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown.
In following this usurping Henry.

Clif. Whom should he follow, but his natural king?

War. True, Clifford; and that's Richard, duke of
York.

'/i. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my
throne?

Tort. It must and shall be so. Content thyself.

War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king.

West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster;
And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.

War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget.
That we are those, which chas'd you from the

field.
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
aiarch'd through the city to the palace-gates.

North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.

'West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons.
Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives.
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.

''Clif. Urge it no more : lest that, instead of words.

I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger.
As shall revenge his death, before I stir.

' War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless
threats !

York. Will you, we show our title to the crown?
'If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.

K.Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
Thy father vwas, as thou art, duke of York;
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March:
I am the son of Henry the fifth.
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop.
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.

War. Talk not of France, sith *) thou hast lost
it all.

K, Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I;
When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.

Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks
you lose : —
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.

Edw. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.

Mont. Good brother, [to York] as thou lov'st and
honour'st arms.
Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus.

Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king
will fly.

York. Sons, peace!

K. Hen. Peace thou! and give king Henry leave
to speak.

War. Plantagenet shall speak first: — hear him,
lords;
And be you silent and attentive too,
For he, that interrupts him, shall not live.

'■K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly
throne.
Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat?
No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
'Ay, and their colours — often borne in France;
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, —
Shall be my w inding-sheet. — • Why faint you, lords ?
'My title's good, and better far than his.

War. But prove it, *) Henry, and thou shalt be
king.

K. Hen. Henry the fourth by conquest got the
crown.

York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king.

K.Hen. I know not what to say; my title's weak.
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?

rorib. What then?

'■K.Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king:
'For Riohard, in the view of many lords,
Resign'd the crown to Henry the fourth;
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.

York. He rose against him, being his sovereign.
And made him to resign his crown perforce.

War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown? ')

Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown.
But that the next heir should succeed and reign.

K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter?

Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.

"York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer
not ?

Exe. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king.

K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him.

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st.
Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd.

'■War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all.

North. Thou art deceiv'd: 'tis not thy southern
power.
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, —
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, —
Can set the duke up, in despite of me.

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,

xKm.

492

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act I.

Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,
'Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father !
^K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive my

heart!
Yorh. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown : —
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?

War. Do right unto this princely duke of York;
Or I will fill the house with armed men.
And, o'er the chair of state, where now he sits.
Write up his title with usurping blood.

\He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves.
'■K.Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one
word; — ''}
'Let me, for this my lifetime reign as king.

Yorh. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs.
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.

K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son ?
War. What good is this to England, and himself?
West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry!
'■Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us?
West. I cannot stay to hear these articles.
North. Nor I.

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.
'West. Farewell, faint- hearted and degenerate king,
'In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.

North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
'And die in bands for this unmanly deed!

Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome!
Or live in peace, abandon'd, and despis'd!

[Exeunt Northdhberland, Cliffohd, and
Westmobeland.
* War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.
JSre. They seek revenge, ^) and therefore will not

yield.
K. Hen. Ah, Exeter !

War. Why should you sigh, my lord?

K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son.
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
But, be it as it may : — I here entail
'The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever;
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
To honour me as thy king and sovereign;
*And neither by treason, nor hostility,
*To seek to put me down, and reign thyself.
York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform.
[Coming from the Throne.
War. Long live king Henry! — Plantagenet em-
brace him.
K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy forward

sons!
York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.
Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them foes !
[Senet. The Lorda come forward.
'■York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my

castle. 9)
War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers.
Norf And I to Norfolk, with my followers.
Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.
[Exeunt Yobk, and his Sons, Warwick, NoaFoi.K,
Montague, Soldiers, and Attendants.
*K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the
coxirt.

Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of Wales.

Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray * ")
her anger:
I'll steal away.

K.Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going.

'■Q.Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee.

K.Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.

^Q.Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes?
*Ah, wretched man! 'would I had died a maid,
*And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
*Seeing thou hast prov'd so uiuiatural a father!
"Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus?
*Had'st thou but lov'd him half so well as I;
*0r felt that pain which I did for him once;
*0r nourish'd him, as I did with my blood;
*Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
*Rather than made '^) that savage duke thine heir,
*And disinherited thine only son.

* Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me:
*If you be king, why should not I succeed?

"K.Hen. Pardon me, Margaret; — pardon me,
sweet son ; —
*The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me.

* Q.Mar. Enforc'd thee? art thou king, and wilt

be forc'd?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me;
'And given unto the house of York such head,
*As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
*To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
*What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, ^*)
*And creep into it far before thy time?
* Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ;
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas;
The duke is made protector of the realm;
'And yet shalt thou be safe? *such safety finds
*The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
'Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
'The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes,
'Before I would have granted to that act.
*But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
'And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
'Both from thy table, Hem-y, and thy bed,
'Until that act of parliament be repealed,
'Whereby my son is disinherited.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread:
'And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace,
'And utter ruin of the house of York.
'Thus do I leave thee : — Come, son, let's away ;
'Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.

K.Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.

Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already ; get
thee gone.

K.Hen. Gentle son Ed ward, thou wilt stay with me?

Q.Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.

Prince. When I return with victory from the field,
I'll see your grace: till then, I'll follow her.

Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus.
[Exeunt Queen Margaret, and the Prince.

^K.Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to her
son.
Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke;
*Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
*Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle,
'Tire on the flesh of me, *^) and of my son I
*The loss of those three lords * *) torments my heart :
*I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; —
*Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.

*Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room »'» Sandal Castle, near Wakefield,
in Yorkshire.

Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague.
'■Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.

xKm.

Act I.

KING HENRY VI. PART III

493

Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
MoRt. But I hare reasons strong and forcible.

Enter York.

^York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a
strife ?
'What is your quarrel? how began it first?

*Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.

Tork. About what?

^Rich. About that which concerns your grace,
and us;
'The crown of England, father, which is yoilrs.

'■York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead.

'Rick. Your right, depends not on his life, or death.

*Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
*By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
'It will outrun you, father, in the end.

'■York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reign.

'Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken.
'I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year.

'Ricb. No ; God forbid, your grace should be for-
sworn.

'York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.

'Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me
speak.

'York. Thou canst not, son; it is unpossible.

'iJi'cA. An oath is of no moment, ' ^) being not took
'Before a true and lawful magistrate,
'That hath authority over him that swears:
'Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
'Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
'Yoiu: oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
'Therefore, to arms. *And, father, do but think,
*How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
'Within whose circuit is Elysium,
•And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
'Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
'Until the white rose, that I wear, be died
'Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.

'York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or die. —
'Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
'And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. —
'Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
'And tell him privily of our intent.
'You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise:
'In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
'Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. —
'While you are thus employ 'd, what resteth more,
'But that I seek occasion how to rise;
'And yet the king not privy- to my drift,
'Nor any of the house of Lianc£ister?

Enter a Messenger.

'But stay; What news? why com'st thou in such
post?
'Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and
lords, '«)
'Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
'She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
'And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
'York. Ay, with my sword. What I think'st thou,
that we fear them ? —
'Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; —
'My brother Montague shall post to London:
'Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
'Whom we have left protectors of the king,
'With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
'And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.

'Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
'And thus most humbly I do take my leave.

[Exit.

Enter Sir John and Sir HueH Mobtixeb.

York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine
uncles !
'You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need , we'll meet her in

the field.
'York. What, with five thousand men?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
A woman's general; what should we fear?

[A March afar off.
'Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in
order ;
'And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
'York. Five men to twenty! — though the odds
be great,
'I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
'Many a battle have I won in France,
'When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
'Why should I not now have the like success?

[Alarum. Exeunt.

SCENE ni.

Plains near Sandal Castle.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutlakd, and Au
Tutor.

'Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands!
Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!

Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.

Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke.
Whose father '") slew my father, — he shall die.

Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company.

Clif. Soldiers, away with him.

Tut. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child,
'Lest thou be hated both of God and man.

[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.

Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear.
That makes him close his eyes ? — I'll open them.

'Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
'And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. —
'Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword.
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die; —
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath.
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's
blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should
enter.

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; •
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.

Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine
Were not revenge sufficient for me;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves.
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains.
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a furj' to torment my soul;
'And till I root out their accursed line,
'And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore — [Lifting his hand.

Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death : —
To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me!

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.

'Rut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou
slay me?

494

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act I.

Clif. Tby father hath.

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me;
Lest in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, —
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days ;
And when I give occasion of offence.
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.

Clif. No cause?
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.

[Clifford stahs him.

Rut. Dii faciant, laudia summa sit ista lua!

[Dies.
Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade,
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

The same.

Alarum. Enter York.

' York. The army of the queen hath got the field :
'My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
'And all my followers to the eager foe
'Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
'Or lambs pursu'd by hungry-starved Avolves.
'My sons — God knows, what hath bechanced them:
But this I know, — they have demean'd themselves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
'Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried, — Couragey father! fight it out I
'And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
'In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
'And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
♦Richard cried, — Charge! and give no foot of

ground!
'And cried, A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
^A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!
With this, we charg'd again: but out, alas!
'We bodg'd again; '*) as I have seen a swan
'With bootless labour swim against the tide,
And spend her strength with over-matching waves.

[A short Alarum within.
*Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
'And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury;
'And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury:
'The sands are number'd, that make up my life;
'Here must I stay, and here my life must end.

Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumber-
land, and Soldiers.

'Come, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland, —
'I dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
'I am your butt, and I abide your shot.

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.

Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm.
With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car.
And made an evening at the noontide prick. *')

York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
'A bird that will revenge upon you all:
'And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven,
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
'Why come you not! what! multitudes, and fear?

Clif So cowards fight, when they can fly no
further;
'So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.

York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
'And in thy thought o'er-run my former time:
'And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face ;
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,
'Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word;
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.

[Draws.

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand
causes,
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : —
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.

North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour him so much.
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
What valour were it, when a Cur doth grin.
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize '-") to take all vantages;
'And ten to one is no impeach of valour.

[They lay hands on Yokk, who struggles.

Clif Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net.

[York i« taken prisoner.

York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd
booty ;
So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd.

North. What would your grace have done unto
him now?

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumber-
land,
Come make him stand upon this molehill here;
'Thatraught - ') at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. —
*What! was it you, that would be England's king?
Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament.
And made a preachment of your high descent"?
Where are your mess of sons, to back you now?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
'And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice,
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
Look, York; I stain'd this napkin ^-) with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point.
Made issue from the bosom of the boy:
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
'Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails,
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
'Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st bemad:
'And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. —
A crown for York; — and, lords, bow low to him.
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. —

[Putting a paper Crown on his Head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair;
And this is he was his adopted heir. —
But how is it, that great Plantagenet
I crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king,
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale ^3) your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem,
Now in his life, against your holy oath?
O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable ! —
Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.^*)

HKin.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART III

495

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes.
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves
of France,
'Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth !
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex,
To triumph like an Amazonian trull,
'Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging.
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush:
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd,
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not

shameless.
Thy father bears the type -^) of king of Naples,
Of both the Siclls, and Jerusalem;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen;
Unless the adage must be verified, —
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud;
But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small:
'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
'Tis government, that makes them seem divine; *')
The want thereof makes thee abominable:
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the antipodes are unto us.
Or as the south to the septentrion. -'')
O, tiger's heart, wrapt in a woman's hide!
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal.
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible;
'Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
'Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
'Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast

thy will:
'For raging wind blows up incessant showers.
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies;
'And every drop cries vengeance for his death, —
' 'Gainst thee, fell Cliiford, — and thee, false BVench-
woman.
North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so.
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd

with blood:
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, —
O, ten times more, — than tygers of Hyrcanla. —
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy.
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:

[He gives back the Handkerchief.
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed !
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee.
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! —
Hard-hearted Cliff"ord, take me from the world;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
North. Had he been slaughterman to all my kin,
'I should not for my life but weep with him,
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Q.Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum-
berland ?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all.
And that wLU quickly dry thy melting tears.

Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's

death. [Stabbing him.

Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle - hearted

king. [Stabbing him.

York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God!

'My soul flies through these wounds to seek out

thee. [Diet.

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates;

So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Plata near Mortimer'* Cross
t« Herefordshire.

Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, with their

Forces, inarching.

*Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd;
*Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no,
'From Clifl'ord's and Northumberland's pursuit;
'Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
'Or, had he 'scap'd, methlnks, we should have heard
'The happy tidings of his good escape. —
'How fares my brother? why is he so sad?

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
'I saw him in the battle range about ;
'And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth.
'Methought, he bore him ') in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat:
'Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs;
'Who ha^dng pinch'd a few, and made them cry,
'The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
'So far'd our father with his enemies;
'So fled his enemies my warlike father;
'Methlnks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See, how the morning opes her golden gates.
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! -)
'How well resembles it the prime of youth,
'Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love!

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun:
Not separated with the racking clouds, ^)
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss.
As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.

"Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
heard of.
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field;
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
'Each one already blazing by our meeds, ^)
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
'And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
'Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.

"Rich. Nay, bear three daughters; — by your leave
I speak it,
'You love the breeder better than the^inale.

Enter a Messenger.

'But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel
'Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on.
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
'Your princely father, and my loving lord.

^Edw. O, speak no more! *) for I have heard too
much.

^Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

Mmp

496

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act II.

'Me»«. Environed he was with many foes;
'And stood against them, as the hope of Troy *)
'Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy.
'But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
'And many strokes, though with a little axe,
'Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
'By many hands your father was subdu'd;
'But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
'Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen:
'Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high despite;
'Laugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief he wept,
'The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
'A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
'Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
'And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
'They took his head, and on the gates of York
'They set the same; and there it doth remain,
'The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ;
'Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! —
*0 Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain
*The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
*And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
*For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! —
Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body
'Might in the ground be closed up in rest:
'For never henceforth shall I joy again,
'Never, O never, shall I see more joy.

'■Rich. I cannot weep ; for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
*Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden ;
*For self-same wind, that I should speak withal,
*Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
*An<J burn me up with flames, that tears would

quench.
'To weep, is to make less the depth of grief:
'Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge, for me ! —
'Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death,
'Or die renowned by attempting it.

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with
thee;
'His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird.
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun:
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with

Forces.
War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what

news abroad?
'■Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance.
Stab poniards in our flesh, till all were told.
The words would add more anguish than the wounds.

0 valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.
Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet,

Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption,
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears :
And now, to add more measure to your woes,

1 come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought.
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp.
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run.
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart.

I then in London, keeper of the king,

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends.

And very well appointed, as I thought,

March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the queen.

Bearing the king in my behalf along:

For by my scouts I was advertised.

That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in parliament,
'Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make, — we at Saint Alban's met.
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king.
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen.
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen;
Or whether 'twas report of her success;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
'Who thunders to his captives — blood and death,
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth.
Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
Our soldiers' — like the night-owl's lazy flight,
'Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, —
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
With promise of high pay, and great rewards:
But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
And we, in them, no hope to win the day.
So that we fled: the king, unto the queen;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you ;
For in the marches here, we heard you were.
Making another head to fight again.

'Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War-
wick?
And when came George from Burgundy to England?

^War. Some six miles off the duke is with the
soldiers :
And for your brother, he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
'With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick

fled:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;
For thou shalt know, tAis strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head.
And wring the awful scepter from his fist;
Were he as famous and as bold in war.
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not :
'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel.
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say, — Ay, and to it, lords.

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek
you out;
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen.
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, ')
And of their feather, many more proud birds.
Have wrought the easy melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession,
His oath enrolled in the parliament; .
And now to London all the crew are gone.
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
'Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself.
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
♦Will but amount to five and twenty thousand.
Why, Vial to London will we march amain;
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
'And once again cry — Charge upon our foes !
But never once again turn back, and fly.

Hxm.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

497

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick
speak :
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
'That cries — Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.

Kdu>. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean ;
'And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour!)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend!

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ;
'The next degree is, England's royal throne:
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along;
And he that throws not up his cap for joy,
'Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague, —
Stay we no longer dreaming of renoAvn,
'But sound the trumpets, and about our task.

*Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as
steel,
*(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
*I come to pierce it, — or to give thee mine.

*Edw. Then strike up, drums ; — God, and Saint
George for us!

Enter a Messenger.

War. How now? what news?

Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by' me.
The queen is coming with a puissant host;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.

'■War. Why then it sorts, ^) brave warriors: Let's
away. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Before York.

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince

of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland,

with Forces.

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of
York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy.
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown:
'Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

'jfiC. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear
their wreck ; —
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. —
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault,
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that, the forest bear doth lick?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on;
'And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood.
Ambitious York did level at thy crown,
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows;
He, but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire;
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son.
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
'Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Yet, in protection of their tender ones.
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
'Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight,)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest.
Offering their own lives in their young's defence?

For shame, my liege, make them your precedent!

Were it not pity, that this goodly boy

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault;

And long hereafter say unto his child, —

What my great grandfather and grandsire got.

My careless father fondly ') gave away?

Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy;

And let his manly face, which promiseth

Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart.

To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator.
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
'But, Clifford, tell me, did'st thou never hear, —
That things ill got had ever bad success? *<•)
And happy always was it for that son.
Whose father ^^) for his hoarding went to hell?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And 'would, my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
'As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
'Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York ! 'would thy best friends did know,
'How it doth grieve me that thy head is here!

' Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits ; our foes
are nigh,
'And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
'You promised knighthood to our forward son;
'Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. —
Edward, kneel down.

K.Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight;
And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right.

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown.
And in that quarrel use it to the death.

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness:
'For, with a band of thirty thousand men.
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York;
And, in the towns as they do march along.
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him :
'Darraign *-) your battle, for they are at hand.

Clif. I would your highness would depart the field;
The queen hath best success when you are absent.

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our
fortune.

K. Hen. Why , that's my fortune too ; therefore
I'll stay.

North. Be it with resolution then to fight.

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence:
Unsheath your sword, good father; cry. Saint
George !

March. Enter Edward, George, Richaud, War-
wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers.

*Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for
grace,
'And set thy diadem upon my head;
*0r bide the mortal fortune of the field?

Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions , proud insulting boy !
'Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms,
'Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king?

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee ;
I was adopted heir by his consent :
Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear.
You — that are king, though he do wear the crown, —
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,
'To blot out me, and put his own son in.

Clif. And reason too ;
Who should succeed the father, but the son?

KXIU.

32

498

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act 11.

'■Rich. Are you there, butcher? — O, I cannot
speak !

'■Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand, to answer thee,
'Or any he the proudest of thy sort.

Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was
it not?

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy'd.

Rich. For God's sake, lords, giA'e signal to the fight.

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield-
the crown?

'Q. Mar. Why, how now, long -tongu'd Warwick?
dare you speak?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last.
Your legs did better service than your hands.

War. Then, 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.

Clif. You said so miTch before, and yet you fled.

War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me
thence.

^North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make
you stay.

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; —
Break off" the parle; for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.

Clif. I slew thy father : Call'st thou him a child ?

Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward,
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland;
But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed.

K. Hen. Have done with words , ray lords, and
hear me speak.

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue;
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.

Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting
here.
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still.

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword j
By him that made us all, I am resolv'd, ' ^)
'That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.

'■Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day.
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head;
For York in justice puts his armour on.

'■Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is
right.
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands;
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.

Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam ;
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,

'As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,
Whose father bears the title of a king,
(As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) **)
'Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught,
'To let thy tongue detect ^*) thy base-born heart?

Edw. A wisp of straw ^^) were worth a thousand

crowns.
To make this shameless callet ' ') know herself. —
'Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
'Although thy husband may be Menelaus; *8)
*And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
'By that false woman, as this king by thee.
'His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop;
And, had he match'd according to his state.
He might have kept that glory to this day:
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,

And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day;
'Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,

'That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,

And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
'For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept:
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

'■Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy
spring,
'And that thy summer bred us no increase, *')
We set the axe to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
'Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike,
'We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.

Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee;
Not willing any longer conference.
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. —
Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colours wave ! —
And either victory, or else a grave.

Q.Mar. Stay, Edward.

Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay ;
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Field of Battle -°) between Towton and
Saxton in Yorkshire.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.

'War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe:
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid.
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
'And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.

Enter Edward, running.

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
'For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope
of good?

Enter Gborgb.

*Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;
'Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us:
'What counsel give you, whither shall we fly?

^Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
'And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

Enter Richard.

'Rich. Ay, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn
thyself?
'Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
'Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance:
'And, in the very pangs of death, he cry'd, —
'Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, —
'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!
'So underneath the belly of their steeds,
'That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoaking blood,
'The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

'■War. Then let the earth be drunken with our
blood :
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
*Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
'Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage,
'And look upon, -') as if the tragedy
'Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors?
'Here on my knee I vow to God above,
'I'll never pause again, never stand still,
'Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
'Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

Edw. O Warw ick, I do bend my knee with thine ;
'And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine. —

KRin.

Act II.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

499

*And, ere iny knee rise from the earth's cold face,
*I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings!
'Beseeching Thee, — --) if with thy will it stands,
'That to my foes this body must be prey, —
'Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
'And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! —
'Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.

'■Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; — and, gentle
Warwick,
'Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: —
'I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
'That winter should cut off our spring-time so.

'■War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, fare-
well.

'■Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,
'And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us;
'And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
'As victors wear at the Olympian games:
*This may plant courage in their quailing -^) breasts;
"For yet is hope of life, and victory. — •
*Fore-slow no longer, ^*) make we hence amain.

\Iixeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. Another part of the Field.

Excursiont. Enter Richard and Clifford.

^RicJt. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone:
'Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
'And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge,
'Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone:
That is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York;
And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death.
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and

brother.
To execute the like upon thyself;
And so, have at thee.

[They fight. Wakwick enters; Clifford flies.

'■Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase;
'For 1 myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Field.

Alarum. Enter King Henry.

*K.Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war,
*When dying clouds contend with growing light;
*What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
'Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
'Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
'Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
'Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
'Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind:
'Sometime, the flood prevails ; and then, the wind :
'Now, one the better; then, another, best;
'Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
'Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
'So is the equal poise of this fell war.
*Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
*To whom God will, there be the victory!
'For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
'Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
'They prosper best of all when I am thence.
"Would I were dead! if God's good Avill were so:
,For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
'O God! methinks, it wei-e a happy life, **)
'To be no better than a homely swain;

*To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

*To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

'Thereby to see the minutes how they run:

'How many make the hour full complete,

'How many hours bring about the day,

'How many days will finish up the year,

'How many years a mortal man may live.

'When this is known, then to divide the times;

'So many hours must I tend my flock;

'So many hours must I take my rest;

'So many hours must I contemplate ;

'So many hours must I sport myself;

'So many days ray ewes have been with young;

'So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean;

'So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece;

'So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,

'Pass'd over to the end they were created,

'Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

*Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!

'Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade

'To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,

'Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

'To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ?

'O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth.

'And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds,

'His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,

'His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,

'All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

'Is far beyond a prince's delicates,

'His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

'His body couched in a curious bed,

'When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.

Alarum. Enter a S o n that has killed his Father, ^ *)
dragging in the dead Body.

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. —
'This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
'May be possessed with some store of crowns:
'And I, that haply lake them from him now,
'May yet ere night yield both my life and them
'To some man else, as this dead man doth me. —
'Who's this? — O God! it is my father's face,
'Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd.
'O heavy times, begetting such events!
'From London by the king was I press'd forth;
'My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
'Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
'And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,
'Have by my hands of life bereaved him. —
'Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! —
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! —
'My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
'And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.

'■K.Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
'Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity, —
'Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear;
'And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
'Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with
grief. *')

Enter a Father who has hilled his Son, with the
Body in his Arms.

^Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
'Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;
'For I have bought it with an hundred blows. —
'But let me see : — is this our foeman's face ?
'Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! —
*Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
'Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
'Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
'Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ! —

xxm.

32*

500

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act II.

♦O, pity, God, this miserable age! —

'What stratagems, -*) how fell, how butcherly,

'Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,

'This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! —

'O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,

'And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! ^9)

K.Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common
grief!
'O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! —
*0 pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! —
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses:
*The one, his purple blood right well resembles;
'The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present:
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
'If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, ^°) and ne'er be satisfied?

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
'Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied?

'■K.Hen. How will the country, for these woeful
chances,
'Misthink ^*) the king, and not be satisfied?

'/Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death ?

'■Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son?

'■K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects'
woe?
'Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much.

'Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.

[Exit, with the Body.

"Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-
sheet;
*My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
*For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
*My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
*And so obsequious will thy father be, ^^)
*Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
*As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will.
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.

\Exit, with the Body.

^K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
'Here sits a king more woeful than you are.

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret,
Prince of Wales, and Exeter.

'■Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled,
'And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
'Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

'Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick
post amain:
'Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
'Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
'With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
'And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
'Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

'■Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with them :
'Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed;
Or else come after, I'll away before.

'^. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter :
'Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
'Whither the queen intends. Forward; away!

[Exewnt.

SCENE VI.

The same.

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.

"•Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies,
Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.
O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,
More than my body's parting with my soul.

My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee;
'And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies:
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phapton should check thy fiery steeds.
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth :
And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father, and his father, did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
'They never then had spi'ung like summer flies;
'I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm.
Had left no mourning widows for our death.
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
'And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity ?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds:
'No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight;
The foe is merciless, and will not pity.
B^or, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity.
'The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much efl'use of blood doth make me faint: —
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
'I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.

\He faints.

Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George,
Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers.

^Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids
us pause,
'And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. —
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ; —
'That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
'As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
'Command an argosy to stem the waves.
'But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them ?

War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
For, though before his face I speak the words.
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave:
'And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

[Cliffoed groans, arid dies.

Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy
leave?

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de-
parting. ^^)

Edw. See who it is: and now the battle's ended.
If friend or foe, let him be gently us'd.

'■Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford ;
'Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
'In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
'But set his murdering knife unto the I'oot
'From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring.
'I mean, our princely father, duke of York.

War. From off the gates of York fetch down
the head.
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there:
'Instead whereof, let this supply the room;
Measure for measure must be answered.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
'That nothing sung but death to us and ours:
'Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
'And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.

[Attendants bring the Body forward.

War. I think his understanding is bereft: —
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? —
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life.
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.

Rich. O, would he did ! and so, perhaps, he doth ;
"Tis but his policy to counterfeit,
'Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
'Which in the time of death he gave our father.

KKin.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

501

Qeo. If so thou think'st , vex him with eager
words. **)

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.

Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.

War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.

Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.

'■Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to
York.

Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.

Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?

War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou
wast wont.

'■Rich. What, not an oath? nay, then the world
goes hard,
'When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath: —
I know, by that, he's dead; And, by my soul,
'If this right hand would buy two hours' life,
That I in all despite might rail at him,
'This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing

blood
Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.

War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's
head.
And rear it in the place your father's stands. —
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king.
'From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy queen:
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together;
'And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt.
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation;
'And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.

Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be :
'For on thy shoulder do I build my seat;
'And never will I undertake the thing,
'Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. —
'Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster; —
'And George, of Clarence ; — Warwick, as ourself,
'Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of
Gloster;
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. '^)

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation;
Richard, be duke of Gloster; Now to London,
To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt.

ACT m.

6CENB I, A Chase in the North 0/ England.

Enter two Keepers, witJi Cross-bows in their
Hands.

'1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake ») we'll
shroud ourselves;
'For through this laund ^) anon the deer will come;
'And in this covert will we make our stand,
'Culling the principal of all the deer.

'2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

*1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow
'Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
'Here stand we both, and aim we at the best:
'And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
'I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,
'In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

'2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be
past.

Enter King Henry, disguised, with a Prayer-book.

K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
'To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
'No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;
*Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
'Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now,
'No humble suitors press to speak for right,
'No, not a man comes for redress of thee;
For how can I help them, and not myself?

'1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's
fee:
'This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him.

*K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities ;
'For wise men say, it is the wisest course.

'2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

'1 Keep. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more.

K.Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France
for aid;
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
'Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
'To wife for Edward: If this news be true,
'Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost;
'For Warwick is a subtle orator,
'And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words.
'By this account, then, Margaret may win him;
'For she's a woman to be pity'd much:
'Her sighs will make a battery in his breast:
'Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
'The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn;
'And Nero will be tainted with remor'se,
'To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.
'Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give:
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry;
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says, — her Henry is depos'd;
He smiles, and says, — his Edward b install'd;
'That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more;
'Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
'Inferreth arguments of mighty strength;
'And, in conclusion, wins the king from her,
'With promise of his sister, and what else,
'To strengthen and support king Edward's place.
*0 MargEuret, ^) thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul,
'Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings
and queens?

^K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was
born to :
'A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

'2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

^K.Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head;
'Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones,
'Nor to be seen: 'my crown is call'd content;
'A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy.

'■2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content.
Your crown content, and you must be contented
'To go along with us: for, as we think,
'You are the king, king Edward hath, depos'd;
'And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
'Will apprehend you as lus enemy.

*K.Hen. But did you never swear, and break an
oath?

*2 Keep. No never such an oath ; nor will not now.

* K.Hen. Where did you. dwell, when I was king
of England?

'2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now remain.

*K.Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old;
'My father, and my grandfather, were kings; j

KKm.

502

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act III

*And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
*And tell nie then, have you not broke your oaths?

'iKeep. No;
For we were subjects, but while you were king.

*K.Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a
man?
*Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear.
*Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
'And as the air blows it to me again,
'Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
*And yielding to another when it blows,
'Commanded always by the greater gust;
'Such is the lightness of you common men.
'But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin
'My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
'Go where you will, the king shall be commanded ;
'And be you kings; command, and I'll obey.

*1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king
Edward.

*K.Hen. So would you be again to Henry,
*If he were seated as king Edward is.

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in
the king's,
To go with us unto the officers.

^K.Hen. Fn God's name, lead; your king's name
be obey'd:
'And what God will, then let your king perform;
'And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter EJng Edward, Glostbr, Clabencb, and
Lady Grey.

'K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Alban's field
'This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain.
His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror:
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands;
'Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
'The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit;
'It were dishonour, to deny it her.
K. Edw. It were no less ; but yet I'll make a pause.
'■Glo. Yea! is it so?
I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the king will grant her humble suit.
Clar. He knows the game; How true he keeps
the wind! [Aside.

Glo. Silence! [Aside.

^K.Edw. Widow, we will consider *) of your suit;
'And come some other time, to know our mind.

'L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay :
'May it please your highness to resolve me now;
'And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.
'■Glo. [Aside.] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you
all your lands,
'An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you.
'Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow.
*Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.

[Aside.
*Glo. God forbid that! for he'll take vantages.

[Aside.
'■K.Edw. How many children hast thou, widow?

tell roe.
Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her.

[Aside.
Glo. Nay, whip me then; he'll rather give her two.

[Aside.
L. Grey. Three, ray most gracious lord.
Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him.

[Aside.

'■K.Edw. 'Twere pity, they should lose their father's

land.
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.
K.Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's

wit.
Glo. Ay, good leave have you; *) for you will

have leave,
'Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch.

[Glostee and Clakencb retire to the other side.
*K.Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your

children?
"L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
*K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them

good?
*L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some

harm.
*K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do

them good.
'L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty.
K Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.
'Z/. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness'

service.
*K.Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give

them ?
*L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me

to do.
"K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon.
*L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.
*K.Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what 1 mean to ask.
*L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace

commands.
*Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the

marble. [Aside.

"Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must

melt. [Aside.

h. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my

task?
K.Edw. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.
L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a

subject.
K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely

give thee.
L. Grey. I take my leave, with many thousand thanks.
Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy.
^K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.
*L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
*K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?
'L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks,

my prayers;
'That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants.
K.Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love.
*L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought

you did.
*K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind.
♦£/. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive
'Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.
K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.
*L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in

prison.
K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy hus-
band's lands.
li. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.
'■K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.
Li. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them

and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
'Accords not with the sadness ') of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no.

K.Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request:
No; if thou dost say no, to my demand.
L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

RKm.

Act III.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

503

11

'G/o. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.

[Aside.

Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

[Aside.

'■K.Edw. [Aside.'] Her looks do argue her replete
with modesty;
•Her words do show her wit incomparable;
•All her perfections challenge sovereignty:
One way, or other, she is for a king;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. —
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?

L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious
lord:
I am a subject tit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.

K.Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee,
I speak no more than what my soul intends;
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.

L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto :
'I know, I am too mean to be your queen:
And yet too good to be your concubine.

K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean, my queen.

L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons should
call you — father.

K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call
thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children:
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
'Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.

[As'ide.

Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.

[Aside.

K.Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two
haAe had.

*Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. ^)

K. Edw. You'd think it strange, if I should marry her.

Clar. To whom, my lord?

K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself.

Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least.,

Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

'G/o. By so much is the wonder in extremes.

K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both,
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.

Enter a Nobleman.

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
'And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

K. Edw. See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower : —
'And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
'To question of his apprehension. —
'Widow, go you along; — Lords, use her honourable.
[Ejceunt King Edward, Lady Gbkv,
Clarence, and Lord.

Glo. Ay, Edward" will use women honourably.
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
'That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
'To cross me from the golden time I look for!
'And yet, between my soul's desire, and me,
•(The lustful Edward's title buried,)
'Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
'And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
'To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
•Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty;
•Like one that stands upon a promontory,
•And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
•Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;
•And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
•Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way :
•So do I wish the crown, being so far off;

•And so I chide the means that keep me from it;

•And so I say — I'll cut the causes off,

•Flattering me with impossibilities. —

•My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,

•Unless my hand and strength could equal them.

•Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;

•What other pleasure can the world afford?

'I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,

'And deck my body in gay ornaments.

And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

'O miserable thought! and more unlikely,

'Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!

Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb :

'And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,

'She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe

'To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;

'To make an envious mountain on my back.

Where sits deformity to mock my body;

'To shape my legs of an unequal size;

•To disproportion me in every part,

•Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, *)

•That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be belov'd?

'O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!

•Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,

•But to command, to check, to o'erbear such

•As are of better person than myself, ')

♦I'll make my heaven — to dream upon the crown;

•And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,

•Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head,

•Be round impaled with a glorious crown.

♦And yet I know not how to get the crown,

•For many lives stand between me and home:

•And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood,

•That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns;

•Seeking a way, and straying from the way;

•Not knowing how to find the open air,

•But toiling desperately to find it out, —

•Torment myself to catch the English crown:

♦And from that torment I will free myself,

•Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.

Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile:

•And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart;

•And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

•And frame my face to all occasions.

•I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall;

•I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;

•I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,

•Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,

•And, like a Sinon, take another Troy :

I can add colours to the cameleon;

'Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages,

'And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school.

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

'Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit.

SCENE m.

France, A Room in the Palace.

Flourish. Enter Lewis, the French Kins, and

Lady Bona, attended; the King takes his State.

Then enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward,

her Son, and the Earl of Oxford.

^K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret,

[Rising.
'Sit down with us; it ill befits tHy state,
'And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis
doth sit.
'Q.Mar. No, mighty king of France; now Mar-
garet
•Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve,
•Where kings command. I was, I must confess,

BHm.

504

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act ni.

♦Great Albion's queen in former golden days:
*But now mischance hath trod my title down,
*And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
♦Where I must take like seat unto iny fortune,
♦And to my humble seat conform myself.

*K.Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs
this deep despair?

*Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes

with tears,
♦And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

*K.Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
♦And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck

[Seats her by him.
♦To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
♦Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
♦Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
♦It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

"Q.Mar. Those gracious words revive my droop-
ing thoughts,
♦And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.
♦Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, —
•That Henry, sole possessor of my love,
♦Is, of a king, become a banish'd man,
♦And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn;
♦While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York,
♦Usurps the regal title, and the seat
♦Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
♦This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, —
♦With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir, —
♦Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;
'And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done:
♦Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;
♦Our people and our peers are both misled,
♦Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,
♦And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight.

*K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the
storm,
♦While we bethink a means to break it off.

*Q.Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows
our foe.

"K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succour
thee.

♦Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow:
♦And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow.

Enter Warwick, attended.
'■K. Lew. What's he , approacheth boldly to our

presence ?
Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest

friend.
K.Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings
thee to France?

[pescending from his State. Queen
Margabet rises.
*Q.Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise;
♦For this is he, that moves both wind and tide.
'■War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion,
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
I come, — in kindness, and unfeigned love, —
First, to do greetings to thy royal person;
And, then, to crave a league of amity;
And, lastly, to confirm that amity
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister,
To England's king in lawful marriage.
'Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.
War. And, gracious madam, \to Bona] in our king's
behalf,
'I am commanded, with your leave and favour.
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart;
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears.
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue.

Q. Mar. King Lewis, — and lady Bona, — hear roe

speak,
'Before you answer Warwick. His demand
♦Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
♦But from deceit, bred by necessity;
♦For how can tyrants safely govern home,
♦Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
♦To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, —
♦That Henry liveth still: but were he dead,
♦Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son,
♦Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and

marriage
♦Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour:
♦For though usurpers sway the rule a while,
♦Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

War. Injurious Margaret!

Prince. And why not queen?

War. Because thy father Henry did usurp;
And thou no more art prince, than she is queen.

Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the fourth,
'Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
And, after that wise prince, Henry the fifth.
Who by his prowess conquered all France:
From these our Henry lineally descends.

War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,
You told not, how Henry the sixth hath lost
All that which Henry the fifth had gotten?
Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that.
But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years; a silly time
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.

^Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against
thy liege,
'Whom thou obey'dst thirty and six years.
And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree?
For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king.

''Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom
'My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere,
Was done to death? and more than so, my father,
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
'When nature brought him to the door of death?
No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

War. And I the house of York.

K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Ox-
ford,
'Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,
'While I use further conference with Warwick.

♦Q. Mar. Heaven grant, that Warwick's words
bewitch him not!

[Retiring tcith the Peince and Oxford.

'■K.Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy
conscience,
'Is Edward your true king? for I were loath,
'To link with him that were not lawful chosen.

War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye ?

War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. *")

K. Lew. Then further, — all dissembling set aside,
'Tell me for truth the measure of his love
'Unto our sister Bona.

War. Such it seems,

As may beseem a monarch like himself.
Myself have often heard him say, and swear, —
That this his love was an eternal plant;
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground.
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sua ;
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, *')
Unless the lady Bona <]uit his pain.

xHm.

Act hi.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

505

K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine : —
Yet I confess, [to War.] that often ere this day,
When I have heard your king's desert recounted,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

*K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall
be Edward's;
*And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
'Touching the jointure that your king must make,
'Which >vith her dowry shall be counterpois'd : —
Draw near, queen Margaret, and be a witness,
That Bona shall be wife to the English king.

Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king.

*Q.Mar. -Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device
*By this alliance to make void my suit;
'Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.

'K.LetP. And still is friend to him and Margaret:
*But if your title to the crown be weak, —
'As may appear by. Edward's good success, —
'Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd
'From giving aid, which late I promised.
'Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand,
'That your estate requires, and mine can yield.

War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease;
Where having nothing, nothing he can lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, —
You have a father able ' -) to maintain you;
And better 'twere, you troubled him than France.

'Q.Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick,
peace ;
*Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings!
'I will not hence, till with my talk and tears,
'Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold
*Thy sly conveyance, *^) and my lord's false love;
'For both of you are birds of self-same feather.

[A Horn sounded within.
* K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee.

Enter a Messenger.

Men. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you ;
Sent from your brother, marquis Montague.
These from our king unto your majesty. —
And, madam, these for you; from whom, I know not.
[To Margaret. They all read their letters.

Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.

Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were

nettled :
'I hope, all's for the best.

K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news? and yours,
fair queen?

'Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with onhop'd
joys.

War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

K. Lew. What ! has your king married the lady
Grey?
'And now, to sooth your forgery and his, •*)
'Sends me a paper to persuade me patience?
'Is this the alliance that he seeks with France?
'Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

'Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before:
This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty.

War. King Lewis, I here protest, — in sight of
heaven.
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, —
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ;
No more my king, for he dishonours me;
But most himself, if he could see his shame. —
Did I forget, that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death?
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece?
Did I impale him with the regal crown?
Did I put Henry from bis native right?

'And am I guerdon'd **) at the last with shame?
'Shame on himself! for my desert is honour.
'And, to repair my honour lost for him,
*I here renounce him, and return to Henry:
'My noble queen, let former grudges pass.
And henceforth I am thy true servitor;
I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his former state.

Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd my
hate to love;
'And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
'And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend.

War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
I'll undertake to land them on our coast.
And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him:
'And as for Clarence, — as my letters tell me,
'He's very likely now to fall from him;
'For matching more for wanton lust than honour,
'Or than for strength and safety of our country.

*Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd,
'But by thy help to this distressed queen?

*Q,.Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry
live,
'Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

"Bona. My quarrel, and this English queen's, are one.

"War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

*K. Lew. And mine, with her's , and thine , and
Margaret's.
Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd.
You shall have aid.

'Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

K. Lew. Then England's messenger, return in post
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, —
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers.
To revel it with him and his new bride:
'Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king ' <') withal.

Bona. Tell him. In hope he'll prove a widower,
shortly
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

Q. Mar. Tell him. My mourning weeds are laid
aside,
And I am ready to put armour on. ")

War. Tell him from me. That he hath done me
wrong :
And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long.
There's thy reward; »*) be gone. [Exit Mess.

K.Lew. , But, Warwick, thou.

And Oxford, with five thousand men.
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle:
'And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
'And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
'Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt; —
'What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

War. This shall assure my constant loyalty: —
That if our queen and this young prince agree,
I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy,
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.

Q. Mar. Yes , I agree, and thank you for your
motion: —
'Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,
'Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick;
'And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,
'That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

* Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it;
'And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand.

[He gives his hand to Warwick.

'jK. Lew. Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall
be levied,
'And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
'Shall waft them over with our royal fleet —

Ksm.

506

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act IV.

'I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance,
'For mocking marriage with a dame of France.

[Exeunt all but Wabwick.
War. I came from Edward as ambassador.
But I return his sworn and mortal foe:
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me.
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale, ") but me?
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown.
And I'll be chief to bring him down again:
Not that I pity Henry's misery.
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague,
and others.

'■Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you
'Of this new marriage with the lady Grey V
'Hath not our brother made a worthy choice?

'Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France;
*How could he stay till Warwick made return?

*Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes the
king.

Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady

Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings,

and others.

"Glo. And his well-chosen bride.

"Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think.

^K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you
our choice,
'That you stand pensive, as half malcontent?

'■Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of
Warwick ;
'Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment,
'That they'll take no offence at our abuse.

'jfiC. Edw. Suppose , they take offence without a
cause,
'They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Edward,
'Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.

^Glo. And you shall have your will, because our
king:
'Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

K.Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too?

'Glo. Not I:
'No ; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd
'Whom God hath join'd together: ay, and 'twere

pity,
To sunder them that yoke so well together.

''K. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike,
aside,
'Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey
'Should not become my wife, and England's queen: —
'And you too, Somerset, and Montague,
'Speak freely what you think.

'■Clar. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis
'Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
'About the marriage of the lady Bona.

'■Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave In charge,
'Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.

'•K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be
appeas'd,
'By such invention as I can devise?

Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such
alliance.
Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth
' 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred marriage.

'■Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself,
'England is safe, if true within itself? ')

^Mont. Yes ; but the safer, when it is back'd with
France.

*Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting
France :
*Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, -)
*Which he hath given for fence impregnable,
'And with their helps only defend ourselves ;
'In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies.

Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well de-
serves
To have the heir of the lord Hungerford.

'•K. Edw. Ay, what of that? it was my will, and
grant;
'And, for this once, my will shall stand for law.

'Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done
well,
'To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales
'Unto the brother of your loving bride;
'She better would have fitted me, or Clarence:
'But in your bride you bury brotherhood.

'Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the
heir ^)
'Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son,
'And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.

K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife,
'That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee.

'Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your
judgment;
'Which being shallow, you shall give me leave
'To play the broker in mine own behalf;
'And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you.

'K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
'And not be tied unto his brother's will.

'Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty
'To raise my state to title of a queen,
'Do me but right, and you must all confess
'That I was not ignoble of descent, ^)
'And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
'But as this title honours me and mine,
'So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,
'Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.

'K.Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon their
frowns :
'What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee,
'So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
'And their true sovereign, whom they must obey?
'Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
'Unless they seek for hatred at my Imnds :
'Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
'And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. •

"Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the
more. \Aside.

Enter a Messenger.
'K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what
news.
From Fra nee ?
'Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters; and few
words,
'But such as I, without your special pardon,
Dare not relate.

'K.Edw. Goto, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief,
'Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters?
Mess. At my depart, these were his very words;
Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, —
That Lewis of France is sending over fnaskers.
To revel it with /dm and his new bride.
K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike, he thinks me

Henry.
'But what said lady Bona to my marriage?

HKIIT.

Act IV,

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

507

Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild

disdain ;
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.

K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less ;
'She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen 'i
'For I have heard that she was there in place. *)

Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds
are done, ')
And I am ready to put armour on.

K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the amazon.
But what said Warwick to these injuries?

'■Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty
'Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words;
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long.

K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so proud
words ?
'Well, I will arm me, being thus fonvam'd :
'They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption.
'But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?

Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd
in friendship,
•That young prince Edward marries Warwick's
daughter.

Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the
younger.
*Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast,
*For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter;
♦That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
•I may not prove inferior to yourself. —
You, that love me and Warwick, follow me.

\Bxit CI.ABEKCE, and Soserset followa.

"Glo. Not I.
•My thoughts aim at a further matter; I
♦Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown.

\_Agide.

K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to War-
wick !
♦Yet am I arm'd against the Avorst can happen;
♦And haste is needful in this desperate case. —
'Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf
'Go levy men, and make prepare for war.
'They are already, or quickly will be landed :
'Myself in person will straight follow you.

[Exeunt Pembboke and Stafford.
'But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, —
'Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
'Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance:
'Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me ?
'If it be so, then both depart to him;
'I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends;
'But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
'Give me assurance of some friendly vow,
'That I may never have you in suspect.

Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true !

Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause!

'■K.Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand
by us?

Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.

'■K.Edw. Why so; then am I sure of victory.
'Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour,
'Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.

[Exeunt.

SCENE n.

A Plain in Warwickshire.

Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French and
other Forces.

War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
Tb« common people by numbers swarm to us.

Enter Clarence and Somerset.

But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come ; —
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

Clar. Fear not that, my lord.

War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War-
wick ;
And welcome, Somerset: — I hold it cowardice.
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
But welcome, Clarence; '} my daughter shall be

thine.
And now what rests, but, in night's coverture.
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd.
His soldiers lurking in the towns about.
And but attended by a simple guard.
We may surprize and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easyj
♦That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede,
♦With slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,
♦And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds; ^)
♦So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
♦At unawares may beat down Edward's guard,
♦And seize\ himself ; I say not — slaughter him,
♦For I intend but only to surprize him. —
'You, that will follow me to this attempt,
'Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader.

[They all cry, Hexby !
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort:
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George !

[Exeunt.

SCENE m.

Edward'* Camp, near Warwick.

Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's
Tent.

♦1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take
his stand;
♦The king, by this, is set him down to sleep.

•2 Watch. What, will he not to bed ?

♦1 Watch. Why, no: for he hath made a solemn vow
♦Never to lie and take his natural rest,
♦Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd.

*2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day,
*Jf Warwick be so near as men report.

"3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that,
*That with the king here resteth in his tent?

♦1 Watch. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest
friend.

'3 Watch. O, is it so? But why commands the king,
*That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
*\VhiIe he himself keepeth in the cold field?

♦2 Watch. 'Tis the more honour, because more
dangerous.

*3 Watch. Ay; but give me worship, and quietness,
*I like it better than a dangerous honour.
*If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
♦ 'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him.

'1 Watch. Unless our halberd* did shut up his
passage.

*2 Watch. Ay ; wherefore else guard -we bis royal
tent,
*But to defend his person from night-foes?

Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset,

and Forces.
'War. This is his tent; and see, where stand his
guard.
'Courage, my masters: honour now, or never!
'But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.

XXIII.

508

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act IV.

1 Watch. Who goes there?

2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest.

[Warwick, and the rent, cry all — Warwick! War-
wick ! and set upon the Guard ; who fly, crying
— Arm ! Arm .' Waewick, and the rest, following
them.

The Drum beating, and Trumpets sounding , re-
enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King
out in a Gown, sitting in a Chair: Gloster
and Hastings fly.

'■Som. What are they that fly there?

'■War. Richard, and Hastings: let them go, here's
the duke.

K. Edw. The duke ! why , Warwick , when we
parted last,
Thou call'dst me king? '

War. Ay, but the case is alter'd:

'When you disgrac'd me in my erabassade,
'Then I degraded you from being king.
And come now to create you duke of York.
Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,
That know not how to use ambassadors;
Nor how to be contented with one wife;
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly;
*Nor how to study for the people's welfare;
Nor how to shrowd yourself from enemies?

"K.Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here
too?
*Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down. —
'Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance,
'Of thee thyself, and all thy complices,
'Edward will always bear himself as king:
'Though fortune's malice overthrow my state,
*My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.

War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's
king : ') [Takes off his Crown.

But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
*And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. —
'My lord of Somerset, at my request,
'See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd
'Unto my brother, archbishop of York.
'When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
^I'U follow you, and tell what answer
'Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him : —
Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York.

* K.Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs
abide ;
*It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

[Exit King Edwabd, led out; Souebbet
with him.

*Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do,
*But march to London with our soldiers?

War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do ;
'To free king Henry from imprisonment.
And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers.

'■Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change ?
^Q.Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn,
'What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward?

Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against
Warwick?

*Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person.

'■Riv. Then is my sovereign slain?

'Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner;
'Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard,
'Or by his foe surpriz'd at unawares :
'And, as I further have to understand.

'Is now committed to the bishop of York,
'Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.

'/Jt». These news, I must confess, are full of grief:
'Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may;
'Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day.

*Q.Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay.
*And I the rather wean me from despair,
*For love of Edward's offspring in my womb:
*This is it that makes ine bridle passion,
*And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross;
*Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear,
*And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
"Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown.

*Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become?

Q.Eliz. I am informed, that he comes towards
London,
*To set the crown once more on Henry's head:
* Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must

down.
'But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,
'(For trust not him that hath once broken faith,)
'I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary,
'To save at least the heir of Edward's right;
'There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud.
'Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly:
'If Warwick take us we are sure to die. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Park near Middleham Castle, »» Yorkshire.

Enter Glostbr, Hastings, Sir William SxANLBr,
and others.

^Glo. Now, ray lord Hastings, and Sir William
Stanley,
'Leave off to wonder, why I drew you hither,
'Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
'Thus stands the case: You know, our king, my

brother,
'Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
'He hath good usage and great liberty;
'And often, but attended with weak guard,
'Comes hunting this way to disport liimself.
'I have adv^rtis'd him by secret means,
'That if, about this hour, he make this way,
'Under the colour of his usual game,
'He shall here find his friends, with horse and men,
'To set him free from his captivity.

Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman.

'■Hunt. This way, my lord; for this way lies the
game.

^K. Edw. Nay, this way, man; see, where the
huntsmen stand. —
'Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest,
'Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer?

'Cr^. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ;
'Your horse stands ready at the park corner.

'K. Edw. But whither shall we then ?

'■Hast. To Lynn, my lord; and ship from thence
to Flanders.

'G/o. Well guess' d, believe me; for that was my
meaning.

'K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.

*Glo. But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk.

^K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou ? wilt thou
go along?

'Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd,

*Glo. Come then, away; let's have no more ado.

^K.Edw. Bishop, farewell: shield thee from War-
wick's frown;
And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt.

KKIII.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

509

SCENE VI.

A Room in the Tower.

Enter King Hbnry, Clarbnck, Warwick, Somer-
set, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieute-
nant of the Tower, and Attendants.

*K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and
friends
'Have shaken Edward from the regal seat;
'And turn'd my captive state to liberty,
*My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys;
'At our enlargement what are thy due fees?

'Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothing of their
sovereigns ;
'But, if an humble prayer may prevail,
'I then crave pardon of your majesty.

'K.Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well using me?
*Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness,
'For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure:
'Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
'Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts,
'At last, by notes of household harmony,
'They quite forget their loss of liberty. —
'But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free,
'And chiefly, therefore, I thank God, and thee;
'He was the author, thou the instrument.
'Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite,
'By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me;
'And that the people of this blessed land
'May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars;
'Warwick, although ray head still wear the crown,
'I here resign my government to thee,
'For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.

*War. Your grace hath still beenfara'd for virtuous;
'And now may seem as wise as virtuous,
'By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice,
'For few men rightly temper with the stars: *<>)
'Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace,
'For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. **)

'Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
'To whom the heavens, in thy nativity,
'Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown,
'As likely to be blest in peace, and war;
'And therefore I yield thee my free consent.

*War. And I choose Clarence only for protector.

*K. Hen. Warwick , and Clarence, give me both
your hands;
'Now join your hands, and, with your hands, your

hearts,
'That no dissension hinder government:
'I make you both protectors of this land;
'While I myself will lead a private life,
'And in devotion spend my latter days.
To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise.

War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will ?

*Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent;
'For on thy fortune I repose myself.

*War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be
content :
'We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
'To Henry's body, and supply his place ;
*I mean, in bearing weight of government,
'While he enjoys the honour, and his ease.
'And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful,
'Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor,
'And all his lands and goods be confiscate.

Clar. What else ? and that succession be determin'd.

' War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part.

'K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs,
'Let me entreat, (for I command no more,)
'That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward,
'Be sent for, to return from France with speed:

'For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear
*My joy of liberty is half eclips'd.

Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed.

'■K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is that,
'Of whom you seem to have so tender care?

'■Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich-
mond.

'■K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope : If secret
powers [Lay* his hand on hi$ head.

'Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
'This pretty lad '-) will prove our country's bliss.
'His looks are full of peaceful majesty;
'His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown,
'His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself
'Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne.
Make much of him, my lords; for this is he,
'Must help^you more than yoa are hurt by me.

Enter a Messenger.

*War. What news, my friend?

*Me$$. That Edward is escaped from your brother,
'And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.

'War. Unsavoury news: But how made he escape?

'Me$t. He was convey'd by Richard duke of
Gloster,
'And the lord Hastings, who attended him •^)
'In secret ambush on the forest side,
'And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him;
'For hunting was his daily exercise.

'War. My brother was too careless of his charge. —
'But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
'A salve for any sore that may betide.

[Exeunt Hiag Henry, Wab., Clab., Lieut.,
and Attendants.

*Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's:
'For, doubtless. Burgundy will yield him help;
'And we shall have more wars, before't be long.
'As Henry's late presaging prophecy
'Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich-
mond;
'So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
'What may befall him, to his harm, and ours:
'Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
'Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany,
'Till storms be past of civil enmity.

'Oxf. Ay; for if Edward repossess the crown,
' 'Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down.

*Som. It shall be so; he shall to Britany.
'Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exetmt.

SCENE yn.

Before York.

Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastincs, ani
Forces.

^K. Edw. Now , brother Richard , lord Hastings,
and the rest;
'Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
'And says — that once more I shall interchange
'My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
'Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas,
'And brought desired help from Burgundy:
'What then remains, we being thus arriv'd
'From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of YoA,
'But that we enter, as into our dukedom?

'G/o. The gates made fast ! — Brother, I like not
this;
•For many men, that stumble at the threshold,
'Are well foretold — that danger lurks wthin.

K. Edw. Tush, man ! abodements must not now
affright us:

510

KING HENRY YI. PART III.

Act IV.

*By fair or foul means we must enter in,
*For hither will our friends repair to us.
*Hatt. My liege, I'll knock once more, to summon
them.

Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and
his Brethren.

*^May. My lords, we were forewarned of your
coming,
'And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
'For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.
"■K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry [be your
king,
'Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York.
'May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less.
'■K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my
dukedom ;
*As being well content with that alone.

^Glo. But, when the fox hath once got in his nose,
'He'll soon find means to make the body follow.

[Aside.
^Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a

doubt?
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends.
'■May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be
open'd. [Exeunt from above.

^Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon!
"Hast. The good old man would fain that all were
well, "»)
*So 'twere not 'long of him: but, being enter'd,
*I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
*Both him, and all his brothers,, unto reason.

Re-enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below.

'■K.Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must not
be shut,
'But in the night, or in the time of war.
'What, fear not, man, but yield me up the keys:

[Takes his keys.
'For Edward will defend the town, and thee,
'And all those friends that deign to follow me.

Drum.

Enter Montgomery, and Forces,
marchinsr.

Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd.
''K.Edw. Welcome, sir John! But Avhy come you

in arms?
Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm.
As every loyal subject ought to do.
'■K.Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery: But we now
forget
'Our title to the crown; and only claim
'Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest.

'■Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again;
I came to serve a king, and not a duke, —
'Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.

[A March begun.
^K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we'll
debate,
'By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.
'■Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words,
'If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king,
'I'll leave you to your fortune; and be gone.
To keep them back that come to succour you:
Why should we fight, if you pretend no title?
'■Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice

points ?
*K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll make
our claim:
*Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.

*Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must
rule.

*Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
*Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ;
*The bruit ' ^) thereof will bring you many friends.

*K. Edw. Then be it as you will: for 'tis my right,
*And Henry but usurps the diadem.

Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself;
And now will I be Edward's champion.

Hast. Sound, trumpet ; Edward shall be here pro-
claim'd: —
*Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.

[Gives him a paper. Flourish.

Sold. [Reads.] Edward the fourth, by the grace
of God, king of England and France, and lord
of Ireland, &c.

Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right.
By this I challenge him to single tight.

[Throws down his gauntlet.

All. Long live Edward the fourth!

'■K.Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery; — and thanks
unto you all.
'If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
'Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York:
'And, when the morning sun shall raise his car
'Above the border of this horizon,
'We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates;
'For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier. —
*Ah, froward Clarence ! — how evil it beseems thee,
*To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother!
*Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and War-
wick. —
*Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day;
*And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.

[Exeant.

SCENE VIII.

London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarknce, Mon-
tague, Exeter, and Oxford.

War. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia,
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders,
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas.
And with his troops doth march amain to London;
'And many giddy people flock to him.

"OxJ. Let's levy men, and beat him back again.

Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out;
Which, being sulTer'd, rivers cannot quench.

War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends.
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
Those will I muster up : — and thou, son Clarence,
'Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
'The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: —
'Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
'Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
'Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st: —
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd,
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. —
My sovereign, with the loving citizens, —
*Like to his island, girt in with the ocean,
*0r modest Dian, circled with her nymphs, —
Shall rest in London, till we come to him.
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. —
Farewell, my sovereign.

K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true
hope.

'Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.

*K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate !

*Mont. Comfort, my lord ; — and so I take my leave.

*Oxf. And thus [kissing Henby'* hand] 1 seal my
truth, and bid adieu.

XKIII.

J

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

511

'K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
*And all at once, once more a happy farewell.

War. Farewell, sweet lords ; let's meet at Coventry.
\^Exeunt War., Clar., Oxp., and Mont.

*K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while.
♦Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship?
•Methinks, the power, that Edward hath in field,
•Should not be able to encounter mine.

'Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.

*K.Hen. That's not my fear, my meed ") hath
got me fame.
•I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
*Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
*My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
•My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs,
•My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears:
*I have not been desirous of their wealth, ^
•Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
•Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd;
•Then why should they love Edward more than me?
*No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace:
'And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
•The lamb will never cease to follow him.

[Shout tPithin. A Lancaster! A Lancaster!

Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?

Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers.

^K.Edw. Seize on the shame-fao'd Henry, bear
him hence,
'And once again proclaim us king of England. —
•You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow,
•Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,
•And swell so much the higher by their ebb. —
'Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.
[Exeunt some with King Henry.
'And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,
'Where peremptory Warwick now remains:
'The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay,
'Cold-biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. ^')

*Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join,
•And take the great-grown traitor unawares:
•Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Coventry.

Enter, upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mayor of
Coventry, two Messengers, and others.

War. Where is the post, that came from valiant
Oxford?
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow?
'1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither-
ward.
War. How far off is our brother Montague? —
Where is the post that came from Montague?
'2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.

Enter Sir John Somervillb.
^War. Say, Somerville, what says ray loving son?
'And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ?

'Soot. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
'And do expect him here some two hours hence.

[Drum heard.
^War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.
*Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam lies ;
•The drum your honour hears, marcheth from War-
wick.
"War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for

friends.
*Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.

KKni

Drums. Enter King Edward, Glostbr, and
Forces, marching.

K.Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a
parle.

'■Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall.

War. O, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd.
That we could hear no news of his repair?

*K. Ediv. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city
gates,
'Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee? —
'Call Edward — king, and at his hands beg mercy,
'And he shall pardon thee these outrages.

'■War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence.
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down?
Call Warwick — patron, and be penitent,
And thou shalt still remain the duke of York.

Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said —
the king;
Or did he make the jest against his will?

*War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift?

*Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give;
•I'll do thee service ') for so good a gift.

'■War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy
brother.

K. Edw. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's
gift.

^War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight:
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.

•jK. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner :
'And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, —
What is the body, when the head is off?

'Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
'The king was slily finger'd from the deck! ^)
Y'ou left poor Henry at the bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. ^

K. Edw. 'Tis even so ; yet you are Warwick still.

*Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down,
kneel down:
•Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.

• War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
•And with the other fling it at thy face,
•Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

*K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide
thy friend;
•This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
•Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off,

♦Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, —
' Wind- changing Warwick now can change no more.

Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.

*War. O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford
comes !

Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!

[Oxford and his Forces enter the City.

'Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.

'K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs.
'Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
•Will issue out again, and bid us battle:
'If not, the city, being but of small defence,
'We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.

War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help.

Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours.

Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!

[He and his Forces enter the City.
Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this
treason
'Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.

512

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

Act V.

*K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory :
*My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest.

Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours.

Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!

[He and his Forces enter the City.

Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York; ^)
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.

Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.

War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps
along,
Of force enough to bid his brother battle;
•With whom an upright zeal to right prevails,
•More than the nature of a brother's love: —
•Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls.

Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this
means ? \TaMrtg the red rose out of his cap.

'Look here, I throw my infamy at thee:
I will not ruinate my father's house.
Who gave his blood to lime the stones *) together,
'And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
'That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, *J unnatural,
'To bend the fatal instruments of war
'Against his brother and his lawful king?
•Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath:
*To keep that oath, were more impiety
•Than Jephtha's, when he sacrific'd his daughter.
'1 am so sorry for my trespass made,
•That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
*I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
•With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
•(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,)
•To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee.
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. —
'Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;
'And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
'For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.

'•K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more
belov'd.
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.

'■Glo. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brother-like.

War. O passing traitor, ') perjur'd, and unjust!

K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town

and fight?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears?

'•War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence:
I will away towards Barnet presently.
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.

K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads
the way : —
Lords, to the field; Saint George, and victory.

[March. Exeunt.

SCENE U.

A Field of Battle near Barnet.

Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King Edward,
bringing in Warwick, wounded.

'K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die
our fear;
•For Warwick was a bug, that fear'd us all. — ')
•Now, Montague, sit fast: I seek for thee,
•That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.

[Exit.

War. Ah, who is nigh ! come to me, friend, or foe.
And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick?
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
'My blood, my want of strength, my sick-heart shows,

That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. ■

Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge.
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept;
Whose top-branch over-peer'd Jove's spreading tree,
•And kept low shrubsfrom winter's powerful wind.
•These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's

black veil,
•Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
*To search the secret treasons of the world :
The wrinkles in my brows, now fiU'd with blood.
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow ?
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood!
My parks, ^) my walks, my manors that I had.
Even now forsake me ; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me, but my body's length!
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.

Enter Oxford and Somerset.

"Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou as we are,
*We might recover all our loss again!
'The queen from France hath brought a puissant

power ;
'Even now we heard the news : Ah, could'st thou fly !

' War. Why, then I would not fly. — Ah, Montague,
*If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
•And with thy lips keep in my soul a while!
•Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou did'st,
*Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
•That glews my lips, and will not let me speak.
•Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.

'■Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his
last;
'And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick,
'And said — commend me to my valiant brother.
'And more he would have said ; and more he spoke,
'Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, ')
'That might not be distinguish'd ; but, at last,
'I well might hear dellver'd with a groan, —
'O, farewell, Warwick!

War. Sweet rest to his soul! —

Fly, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids
You all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [Vies.

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power!
[Exeunt, hearing off Waewick'o Body.

SCENE m.
Another ■part of the Field.

Flourish. Enter King Edward, in triumph; with
Clarence, Glostbr, and the rest.

'X. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward
course,
'And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
'But, in the midst of this bright shining day,
'I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
'That will encounter with our glorious sun,
'Ere he attain his easeful western bed :
'I mean, my lords, — those pow'rs, that the queen
'Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast,
'And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

^Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
•And blow it to the source from whence it came:
•Thy very beams will dry those vapours up;
•For every cloud engenders not a storm.

*Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong,
'And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her;

Hxni.

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

513

'If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd,
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends,
That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury ;
'We, having now the best at Barnet field,
'Will thither straight, B'or willingness rids way:
'And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along. —
Strike up the drum; cry — Courage! and away.

\_Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Plains near Tewksbury.

March. Enter Queen Makgarkt, Prince Edward,
SoMBRSKT, Oxford, and Soldiers.

"Q.Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail
their loss,
*But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
'What though the mast be now blown over-board,
'The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
'And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;
'Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet, that he
'Should leave the helm, and like a fearful lad,
*With teai-ful eyes add water to the sea,
*And give more strength to that which hath too much :
'Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
* Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
'Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this?
'Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of that?
'And Montague our top-mast; What of him?
'Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; What of these?
'Why, is not Oxford here another anchor?
'And Somerset another goodly mast?
'The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
'And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
'For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
♦We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ;
*But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no,
*From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
*As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair.
*And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea?
*What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit?
*And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock?
*A11 these the enemies to our poor bark.
'Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while:
*Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink:
'Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
*Or else you famish, that's a threefold death.
*This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
*In case some one of you would fly from us,
*That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers,
*More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks.
*Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided,
*'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.

"Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit
'Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
'Infuse his breast with magnanimity,
'And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
'I speak not this, as doubting any here:
'For, did I but suspect a fearful man,
'He should have leave to go away betimes;
'Lest, in our need, he might infect another,
'And make him of like spirit to himself.
'If any such be here, as God forbid !
'Let him depart, before we need his help.

^Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage!
And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual shame. —
'O, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee; long may'st thou live,
To bear his image, and renew his glories!

''Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope,

'Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day,
'If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.
'Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford,

thanks.
'Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing
else.

Enter a Messenger.

'■Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand,
'Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

''Oxf. I thought no less: it is his policy,
'To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness.

Q. Mar. This cheers ray heart, to see your forward-
ness.

Oxf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward,
Clarence, Gloster, and B'orces.

'■K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny
wood,
'Which, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength,
'Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
'I need not add more fuel to your fire,
'For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out:
'Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.

Q.Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I
should say,
'My tears gainsay; '") for every word I speak,
'Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
'Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sove-
reign,
'Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
'His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain,
'His statutes cancell'd, and his ti'easure spent ;
'And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil.
'You fight in justice; then, in God's name, lords,
'Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

[Exeunt both Armies.

SCENE V.

Another Part of the same.

Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a Retreat.

Then enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster,

and Forces: with Queen Margaret, Oxford, and

Somerset, Prisoners.

'^. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils.
Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle ' ' ) straight :
For Somerset, off with his guilty head.
'Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.

'iSo/n. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.
[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded.

*Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world,
'To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

*K. Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds
Edward,
'Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

*Glo. It is: and, lo, where youthful Edward comes.

Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward.

*K. Edw. Biing forth the gallant, let us hear him
speak :
'What! can so young a thorn begin to prick?
'Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
'For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
'And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York !
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;
Resign thy chair, and where I stand, kneel thou,

KXIII.

33

514

KING HENRY YI. PART III,

Act V.

Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee,
Which, traitor, thou would'st have ine answer to.

Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd !

'6r/o. That you might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.

Prince. Let ^Esop '^) fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddles sort not with this place.

Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word.

Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold.

Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back
rather.

^K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your
tongue.

Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

Prince. I know my duty, you are all undutiful :
Lascivious Edward, — and thou perjur'd George, —
And thou misshapen Dick, — I tell ye all,
I am your better, traitors as ye are; —
"And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. ' ^)

[S/a6« him.

'Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony.

[Glo. »tabs him.

*Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury.

[Cla. stabs him.

Q Mar. O, kill me too I

Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her.

'■K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done
|;uo much.

Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with
words? "*)

'■K. Edw. What! does she swoon? use means for
her recovery.

Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother;
'I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
'Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

Clar. What? what?

'■Glo. The Tower! the Tower! [Exit.

'Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother,
boy!
'Canst thou not speak? — O traitors! murderers! —
They, that stabb'd Caesar, shed no blood at all.
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,
*If this foul deed were by, to equal it.
'He was a man: this, in respect, a child;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
'What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
*No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speak : —
*And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. —
'Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals !
*How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
'You have no children, butchers ! if you had,
'The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse :
'But, if you ever chance to have a child.
Look in his youth to have him so cut off,
'As, deathsmen I you have rid this sweet young prince!

K. Edw. Away with her ; go, bear her hence perforce.

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me
here ;
Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death :
What! wilt thou not? — then, Clarence, do it thou.

Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, do
thou do it.

Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not
do it?

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself;
'Twas sin before, ' *) but now 'tis charity.
'What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher,
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where ^ thou?
Thou art not here : Murder is thy alms-deed ;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

'■K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her hence.

Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this
prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly.

K. Edw. Where's Richard gone ?

'•Clar. To London, all in post: and, as I guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
'Now march we hence : discharge the common sort
'With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
'And see our gentle queen how well she fares;
'By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

London. A Room in the Tower.

King HBNRy is discovered sitting with a Booh

in his Hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter

Gloster.

Glo. Good day, my lord! What, at your book so
hard?

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I should say
rather:
'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better:
Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike,
*And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord.

'Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.

[Exit Lieutenant.

*K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the
wolf:
*So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,

*And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.

What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

^K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush,
'With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush:
And I the hapless male '*) to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye.
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and
kill'd.

'■Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
'That taught his son the office of a fowl?
'And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

'■K. Hen. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course:
'The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
'Thy brother Edward; and thyself the sea,
'Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
*Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
'My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragic history. —
*But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?

'■Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner?

K.Hen. A persecutor, I am sure thou art;
'If murdering innocents be executing,
'Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou
didst presume,
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
'And thus I prophesy, — that many a thousand,
'Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear; ")
'And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
'And many an orphan's water-standing eye, —
'Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate,
'And orphans for their parents' timeless death, —
'Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ;
'The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees ;
The raven rook'd her ' ^) on the chimney's top.
And chattering pies in disiaal discords sung.

KKIIX.

Act V.

KING HENRY VI. PART III.

515

Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
'To wit, — an indigest deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast bom,
To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be tnie which I have heard,
'Thou cam'st —

Glo. I'll hear no more; — Die, prophet, in thy
speech : [Stabs him.

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this,

0 God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Diet.
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster

Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
'O, may such purple tears be always shed
'From those that wish the downfall of our house ! —
'If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say — I sent thee thither,

[Stab* him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. —
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say,

1 came into the world with my legs forward :
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
'And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd: and the women cried,
O, Jesut blets us, he i$ born with teeth!
'And so I was; which plainly signified —
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
'Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.

I have no brother, I am like no brother:

'And this w ord — love, which greybeards call divine.

Be resident in men like one another.

And not in me; I am myself alone.

Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light;

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee : ' ')

For I will buz abroad such prophecies,

'That Edward shall be fearful of his life;

And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.

'King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone:

'Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;

Counting myself but bad, till I be best. —

'I'll throw thy body in another room,

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit.

SCENE VIL

The tame. A Room in the Palace.

King Edward is discovered sitting on his Throne;
Queen Elizabeth with the infant Prince, Cla-
rence, Glostbr, Hastings, and others, near him.

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,

Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn.
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride?
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions:
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands : two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound:
'With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and

Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion.
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat.
And made our footstool of security. —
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy: —
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself.
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
'Went all a foot in summer's scalding heat.
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back: —
Work thou the way, — and thou shalt execute. **>)

[Aside.

K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely
queen ;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty,
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthy brother,
thanks. -*)

'•Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou
sprang'st,
'Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit: —
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master ; i
And cried — all hail ! when as he meant — > Aside.
all harm. }

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.

Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar-
garet?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransome.

K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to
France.
And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, --) mirthful comic shows.
Such as befit the pleasures of the court? —
Sound, drums and trumpets! — farewell, sour

annoy !
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

[Exetna.

HKm.

33*

XXIV.

KING RICHARD IIL

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Sons to the King.

Brothers to the

King.

King Edward the Fourth.
Edward Prince of Wales, after

wards K. Edward V.
Richard, Duke of York.
George, Duke of Clarence,
Richard, Duke of Gloster, after

wards King Richard III.
A young Son of Clarence.
Henry, Earl 0/ Richmond, afterwards K. Henry VII
Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury.
Thomas Rotheram, Archbishop of York.
John Morton, Bishop of Ely.
Duke of Buckingham.
Duke of Norfolk :
Earl of Surrey, his Son.

Earl Rivers, Brother to King Edward's Queen:
Marquis of Dorset, and Lord Grey, her Sons.
Earl of Oxford.
Lord Hastings.
Lord Stanley.
Lord LovEL.
Sir Thomas Vaughan.

Sir Richard Ratcliff.

Sir William Catesby.

Sir Jambs Tyrrel.

Sir James Blount.

Sir Walter Herbert.

Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower.

Christopher Urswick, a Priest.

Another Priest.

Lord Mayor of London.

Sheriff of Wiltshire.

Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV.

Margaret, Widow of King Henry VI.

Duchess of York, Mother to King Edward IV.,

Clarence, and Gloster.
Lady Anne, Widow of Edward Prince of Wales,

Son to King Henry VI. ; afterwards married

to the Duke of Gloster.
A young Daughter of Clarence.

Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a
Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers,
Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, ^c.

Scene — England.

ACT I.

SCENE I. London. A Street.
Enter Gloster.

Gloster.

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; ' )

And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our house,

In the deep bosom of the ocean bury'd.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;

Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings.

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. -)

Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;

And now, — instead of mounting barbed steeds, ^)

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, —

He capers *) nimbly in a lady's chamber.

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, — that am not shap'd for sportive tricks.

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;

I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty.

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

1, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, *)

Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time

Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,

And that so lamely and unfashionable.

That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;

Why I, in this weak piping time of peace.
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
And descant on mine own deformity;
And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, *')
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —
I am determined to prove a villain.
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, ')
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams.
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just.
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous.
This day should Clarence closely be inew'd up;
About a prophecy, which says — that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence
comes.

Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury.

Brother, good day: What means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace ?

Clar. His majesty.

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Glo. Upon what cause ?

Clar. Because my name is — George.

Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;

KKIV.

Act I.

KING RICHARD III.

517

He should, for that, commit your godfathers :

O, belike, his majesty hath some intent.

That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower.

But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?

Clar. Yea, Richard, when 1 know; for, I protest,
As yet I do not: But, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says — ■ a wizard told him, that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought, that I am he:
These, as I learn, and such like toys s) as these.
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by wo-
men: —
'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she.
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there.
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure.
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore.
Heard you not, what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what, — I think, it is our way.
If we will keep in favour with' the king.
To be her men, and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself, ')
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen.
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
His Majesty hath straitly given in charge.
That no man shall have private conference.
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glo. Even so ? an please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man; — We say, the king
Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years; fair, and not jealous: —
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,.
A cherry lip,

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
*") And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.

Glo. Naught to do with unstress Shore? I tell
thee, fellow.
He that doth naught with her, excepting one.
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord?

Glo. Her husband, knave: — Would'st thou be-
tray me?

Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and

withal,
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will
obey.

Glo. We are the queen's abjects, ' ') and must obey.
Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in, —
Were it, to call king Edward's widow — sister, —
I will perform it, to enfranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood.
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well.

Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

I will deliver you, or else lie for you: '^)
Mean time, have patience.

Clar. I must perforce ; farewell.

[Exeunt Glarekce, Bhakbnbcey, and Guard.

Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er retui-n.
Simple, plain Clarence ! — I do love thee so.
That I \vill shortly send thy soul to heaven.
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

Enter Hastings.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you welcome to this open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks.
That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
For they, that were your enemies, are his.
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you.

Hast. More pity, that the eagle should be mew'd,'^)
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home; —
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet **) long.
And over-much consum'd his royal persoa;
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed?

Hast. He is.

€J/o. Go you before, and I will follow you.

[£xtt Hastings.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die.
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy.
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What, though I kill'd her husband, and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends.
Is — to become her husband, and her father :
The which will I; not all so much for love.
As for another secret close intent.
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Eidward still lives, and

reigns ;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

The same. Another Street.

Enter the Corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne

in an open Coffin, Gentlemen bearing Halberds,

to guard it; and Lady Annb as Mourner.

Anne. Set down, set dowa your honourable load, —
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, —
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament ' *)
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. —
Poor key-cold '*) figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood !
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost.
To liear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,

518

KING RICHARD III.

Act J.

Stabb'd by the self- same hand that made these

wounds!
Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes: —
O, cursed be the hand, that made these holes!
Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads.
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it.
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light.
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness! *')
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him.
Than I am made by my young lord, and thee! —
Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load.
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's coi'se.

[The Bearers take up the Corpse, and advance.

Enter Gloster.

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down.

Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend.
To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the corse ; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Glo. Unmanner'd dog ! stand thou when I command ;
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast.
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The Bearers set down the Coffin.

Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal.
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. —
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
Thou had'st but power over his mortal body.
His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, be gone.

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble
us not;
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fiird it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries: ^'^)
O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh ! ' ')
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural.

Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death !
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death !
Either, heaven, with lightning sti'ike the murderer

dead.
Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick ;
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity.
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man ;
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.

Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry. —
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman.

Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,-")
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Anne. B'ouler than heart can think thee, thou canst
make
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself.

Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself.
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glo. Say, that I slew them not ?

Anne. Why then, they are not dead;

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Glo. I did not kill your husband.

Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne. In thy soul's throat^') thou liest; queen
Margaret saw
Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood;
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat a«ide the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue.
That laid their guilt -^) upon my guiltless shoulders.

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king?

Glo. I grant ye.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant
me too.
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him.

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;
For he was fitter for that place, than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place, but hell.

Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Anne. Some dungeon.

Glo. Your bed-chamber.

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest !

Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.

Anne. I hope so.

Glo. I know so. — But, gentle lady Anne, —

To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method; — ^^)
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect.

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep.
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide.
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck.
You should not blemish it, if I stood by :
As all the world is cheered by the sun.
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death
thy life!

Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature ; thou art both.

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural.
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable.
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband.
Did it to help thee to a better husband.

KXXV.

Act I.

KING RICHARD III

519

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could.

Anne. Name him.

Glo. Plantagenet.

Anne. Why, that was he.

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.

Anne. Where is he?

Glo. Here : [She spits at him.] Why

dost thou spit at me?

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake I

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee
dead!

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt

tears,
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, —
^*} Not, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made.
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him:
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death;
And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks.
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time,
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale.
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with

weeping.
I never su'd to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word ;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee.
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
[She looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo ! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

[He lays his Breast open; she offers at it with
his SiBord.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;
But 'twas thy beauty ^ ^) that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young
Kdward : — [She again offers at his Breast.

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

[She lets fall the Sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Anne. Arise, dissembler : though I wish thy death,
I Avill not be thy executioner.

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

Anne. I have already.

Glo. That was in thy rage:

Speak it again, and, even with the word,
This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, '
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.

Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.

Glo. 'Tis figur'd in

My tongue.

Anne. I fear me, both are false.

Glo. Then man

Was never true. ' ')

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.

Glo. Say then, my peace is made.

Anne. That shall you know

Hereafter.

Glo. But shall I live in hope?

Anne. All men,

I hope, live so.

Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Anne. To take, is not to give. [She puts on the Ring.

Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place: -')
Where — after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monast'ry, this noble king.
And wet his grave with my repentant tears, —
I will with all expedient duty see you:
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you.
Grant me this boon.

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
To see you are become so penitent. —
Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewell.

Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve:

But, since you teach me how to Hatter you.
Imagine I have said farewell already.

[Exeunt Lady Akke, Tkessex, and Berkley.

Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. - ^)

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming.
[Exeunt the rest, with the Corse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I'll have her, — but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me.
And I no friends to back my suit withal.
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing!
Ha! 2')

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, —
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature.
Young, valiant, w ise, and, no doubt, right royal, —
The spacious world cannot again afford:
And will she yet debase her eyes on me.
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier, ^<')
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot.
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors.
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost. j

But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave; j

And then return lamenting to my love. —
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, j

That I may see my shadow as I pass, [Exit, j

KBTV.

520

KING RICHARD III.

Act 1.

SCENE III.

The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivkrs, and
Lord Grby.

Riv. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt, his
majesty
Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse:
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.

Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me ?

Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord.

Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly
son.
To be your comforter, when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector?

Q.Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter Buckingham and Stanley.
Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and

Stanley.
Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace!
Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have

been !
Q.Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of
Stanley,
To your good prayer will scarcely say — amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife.
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers;
Or, if she be accus'd on true report.
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.
Q.Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley ?
Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I,
Are come from visiting his majesty.
Q.Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords?
Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheer-
fully.
Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! did you confer

with him?
Buck. Ay, madam: he desires to make atonement
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between them and my lord chamberlain;
And sent to warn them *•) to his royal presence.
Q. Eliz. 'Would all were well ! — But that will
never be; —
I fear, our happiness is at the height.

Enter Glostbh, Hastings, and Dorset.

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: —
Who are they, that complain unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly,
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair.
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog.
Duck with BVench nods and apish courtesy, ^'-)
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm.
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your
grace?

Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace.
When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong? —
Or thee? — or thee? — or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all? His royal grace, —
Whom God preserve better than you would wish ! —
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. ^ ^)

Q.Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter:
The king, of his own royal disposition.
And not provok'd by any suitor else;
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred.
That in your outward actions shows itself.
Against my children, brothers, and myself.
Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

Glo. I cannot tell ; — The world is grown so bad,
That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch :
Since every Jack became a gentleman, ^'*)
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

Q Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, bro-
ther Gloster;
You envy my advancement and my friends;
God grant, we never may have need of you!

Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need of you:
Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
Myself dlsgrac'd, and the nobility
Held in contempt; while great promotions'^)
Are daily given, to ennoble those
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

Q.Eliz. By Him, that raised me to this careful height
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
I never did incense his majesty
Against the duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury.
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

Riv. She may, my lord; for

Glo. She may, lord Rivers! — why, who knows
not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that:
She may help you to many fair preferments;
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honours on your high desert.
What may she not? She may, — ay, marry, may
she, —

Riv. What, marry, may she?

Glo. What, marry, may she? marry with a king,
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
I wis, your grandam had a worser match.

Q.Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty,
Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid.
Than a great queen, with this condition —
To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at:'^)

Small joy have I in being England's queen.

Enter Queen Margaret, behind.

Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God I beseech
thee!
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.

Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king?
Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said
I will avouch, in presence of the king:
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
'Tis time to speak, my pains'") are quite forgot.

Q.Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well:
Thou kill'dst my husband in the Tower.
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,

BKIV.

Act I.

KING RICHARD III.

521

I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends;
To royalize^*) his blood, I spilt mine own.

Q.Mar. Ay, ^'J and much better blood than his,
or thine.

Glo. In all which time, you and your husband Grey,
Were factious for the house of Lancaster; —
And, Rivers, so were you: — Was not your husband
In Margaret's battle *°) at Saint Alban's slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.

Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon! —

Q. Mar. Which God revenge !

Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown;
And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up:
I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's,
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine;
I am too childish-foolish for this world.

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this
world,
Thou cacodaemon! there thy kingdom is.

Kiv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days.
Which here you urge, to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king;
So should we you, if you should be our king.

Glo. If I should be? — I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy, were you this country's king;
As little joy you may suppose in me,
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient. — [Advancing.

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have pill'd from me:*')
Which of you trembles not, that looks on me?
If, not, that I being queen, you bow like subjects;
Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? —
Ah, gentle villain,'*-) do not turn away!

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my
sight? *^)

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;
That will I make, before I let thee go.

Glo. Wert thou not banished, on pain of death?

Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in banishment,
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband and a son, thou ow'st to me, —
And thou, a kingdom; — all of you, allegiance:
This sorrow that I have, by right is yours;
And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine.

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, —
W hen thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper.
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes;
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ; —
His curses then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee;
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. **)

Q. Mar. So just is God, to right the innocent.

Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed, to slay that babe,
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dor. No man but prophesy'd revenge for it.

Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

Q. Mar. What ! were you snarling all, before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat.
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven,

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment.
Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven ? —
Why, then give way,dull clouds tomy quick curses! —
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king! **)
As ours by murder, to make hijn a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen.
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss;
And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief.
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! —
Rivers, — and Dorset, — you were standers by, —
And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your natural age.
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd
hag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou
shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store.
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe.
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
I And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends !
I No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine.
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd, *') abortive, rooting hog!*')
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature, * 8) and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour! thou detested

Glo. Margaret.

Q. Mar. Richard !

Glo. Ha?

Q. Mar. I call thee not.

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think.
That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names.

Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.
O, let me make the period to my curse.

Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in — Margaret.

Q. Elix. Thus have you breath'd your curse against
yourself.

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my
fortune !
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, ■* ')
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad.

Hast. False-T>oding woman, end thy frantic curse;
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience.

Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all mov'd
mine.

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught
your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty,
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects :
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.

Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic.

Q.Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert:

Kxrv.

522

KING RICHARD III.

Act I.

Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current:
O, that your young nobility could judge,
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
They that stand high, have many blasts to shake

them;
And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good counsel, marry ; learn it, learn it, marquis.

Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.

Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so high,
Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top.
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ; — alas ! —
alas! —
Witness my son, now in the shade of death: ■^")
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest: — ^')
O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it;
As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.

Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me ;
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame, —
And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage!

Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand,
In sign of league and amity with thee :
Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house!
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood.
Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass
The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky.
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.

0 Buckingham, beware of yonder dog;

Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
Have not to do with him, beware of him;
Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him;
And all their ministers attend on him.

Glo. What does she say, my lord of Buckingham ?

Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle
counsel ?
And sooth the devil that I warn thee from?
O, but remember this another day.
When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow;
And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. —
Live each of you the subjects to hi^ hate.
And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! [Exit.

Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.

Riv. And so doth mine; I muse, why she's at liberty.

Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother;
She hath had too much wrong, and I repent
My part thereof, that I have done to her.

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge.

Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.

1 was too hot to do some body good.
That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;

He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains; — *^)
God pardon them that are the cause thereof!

Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion.
To pray for them that have done scath to us. *^)

Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ; —
For had I curs'd now, 1 had curs'd myself. [Aside.

Enter Catesby.
Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, —
And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords.
Q. FAiz. Catesby, I come : — Lords, will you go
with meV

Riv. Madam, we will attend upon ^ •*) your grace.
[Exeunt all but Glosteb.

Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, — whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, —
I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them — 'tis the queen and her allies.
That stir the king against the duke my brother.
Now they believe it; and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture.
Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

Enter two Murderers.
But soft, here come my executioners, —
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates?
Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the
warrant.
That we may be admitted where he is.

Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me :

[Gives the Tf^arrant.
When you have done, repair to Crosby-place.
But, sirs, be sudden in tlie execution.
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps,
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.

1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate.
Talkers are no good doers; be assur'd.
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.

Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes
drop tears: **)
I like you, lads; — about your business straight;
Go, go, despatch.

1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.
The same. A Room in the Tower,
Enter Clarence and Bhakenbchit,

Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?

Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night.
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights.
That, as I am a christian faithful man, ^*)
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray
you, tell me.

Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
And, in my company, my brother Gloster:
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches; thence we look'd towards England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times.
During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and. In falling.
Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board.
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord! methought, what pain It was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water In mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl.

XKIV.

Act I.

KING RICHARD III.

523

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, *')

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes

Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept

(As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems,

That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep.

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death.
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk, **)
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
O, then began the tempest to my soul!
I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood.
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet ray stranger soul.
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick:
Who cry'd aloud, — What gcourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, —
Clarence is come, — falscj fleeting, perjur'd Cla-
rence, —
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ; —
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments! —
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears ^
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, though it afl"righted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, —
That now give evidence against my soul, —
For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me —

0 God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone :

O, spare my guiltless w ife, and my poor children ! —

1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;
Rly soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace good
rest! — [Clake>ce reftosea himself on a Chair.
Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for unfelt imaginations.
They often feel a world of restless cares:
So that, between their titles, and low name.
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter the two Murderers.

1 Murd. Ho! who's here?

Brak. What would'st thou, fellow? and how cam'st

thou hither?
IMurd. I would speak witii Clarence, and I came
hither on my legs.
Brak. What, so brief?

2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious : —
Let him see our commission; ^'j j^jj^ j^g more.

[A Paper is delivered to Brakenbury, who readt it.
Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver
The noble duke of Clarence to your hands: —
I will not reason what is meant hereby.

Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.

Here are the keys: — there sits the duke asleep:

I'll to the king; and signify to him.

That thus I- have resign'd to you my charge. ^°)

1 Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom:
Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury.

2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

1 Murd. No; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when
he wakes.

2 Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never
wake until the great judgment day.

1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him
sleeping.

2 Murd. The urging of that word, jugdment, hath
bred a kind of remorse in me.

1 Murd. What? art thou afraid?

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it;
but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which
no warrant can defend me.

1 Murd. I thought, thou had'st been resolute.

2 Murd. So I am, to let him live.

1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell
him so.

2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little: I hope,®')
this holy humour of mine will change; it was wont
to hold me but while one would tell twenty.

1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now?

2 Murd. 'F'aith, some certain dregs of conscience
are yet within me.

1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's
done.

2 Murd. Come, he dies; I had forgot the reward.

1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now?

2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse.

1 Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give us
our reward, thy conscience flies out.

2 Murd. 'Tis no matter ; let it go ; there's few or
none, will entertain it.

1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again?

2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous
thing, it makes a man a coward ; a man cannot steal,
but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it
checks him ; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's
wife, but it detects him: 'Tis a blushing shame-
faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills
one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a
purse of gold, that by chance I found; it beggars
any man that keeps it : it is turned out of all towns
and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man,
that means to live well, endeavours to trust to him-
self, and live without it.

1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, per-
suading me not to kill the duke.

2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe
him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to make
thee sigh.

1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail
with me.

2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow,*-) that respects
his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?

1 Murd. Take him over the costard '^) with the
hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the
malmsey-butt, in the next room.

2 Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop of him.

1 Murd. Soft! he wakes.

2 Murd. Strike.

1 Murd. No, we'll reason <^'*) with him.

Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of

wine.
1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.
Clar. In God's name, what art thou?
1 Murd. A man, as you are.
Clar. But not, as I am, royal.

HKIV.

524

KING KICHARD III.

Act IL

1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal.

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are
humble.

1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks
mine own.

Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak !
Your eyes do menace me: Why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

Both Murd. To, to, to,

Clar. To murder me?

Both Murd. Ay, ay.

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so.
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king.
Clar. I shall be reconcii'd to him again.

2 Murd. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.
Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men.

To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?
What lawful quest ^^) have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
Before I be convict by course of law.
To threaten me with death, is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope for any goodness, "^)
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins.
That you depart, and lay no hands on me;
The deed you undertake is damnable.

1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command.

2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king.
Clar. Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings

Hath in the table of his law commanded,
That thou shalt do no murder; Wilt thou then
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's?
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand.
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl
on thee,
For false forswearing, and for murder too :
Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God,
Didst break that vow : and, with thy treacherous blade,
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and

defend.

1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law
to us.
When thou hast broke it in such dear '') degree?

Clar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:
'*) He sends you not to murder me for this;
For in that sin *')) he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed,
O, know you, that he doth it publicly;
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
He needs no indirect nor lawless course,
To cut off those that have offended him.

1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister,
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, '**)
That princely novice,^') was struck dead by thee?

Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault.
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me;
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are hir'd for meed, go back again.
And I will send you to my brother Gloster;
Who shall reward you better for my life.
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster

hates you.

Clar. O, no; he loves me, and he holds me dear;
Go you to him from me.

Both Murd. Ay, so we will.

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship:
Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep.

1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson'd us to weep.

Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you
deceive yourself;
'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

Clar. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune,
And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs.
That he would labour my delivery.

1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die,

my lord.

Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul.
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
That thou wilt war with God, by murdering me: —
Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed.

2 Murd. What shall we do?

Clar. Relent, and save your souls.

1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish.
Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. —

Which of you, if you were a prince's son,

Being pent from liberty, as I am now, —

If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, —

Would not entreat for life? —

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ;

O, if thine eye be not a flatterer.

Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,

As you would beg, were you in my distress.

A begging prince what beggar pities not?

2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord.

1 Murd. Take that, and that; if all this will not do,

^Stabs him.
I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

[Exit, with the Body.

2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately despatch'd !
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands

Of this most grievous guilty murder done!

Re-enter first Murderer.

1 Murd. How now? what mean'st thou, that thou

help'st me not?
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you
have been.

2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his

brother !
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit.

1 Murd. So do not I; go, coward, as thou art. —
Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole,
Till that the duke give order for his burial:
And when I have my meed, I will away;
For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit.

ACT II,

SCENE I. The tame. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Edward, (led in sick,') Queen Eliza-

BKTII, DoRSKT, RiVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM,

Grey, and others.

K.Edw. Why, so: — now have I done a good
day's work ; —

KXTV.

Act II.

KING RICHARD III.

525

You peers, continue this united league:
I every day expect an embassage
From ray Redeemer to redeem me hence;
' ) And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.
Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand ;
Dissemble not your hatred, -) swear your love.
Bio. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging
hate;
And with ray hand I seal my true heart's love.
Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!
K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your
king;
Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings.
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
Either of you to be the other's end.
Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!
Biv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!
K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, —
Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; —
You have been factious one against the other.
Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;
And what you do, do it unfeignedly.
Q. Eliz. There, Hastings; — I will never more
remember
Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine!
K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him — Hastings, love lord

marquis.
Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest.
Upon my part shall be inviolable.
Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset.

K.Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this
league
With thy erabracements to my wife's allies.
And make me happy in your unity.
Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate
Upon your grace, [to the Queen] but with al) du-
teous love
Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish ifle
With hate in those where I expect most love!
When I have most need to employ a friend.
And most assured that he is a friend,
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
Be he unto me! this do I beg of heaven.
When I am cold in love to you, or yours.

[Embracing Rivers, ^c.
K.Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
There wanteth now our brother Gloster here.
To make the blessed period of this peace.
Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

Enter Gloster.

Glo. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and queen ;
And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day: —
Brother, we have done deeds of charity ;
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate.
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege. —
Among this princely heap, if any here,
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
Hold me a foe;

If I luiwittingly, or in my rage.
Have ought committed that is hardly borne
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
'Tis death to me, to be at enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good men's love, —
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you.
Which I will purchase with my duteous service; —
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodged betw een us ; —

Of you, lord Rivers, — and, lord Grey, of you, —
That all without desert have frown'd on me; -
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive.
With whom my soul is any jot at odds.
More than the infant that is born to-night;
I thank my God for my humility.

Q.Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter:
I would to God, all strifes were well compounded.
My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this,
,To be so flouted in this royal presence?
Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead?

[They all ttart.
You do him injury, to scorn his corse.

K.Edw. Who knows not, he is dead! who knows
he is?

Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this !

Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest?

Dor. Ay, my good lord ? and no man in the presence.
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

K.Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd.

Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died.
And that a winged Mercury did bear;
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand.
That came too lag to see him buried: —
God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal.
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, ^)
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did.
And yet go current from suspicion!

Enter Stanley.

Stan. A boon, ray sovereign, for ray service done!

K.Edw. I pr'ythee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.

Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me.

K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re-
quest'st.

Stan. The forfeit,*) sovereign, of my servant's life;
Who slew to-day, a riotous gentleman.
Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk.

K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's
death, *)
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath,
Kneel'd at ray feet, and bade me be advis'd?
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love?
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had rae down, he rescued me,
And said. Dear brother, live, and be a king?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
BVozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments; and did give hunself.
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals.
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you: —
But for my brother, not a man would speak, —
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. — The proudest of you all
Have been beholden to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life. —
O God! I fear, thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. —

XXIV.

526

KING RICHARD III.

Act II.

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O,
Poor Clarence!

[Exeunt King, Qbeen, Hastings, Rivers,
Dorset, and Gbev.

Glo. This is the fruit of rashness ! — Mark'd you not,
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death?
O! they did urge it still unto the king:
God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go,
To comfort Edward with our company?

Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt,

SCENE n.

The same.

Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and
Daughter of Clarknck.

Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?

Duch. No, boy.

Daugh. VVhy do you weep so oft? and beat your
breast ;
And cry — O Clarence, my unhappy son!

Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
And call us — orphans, wretches, cast-aways,
If that our noble father be alive?

Duch. My pretty cousins,') you mistake me both;
I do lament the sickness of the king.
As loath to iose him, not your father's death ;
It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost.

Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
The king my uncle is to blame for this:
God will revenge it; whom I will importune
With earnest prayers all to that effect.

Daugh. And so will I.

Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love
you well:
Incapable and shallow innocents, ')
You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.

Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster
Told me, the king provok'd to't by the queen,
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him:
And when my uncle told me so, he wept.
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
Bade me rely on him, as on my father.
And he would love me dearly as his child.

Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle
shapes.
And with a virtuous visor hide deep yice!
He is my son, ay, and therein my shame,
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam ?

Duch. Ay, boy.

Son. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is this?

Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly ; Rivers,
and Dorset following her.

Q. Elis. Ah ! who shall hinder me to wail and weep ?
To chide my fortune, and torment myself?
I'll join with black despair against my soul,
And to myself become an enemy.

Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience ?

Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence : —
Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. —
Why grow the branches, when the root is gone?
Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap? —
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief;
That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's;
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him
To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.

Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow,
As 1 had title in thy noble husband!
1 have bewept a worthy husband's death.

And liv'd by looking on his images: ^)
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death;
And I for comfort have but one false glass.
That grieves me when I see my shame in him.
Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother,
And hast the comfort of thy children left thee:
But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms.
And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I,
(Thine being but a moiety of ray grief,)
To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries?

Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's death;
How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd.
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth laments:
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
That I, being governed by the wat'ry moon.
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!
Ah, for ray husband, for my dear lord Edward!

Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence.

Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and
Clarence !

Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward? and he's gone.

Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence? and he's gone.

Duch. What stays had I, but they? and they are gone.

Q. Eliz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss.

Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss.

Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss.
Alas! I am the mother of these griefs;
Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general.
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I;
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she:
These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:
I for an Edward weep, so do not they: —
Alas! you three, on me, threefold distre^s'd.
Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow's nurse,
And I will pamper it with lamentations.

Dor. Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeas'J,
That you take with unthankfulness his doing;
In common worldly things, 'tis called — ungrateful.
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt,
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven.
For it requires ') the royal debt it lent you.

Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,
Of the young prince your son: send straight for him.
Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives :
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

Enter Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings,
Ratcliff, and others.

Glo. Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause
To wail the dimming of our shining star:
But none can cure their harms by wailing them. —
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy,
I did not see your grace: — Humbly on my knee
I crave your blessing.

Duch. God bless thee: and put meekness in thy
breast.
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

Glo. Amen; and make me die a good old man! —
That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing;
I marvel, that her grace did leave it out. [Aside. »°)

Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing peers.
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
Now cheer each other in each other's love:
Though we have spent our harvest of this king.
We are to reap the harvest of his son.
The broken rancour of your high swoln hearts.

XKIV.

Act II.

KING RICHARD III.

527

But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together,
Must gently be preserv'd, clierish'd, and kept:
Me seemeth good, that, Avith some little train.
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd
Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.

Riv. Why with some little train, my loid of Buck-
ingham?

Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude.
The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out;
Which would be so much the more dangerous.
By how much the estate is green, and yet ungo-

vern'd :
Where every horse bears his commanding rein,
And may direct his course as please himself.
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

Glo. I hope, the king made peace with all of us;
And the compact is firm, and true, in me.

Riv. And so in me; and so, I think, in all:
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach.
Which, haply, by much company might be urg'd:
Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham,
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.

Hast. And so say L

Glo. Then be it so; and go we to determine
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
Madam, — and you my mother, — will you go
To give your censures ' ' ) in this weighty business ?
[Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gloster.

Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince.
For God's sake, let not us two stay at home:
For, by the way, I'll sort occasion.
As index to the story ' ^) we late talk'd of.
To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince.

Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistorj-.
My oracle, my prophet! — My dear cousin,
I, as a child, will go by thy direction.
Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. A Street.

Enter two Citizens, meeting.

1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbour: Whither away

so fast?

2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself:
Hear you the news abroad V

1 Cit. Yes; the king's dead. '^}

2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better:
I fear, 1 fear, 'twill prove a giddy world.

Enter another Citizen.
S Cit. Neighbours, God speed !
1 Cit. Give you good morrow, sir.

3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Edward's

death? ^

2Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help, the while!
3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.

1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son shall

reign.
3 Cit. Woe to that land, that's govern'd by a child !

2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government ;
That, in his nonage, council under him,

And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself,

No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.

1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the sixth
Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

S Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends,

God wot;
For then this land was famously enrich'd

With politic grave counsel; then the king
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.

1 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and
mother.

3 Cit. Better it were, they all came by his father ;
Or, by his father, there were none at all:
For emulation now, who shall be nearest,
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster;
And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and proud:
And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule,
This sickly land might solace as before.

1 Cit. Coine, come, we fear the worst; all will be well.
3Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their

cloaks;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth:
All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear:
You cannot reason almost ' *) with a man

That looks not heavily, and full of dread.

3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so :
By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust
Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see

The water swell before a boist'rous storm.
But leave it all to God. Whither away?

2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

3 Cit. And so was I; I'll bear you company.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter the Archbishop o/'York, the young Duke of

York, Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess

of York.

Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-
Stratford ;
And at Northampton they do rest to-night: ' ^}
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.

Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince;
1 hope, he is much grown since last I saw him.

Q. Eliz. But I hear, no ; they say, my son of York
Hath almost over-ta'en him in his growth.

York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.

Duch. Why, my young cousin? it is good to grow.

York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother; Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster,
Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste.

Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did not
hold
In him that did object the same to thee:
He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young.
So long a growing, and so leisurely.
That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.

Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam.

Duch. I hope, he is; but yet let mothers doubt.

York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remem-
ber'd, "■)
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout.
To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine.

Duch. How, my young York? 1 pr'ythee, let me
hear it.

York. Marry, they say, my uncle grew so fast.
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old;
'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

KXIV.

528

KING RICHARD III

Act hi.

Duck. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee this?

York. Grandam, his nurse.

Duck, His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou

wast born.
York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.
Q.Eliz. A parlous boy: ") Go to, you are too

shrewd.
Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child.
Q. Elix. Pitchers have ears.

Enter a Messenger.

Arch. Here comes a messenger :

What news?

Mess. Such news, my lord,

As grieves me to unfold.

Q. Eliz. How doth the prince?

Mess. Well, madam, and in health.

Duch. What is thy news?

Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to
Pomfret,
With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

Duch. Who hath coimnitted them?

Mess. The mighty dukes,

Gloster and Buckingham.

Q.Eliz. For what offence?

Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd;
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed.
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

Q, Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house !
The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind;
Insulting tyranny begins to jut
Upon the innocent and awless ' ^) throne: —
Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!
I see, as in a map, the end of all.

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days;
How many of you have mine eyes beheld?
My husband lost his life to get the crown;
And often up and down my sons were tost,
E^or me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss:
And being seated, and domestic broils
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
Make war upon themselves; brother to brother.
Blood to blood, self 'gainst self: — O, preposterous
And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen:
Or let me die, to look on death no more!

Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanct-
uary. —
Madam, farewell.

Duch. Stay, I will go with you.

Q. Eliz. You have no cause.

Arch. My gracious lady, go, [to the Queen.

And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
For my part, I'll resign unto your grace
The seal I keep; And so betide to me.
As well I tender you, and all of yours!
Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same. A Street.

The Trumpets sound. Enter the Prince o/ Wales,

Glostkr, Buckingham, Cardinal Bourchier,

and others.

Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your
chamber. *)

Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign :
The weary way hath made you melancholy.

Prince. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way-
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy:
I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted .virtue of your years

Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit:
No more can you distinguish of a man.
Than of his outward show; which, God he knows.
Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous;
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words.
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts:
God keep you from them, and from such false friends !

Prince. God keep me from false friends ! but they
were none.

Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet
you.

Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train.

May. God bless your grace with health and happy

days!
Prince. I thank you, good my lord ; — and thank
you all. — [Exeunt Mayor, ^-c.

I thought my mother, and my brother York,
Would long ere this have met us on the way:
Fye, what a slug is Hastings! that he comes not
To tell us, whether they will come, or no.

Enter Hastings.

Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweating
lord.

Prince. Welcome, my lord : What, will our mother
come?

Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I,
The queen your mother, and your brother York,
Have taken sanctuary: The tender prince
Would fain have come with me to meet your grace.
But by his mother was perforce withheld.

Buck. Fye! what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers? — Lord cardinal, will your grace
Persuade the queen to send the duke of York
Unto his princely brother presently?
If she deny, — Lord Hastings, go with him.
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
Can from his mother win the duke of York,
Anon expect him here : But if she be obdurate
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
We should infringe the holy privilege
Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land,
Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

Buck. You* are too senseless-obstinate, my lord.
Too ceremonious, and traditional:-)
Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, ^)
You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
The benefit thereof is always granted
To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place,
And those who have the wit to claim the place:
This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it;
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:
Then, taking him from thence, that is not there.
You break no privilege nor charter there.
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;
But sanctuary children, ne'er till now.

Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for
once. —
Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me?

Hast. 1 go, my lord.

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you
may. [Exeunt Cardinal and IIastinus.

Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come.
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self.
If I may counsel you, some day, or two.
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:
Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
For your best health and recreation.

BXIV.

Act III.

KING RICHARD III.

529

Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place : —
Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;
"Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

Prince. Is it upon record V or else reported
Successively from age to age, he built it?

Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord.

Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd;
Methinks, the truth should live from age to age.
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, "*)
Even to the general all-ending day.

Glo. So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live long.

[^«jrfe.

Prince. What say you, uncle?

Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long.

Thus, like the formal vice. Iniquity, i

1.5) }

[Aside.

I moralize two meanings in one word.

Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;
With what his valour did enrich his wit.
His wit set down to make his valour live:
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, —

Buck. What, my gracious lord?

Prince. An if I live until I be a man,
I'll win our ancient right in France again.
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king.

Glo. Short summers lightly ') have a forward spring.

[Aside.

Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal.

Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke of
York.

Prince. Richard of York! how fares our lo\ing
brother ?

York. Well, my dread lord; ') so must I call you now.

Prince. Ay, brother; to our grief, as it is yours;
Too late he died, ^) that might have kept that title.
Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York?

York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O my lord.
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth:
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

Glo. He hath, my lord.

York. And therefore is he idle?

Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

York. Then is he more beholden to you, than I.

Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign;
But you have power in me, as in a kinsman.

York. I pray you, uncle, then, give me this dagger. ')

Glo. My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.

Prince. A beggar, brother?

York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;
And, being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

York. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it?

Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

York. O then, I see, you'll part but with light gifts;
In weightier things you'll say a beggar, nay.

Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear.

York. I weigh it lightly, ' ") were it heavier.

Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little lord ?

York. I would, that I might thank you as you
call me.

Glo. How?

York. Little.

Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in talk; —
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me : —
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
Because that I am little, like an ape.
He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons !
KKTV,

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle.
He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
So cunning, and so young, is wonderful.

Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass
along? ")
Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham,
Will to your mother; to entreat of her,
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you.

York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so.

York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

Glo. ^-) Why, sir, what should you fear?

York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost;
My grandam told me, he was murder'd there.

Prince. I fear no uncles dead.

Glo. Nor none that live, I hope.

Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear.
But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart,
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

[Exeunt Prince, Yoek, Hastings, Gabdinai,
and Attendants.

Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York
Was not incensed ' ^) by his subtle mother.
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ?

Glo. No doubt, no doubt: O, 'tis a parlous boy;
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable; **)
He's all the mother's, from the top to toe.

Buck. Well, let them rest. —
Come hither, gentle Catesby, ^*) thou art sworn
As deeply to effect what we intend.
As closely to conceal what we impart :
Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way; —
What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter
To make William lord Hastings of our mind.
For the instalment of this noble duke
In the seat royal of this famous isle?

Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the prince,
That he will not be won to aught against him.

Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? will
not he?

Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

Buck. Well then, no more but this: Go, gentle

Catesby,
And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings,
How he doth stand affected to our purpose;
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
To sit about the coronation.
If thou dost find hun tractable to us.
Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons:
If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling.
Be thou so too; and so break off the talk.
And give us notice of his inclination :
For we to-morrow hold divided councils, '^)
Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed.

Glo. Commend me to lord William: tell him, Catesby,
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
To-morrow are let blood at Pomf ret- castle;
And bid my friend, for joy of this good news.
Give mistress Shore one g-entle kiss the more.

Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.

Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.

Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

Cate. You shall, my lord.

Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us both.

[Exit Catesby.

Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we
perceive
Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

Glo. Chop off his head, man; — somewhat we
will do: —
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables
Whereof the king my brother was possess'd.

530

KING RICHARD III

Act III.

Buck. I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand.

Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.
Come, let us sup betimes; that afterwards
We may digest our complots in some form. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Before Lord Hastings' House.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, my lord, — [Knocking.

Hast, [ff-'ithin.] Who knocks?

Mess. One from lord Stanley. » ">)

Hast. [TTithin.] What is't o'clock ?

Mess. Upon the stroke of four.

Enter Hastings.

Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious ' ^} nights?

Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say.
First, he commends him to your noble lordship.

Hast. And then, —

Mess. And then he sends you word, he dreamt
To-night the boar had rased off his helm: *')
Besides, he says, there are two councils held;
And that may be determin'd at the one,
Which may make you and him to rue at the other.
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's plea-
sure, —
If, presently, you will take horse with him.
And with all speed post with him toward the north.
To shun the danger that his soul divines.

Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
Bid him not fear the separated councils:
His honour, ^'') and myself, are at the one;
And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby;
Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us,
Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance: ^*)
And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers:
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues,
Were to incense the boar to follow us.
And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase.
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;
And we will both together to the Tower,
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

Mess. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.

[Exit.

Enter Catesby.

Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord !

Hast. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are early stirring:
What news, what news, in this our tottering state ?

Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord;
And, I believe, will never stand upright,
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

Hast. How! wear the garland? dost thou mean
the crown?

Cate. Ay, my good lord.

Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my
shoulders.
Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

Cate. Ay, on my life ; and hopes to find you forward
Upon his party, for the gain thereof:
And thereupon, he sends you this good news, —
That, this same very day, your enemies.
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.

Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
Because they have been still my adversaries:
But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
God knows I will not do it, to the death.

Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelvemonth

hence, —
That they, who brought me in my master's hate,
I live to look upon their tragedy.
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,
I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't.

Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it.

Hast. O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do
With some men else, who think themselves as safe
As thou, and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
To princely Richard, and to Buckingham.

Cate. The princes both make high account of you, —
For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside.

Hast. I know, they do ; and I have well deserv'd it.

Enter Stanley.
Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear man ?
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

Stan. My lord, good morrow; and good morrow,'-}
Catesby: —
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, -^)
I do not like these several councils, I.

Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours; '*)
And never, in my life, I do protest.
Was it more precious to me than 'tis now:
Think you, but that I know our state secure,
I would be so triumphant as I am?

Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from
London,
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure,
And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust;
But yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast.
This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt; ^*)
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward !
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.

Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot you
what, my lord?
To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded.

Stan. They, for their truth, -<^) might better wear
their heads.
Than some that have accus'd them, wear their hats.
But come, my lord, let's away.

Enter a Pursuivant.

Hast. Go on before, I'll talk with this good fellow.

[Exeunt Stan, and Catesby.

How now, sirrah? how goes the world with thee?

Purs. The better that your lordship please to ask.

Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now,
Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet :
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
By the suggestion of the queen's allies;
But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,)
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state than ere I was.

Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good content!

Hast. Gramercy, fellow : There, drink that for me.
[Throwing him his Purse.

Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant.

Enter a Priest.
Priest. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your

honour.
Hast. 1 thank thee, good sir John, with all my hear*
I am in your debt for your last exercise; 2')
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.

Enter Buckingham.
Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamber-

lain?

XXIV.

Act III

KING RICHARD III.

531

Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. *®)

Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
The men you talk of came into my mind.
What, go you toward the Tower?

Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there :
I shall return before your lordship thence.

Halt. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.

Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st it
not. [Aside.

Come, will you go ?

Halt. I'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

Pomfret. Before the Castle.

Enter Ratcliff, teith a Guard, conducting Ritrrs,
Gret, and Vaughan, to Execution.

Rat. Come, bring forth the prisoners.

Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this, —
To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die.
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

Cfrey. God keep the prince from all the pack of you !
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.

Vaugh. You live, that shall cry woe for this here-
after.

Rat. Despatch; the limit of your lives is out.

Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
Within the guilty closure of thy walls,
Richard the second here was hack'd to death:
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat.
We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.

Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our beads.
When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I,
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

Riv. Then curs'd she Hastings, then curs'd she
Buckingham,
Then curs'd she Richard: — O, remember, God,
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us!
And for my sister, and her princely sons, —
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods.
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt!

Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiate. * ')

Riv. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan, — let us here
embrace :
Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeuia.

SCENE IV.

London. A Room in the Tower.

Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop of

Elt, Catbsby, Lovel,, and others, sitting at a

Table: Officers of the Council attending.

Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met
Is — to determine of the coronation:
In God's name, speak, when is the royal day?

Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time?

Stan. They are; and wants but nomination. '**)

Ely. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.

Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
Who is most inward^') with the noble duke?

Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know
his mind.

Buck. We know each other's faces : for our hearts, —
He knows no more of mine, than I of yours:
Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine:
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well ;
But, for his purpose in the coronation,
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd

His gracious pleasure any way therein:
But you, my noble lord, may name the time;
And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

Enter Glostbr.

Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself.

Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow :
I have been long a sleeper; but, I trust.
My absence doth neglect no great design,
Which by my presence might have been concluded.

Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, ^-) my lord,
William, lord Hastings, had pronounc'd your part, —
I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king.

Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be bolder ;
His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. — ^3)
My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries ^*) in your garden there;
I do beseech you, send for some of them.

Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.

[Exit Ely.

Olo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

[Takes him aside.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business;
And finds the testy gentleman so hot.
That he will lose his head, ere give consent.
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

Buck. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you.
[Exeunt Gloster and Bdckingham.

iSf an. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;
For I myself am not so well provided.
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.

Re-enter Bishop of Elt.

Ely. Where is my lord protector? I have sent
For these strawberries.

Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this
morning;
There's some conceit or other ^^) likes him well.
When he doth bid good-morrow with such spirit.
I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom,
Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he;
For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face,
By any likelihood he show'd to-day?

Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is offended ;
For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. ^')

Re-enter Glostbr and Buckingham.

Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve.
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft; and that have prev£iil'd
Upon my body with their hellish charms?

Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this noble presence
To doom the offenders: Whosoe'er they be,
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil,
Look how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
Consorted t^ith that harlot, strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord,

Glo. If! thou protector of this damned strumpet,
Talk'st thou to me of ifs? — Thou art a traitor: —
Off with his head : — now, by Saint Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see the same. —
Lovel, and Catesby, look that it be done;
The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me.

[Exeunt Council, loith Glostbr oTid Bdckihcbah.

Kiov. 34*

532

KING RICHARD III,

Act III.

Hast. Woe, woe, for England ! not a whit for me ;
For I, too fond, might have prevented this:
Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm:
But 1 disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly.
Three times to-day my foot-cloth hoi'se did stumble,^')
And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower,
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
O, now I want the priest that spake to me:
I now repent I told the pursuivant,
As too triumphing, how mine enemies,
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head.

Cate. Despatch, my lord, the duke would be at

dinner;
Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head.

Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men.
Which we more hunt for than the grace of Qod!
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks.
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Lov. Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.

Hast. O, bloody Richard! — miserable England!
I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee.
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. —
Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head;
They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The same. The Tower Walls.

Enter Grostkr and Buckingham, in rusty Armour,
marvellous ill-favoured.

Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change
thy colour?
Murder thy breath in middle of a word, —
And then again begin, and stop again.
As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror?

Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side,
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw.
Intending deep suspicion: ^^) ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles ;
And both are ready in their offices.
At any time to grace my stratagems.
But what, is Catesby gone?

Glo. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along:

Enter the Lord Mayor and Catbsby.

Buck. Let me alone to entertain lum. — Lord

mayor,

Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there.

Buck. Hark ! hark ! a drum.

Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for

you,

Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.
Buck. God and our innocence defend and guard us !

Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, witJi Hastings'* Head.

Glo. Be patient, they are friends; Ratcliff, and Lovel.

Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor.
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep.
I took him for the plainest harmless't ^') creature,
That breath'd upon the earth a Christian;
Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded
The history of all her secret thoughts:
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue.

That, his apparent open guilt omitted, —

I mean, his conversation'*") with Shore's wife, —

He liv'd from all attainder of suspect.

Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd
traitor
That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lord mayor.
Would you imagine, or almost believe,
(Were't not, that by great preservation
We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor
Tliis day had plotted, in the council-house.
To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster?

May. What! had he so?

Glo. What! think you we are Turks, or infidels?
Or that we would, against the form of law.
Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death;
But that the extreme peril of the case.
The peace of England, and our persons' safety,
Enforc'd us to this execution?

May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserv'd his death ;
And your good graces both have well proceeded.
To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
I never look'd for better at his hands.
After he once fell in with mistress Shore.

Buck. Yet had we not determin'd he should die,
Until your lordship came to see his end;
Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented:
Because, ray lord, we would have had you heard
The traitor speak, and timorously confess
The manner and the purpose of his treasons;
That you might well have signified the same
Unto the citizens, who, haply, may
Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death.

May. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall
serve,
As well as I had seen, and heard him speak:
And do not doubt, right noble princes both,
But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
With all your just proceedings in this case.

Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here,
To avoid the censures of the carping world.

Buck. But since you came too late of our intent,
Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.

[Exit Lord Mayor.

Glo. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post : —
There, at your meetest vantage of the time.
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:
Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen.
Only for saying — he would make his son
Heir to the crown; meaning, indeed, his house.
Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so.
Moreover urge his hateful luxury.
And bestial appetite in change of lust;
Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives,
Even where his raging eye, '*^) or savage heart.
Without control, listed to make his prey.
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : —
Tell them, when that my mother went with child
Of that insatiate Edward, noble York,
My princely father, then had wars in France;
And, by just computation of the time,
Fo<uid, that the issue was not his begot;
Which well appeared in his lineaments.
Being nothing like the noble duke my father:
Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;
Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives.

Buck. Doubt not, my lord: I'll play the orator.
As if the golden fee, for which I plead.
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.

Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's
castle; *-)

KKXV.

Act III.

KING RICHARD III

533

Where you shall find me well accompanied.
With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops.
Buck. I go; and, toAvards three or four o'clock,
Look for the news that the Guild-hall affords.

[Exit BCCKIJIGBAX.

Olo. Go, Level, with all speed to doctor Shaw. — *')
Go thou [to Cat.] to friar Penker; — bid them both
Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle.

[Exeunt Lotbl and Catesby.
Now will I in, to take some privy order
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
And to give notice, that no manner of person
Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Exit.

SCENE VI.

A Street.

Enter a Scrivener.

Seriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord
Hastings ;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd.
That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.
And mark how well the sequel hangs together: —
Eleven hours I have spent to write it over.
For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;
The precedent*"*) was full as long a doing:
And yet Avithin these five hours Hastings liv'd.
Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.
Here's a good world the while ! — Who is so gross,
That cannot see this palpable device?
Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not?
Bad is the world; and all will come to nought.
When such bad dealings must be seen in thought. * *)

[Exit.

SCENE vn.

The same. Court o/Baynard'« Cattle.
Enter Glostbr and Bcckingham, meeting.

Glo. How now, how now? what say the citizens?

Buck. Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,
The citizens are mum, say not a word.

Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

Buck. I did; vnth his contract with lady Lucy,
And his contract by deputy in France;
The insatiate greediness of his desires.
And his enforcement of the city wives;
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, —
As being got, your father then in France;
And his resemblance, being not like the duke.
Withal, I did infer your lineaments, —
Being the right idea of your father.
Both in your form and nobleness of mind:
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;
Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose,
Untouch'd, er slightly handled, in discourse.
And, when my oratory grew to an end,
I bade them, that did love their country's good.
Cry — God save Richard, England's royal king !

Glo. And did they so?

Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a word ;
But, like dumb statuas, or breathless stones, '*^)
Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale.
Which, when I saw, I reprehended them ;
And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence :
His answer was — the people were not us'd
To be spoke to, but by the recorder.
Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again; —
Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;

But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some followers of mine own.
At lower end o'the hall, hurl'd up their caps,
And some ten voices cried, Cfod sate king Richard!
And thus I took the vantage of those few, —
Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I;
This general applause, and cheerful shout.
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard:
And even here brake off, and came away.

Glo. What tongueless blocks were they: Would
they not speak?
Will not the mayor, then, and his brethren, come?

Buck. The mayor is here at hand, intend some
fear; "■>)
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:
And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;
For on that ground I'll make a holy descant;
And be not easily won to our requests;
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.

Glo. I go; and if you plead as well for them.
As I can say nay to thee for myself.
No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. ^ *)

Buck. Gro, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor
knocks. [Exit Glosteb.

Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens.

Welcome, my lord: I dance attendance here;
I think, the duke will not be spoke withal. —

Enter, from the Castle, Catesby.

Now, Catesby! what says your lord to my request?

Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord.
To visit him to-morrow, or next day :
He is within, with two right reverend fathers.
Divinely bent to meditation:
And in no wordly suit would he be mov'd.
To draw him from his holy exercise.

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke ;
Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen.
In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
No less importing than our general good.
Are come to have some conference with his grace.

Cate. I'll signify so much unto Mm straight. [-Exit.

Buck. Ah, ha ! my lord, this prince is not an Edward !
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, *')
But on his knees at meditation;
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines;
Not sleeping, to engross *") his idle body.
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul :
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.

May. Marry, God defend, his grace should say as
nay! SI)

Buck. I fear, he will : Here Catesby comes again. —

Re-enter Catesby.
Now, Catesby, what says his grace?

Cate. He wonders to what end yoa have assembled
Such troops of citizens to come to him.
His grace not being wam'd thereof before.
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
" Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;
Bnd so once more return and tell his grace.

[Exit Catbsiv.
When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence;
So sweet is zealous contemplation.

534

KING RICHARD III.

Act III.

Enter Gloster in a Gallery above, between two
Bishops. Catesby returns.

May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two
clergymen !

Buck. Two props of virtue for a christian prince,
To stay him from the fall of vanity :
And see a book of prayer in his hand;
True ornaments to know a holy man. —
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion, and right christian zeal.

Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology;
I rather do beseech you pardon me.
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Neglect the visitation of my friends.
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?

Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above.
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

Glo. I do suspect, I have done some offence,
That seems disgracious in the city's eye;
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

Buck. You have, my lord ; Would it might please
your grace,
On our entreaties to amend your fault!

Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land ?

Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
The scepter'd office of your ancestors.
Your state of fortune, and your due of birth.
The lineal glory of your royal house.
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock:
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
(Which here we waken to our country's good,)
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
Her face defac'd with scars of infamy.
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf *^)
Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.
Which to recure, *^) we heartly solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land:
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain:
But as successively, from blood to blood,
Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens.
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation.
In this just suit come I to move your grace.

Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence.
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
Best fitteth my degree, or your condition:
If, not to answer, — you might haply think,
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty.
Which fondly you would here impose on me;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So season'd with your faithful love to me,
Then on the other side, I check'd my friends.
Therefore,— to speak, and to avoid the first;
And then, in speaking not to incur the last, —
Definitively thus I answer you.
Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert
Unmeritable, shuns your high request.
First, if all obstacles were cut away.

And that my path were even to the crown,

As the ripe revenue and due of birth;

Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,

So mighty, and so many, my defects,

That I would rather hide me from my greatness, —

Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, —

Than in my greatness covet to be hid,

And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.

But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me;

(And much I need to help you, **) if need were;)

The royal tree hath left us royal fruit.

Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,

Will well become the seat of majesty.

And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.

On him I lay what you would lay on me,

The right and fortune of his happy stars, —

Which, God defend, that I should wring from him !

Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, ^^)
All circumstances well considered.
You say, that Edward is your brother's son;
So say we too, but not by Edward's wifei
For first he was contract to lady Lucy,
Your mother lives a witness to his vow;
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the king of France.
These both put by, a poor petitioner,
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loath'd bigamy; ^')
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call — the prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate.
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffer'd benefit of dignity:
If not to bless us and the land withal.
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing time.
Unto a lineal true-derived course.

May. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.

Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit.

Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty: —
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.

Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal.
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart.
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, *')
Which we have noted in you to your kindred.
And equally, indeed, to all estates, —
Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no.
Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
But we will plant some other in your throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your house.
And, in this resolution, here we leave you; —
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.

[Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens,

Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their
suit;
If you deny them, all the land will rue it.

Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?
Well, call them again; I am not made of stone,
But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Exit Catesbv.
Albeit against my conscience and my soul. —

Be-enter Buckingham, and the i-est.
Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage, **) graA'e men, —
Since you will buckle fortune on my back.
To bear her burthen, whe'r I will, or no,
I fiiust have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach.
Attend the sequel of your imposition,

XXIV.

Act IV.

KIx\G RICHARD III.

535

Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this.

May. God bless your grace! we see it, and will
say it.

Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

Buck. Theu 1 salute you with this royal title, —
Long live king Richard, England's worthy king!

All. Amen.

Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?

Glo. Even when you please, since you will have it so.

Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your grace ;
And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.

Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again; —

[To the Bishopa.
Farewell, good cousin! — farewell, gentle friends?

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Before the Tower.

Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess of

York, and Marquis oyDoRsBT; on the other, Anne,

Duchess of Glostkr, leading Lady Margaret

Plaktagenet, Clarence'* young Daughter.

Duch. Who meets us here? — my niece Plantagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of GlosterV
Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. —
Daughter, well met.

Anne. God give your graces both

A happy and a joyful time of day!

Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Whither
away ?

Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess.
Upon the like devotion as yourselves.
To gratulate the gentle princes there.

Q Elix. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all together:

Enter Brakbnbcry.

And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes, —

Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave.

How doth the prince, and my young son of York?

Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.

Q Eliz. The king! who's that?

Brak. I mean, the lord protector.

Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly title !
Hath he set bounds between their love, and me?
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them?

Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them.

Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear my blame.
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.

Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so;
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.

[Exit B&AKKNBD&Y.

Enter Stanley.

Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. —
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,

[To the DucheHS of Glosteh.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder I
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat.
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.

Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!

Dor. Be of good cheer : — Mother, how fares your
grace?

Q. Elis. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone.
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas.
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house.
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, —
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam : —
Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery! —

0 my accursed womb, the bed of death;

A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world.
Whose unavoided eye is murderous!

Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste was sent.

Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. -^
O, would to God, that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow.
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! *)
Anointed let me be with deadly venom;
And die, ere men can say — God save the queen!

Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory ;
To feed ray humour, wish thyself no harm.

Anne. No ! w hy ? — When he, that is my husband
now.
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands,
Which issu'd from my other angel husband.
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face.
This was my wish, — Be thou, quoth I, accun'd.
For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And he thy wife (if any be so mad)
More miserable by the life of thee.
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death !
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again.
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words.
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse:
Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep.
But with his timorous dreams -) was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Q.Elis. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.

Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!

Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!

Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune

guide thee ; — [To Dobset.

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee! —

[To Annk.

Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess

thee! [To Q- Ei-izabeth.

1 to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen.

And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. ^)
Q.Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the
Tower. —
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes.
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt.

XKIV.

536

KING RICHARD III.

Act IV

Scene il.

A Room of State in the Palace.

Flourish of Trumpets. Richard, as King upon

his Throne; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page,

and others.

K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking-
ham,

Buck. My gracious sovereign.
K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy
advice,
And thy assistance, is king Richard seated: —
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in themV
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last?
K.Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,*)
To try if thou be current gold, indeed: —
Young Edward lives; — Think now what I would

speak.
Buck. Say on, my loving lord.
K.Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.
Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege.
K.Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward

lives.
Buck. True, noble prince.

K. Rich. O bitter consequence.

That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince ! —
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:
Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead:
And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure.
K.Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness
freezes :
Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die?
Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause,
dear lord.
Before I positively speak in this:
I will resolve your grace immediately.

[Exit Buckingham.
Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip. s)

K.Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools,

[Descends from his Throne.
And unrespective boys; ^) none are for me,
That look into me with considerate eyes;
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. —
Boy,

Page. My lord.

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold
Would tempt into a close exploit ') of death?

Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And vvill, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

K.Rich. What is his name?

Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel.

K.Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him
hither, boy. — [Exit Page.

The deep revolving witty «) Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels:
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd.
And stops he now for breath ? — well, be it so. —

Enter Stanley.
How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?
^tan. Know, my loving lord,

The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.
K.Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close, ')

Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman.
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: —
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. —
Look, how thou dream 'st! — I say again, give out.
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die:
About it; for it stands me much upon, ^°)
To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me. —

[Exit Catesby.
I must be married to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : —
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain ! But I am in
So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye

Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel.
Is thy name — Tyrrel?

Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

K.Rich. Art thou, indeed?

^y- , Prove me, my gracious lord.

K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies.

K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it ; two deep enemies.
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal upon: ^')
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them.
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come
hither, Tyrrel;
Go, by this token: — Rise, and lend thine ear.

[Whispers.
There is no more but so: — Say, it is done.
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.

Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit.

Re-enter Buckingham.

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.

K.Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to
Richmond.

Buck. I hear the news, my lord.

K. Rich. Stanley, he's your wife's son : — Well,
look to it.

Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables.
Which you have promised I shall possess.

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wile; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck. What says your highness to my just request?

K.Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the sixth
Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king.
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king! — perhaps

Buck. My lord,

K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at
that time,
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom, —

K. Rich. Richmond ! — When last I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle.
And call'd it — Rouge-mont: at which name I started;
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

Buck. My lord,

K.Rich. Ay, what's o'clock?

Buck. I am thus bold

To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me.

K.Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock?
Buck. Upon the stroke

Of ten.
K. Rich. Well, let it strike. » » )

KXIV.

Act IV.

KING RICHARD III.

537

Buck. Why, let it strike?

K.Rich. Because that, like a Jack, '^) thou keep'st
the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no.

K.Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
\Exeunt King Richard and Train.

Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service
With such contempt? made I him kuig for this?
O, let me think on Hastings; and be gone
To Brecknock, **) while my fearful head b on. [Exit.

SCENE m.

The same.

Enter Tyrrbl.

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch deed of piteous massac;"e,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery.
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs.
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion.
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay:
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'dmy mind;
But, O, the devil, — there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on, — we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature.
That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed. —
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse, i
They could not speak; and so I left them both.
To bear this tidings to the bloody king.

Enter King Richard.
And here he comes : — All health, my sovereign lord ! !

K.Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news? j

Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge |
Beget your happiness, be happy then, i

For it is done. |

K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ?

Tyr. I did, my lord.

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel ?

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper.
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
I^Iean time, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell, till then.

Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up close;
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom.
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond ' *) aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown.
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Enter Catesbt.

Cate. My lord,

K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in
so bluntly?

Cat*. Bad news, my lord; Morton is fled to Rich-
mond;

And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welchmen,
Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth.
K.Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near.
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come, — I have leam'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor "'i to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men: My counsel is my shield;
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. Before the Palace.

Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction ") am I witness to,
And will to France; hoping, the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here?

Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York.

Q.Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes!
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air,
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual.
Hover about me with your airy wings.
And hear your mother's lamentation!

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right ' ^)
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice.
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, —
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, 'fly from such gentle
lambs.
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
Whea didst thou sleep, ' ') when such a deed was
done?

Q.Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living
ghost.
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life

usurp'd.
Brief abstract and record of tedious days.
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

[Sitting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!

Q.Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a grave.
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat;
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here!
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we?

[Sitting down by ber.

Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent.
Give mine the benefit of seniory, ^'^y
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: —
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
*•) I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd himj
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him ;
I ha^ a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
kill'd him.

KKIV.

538

KING RICHARD III.

Act IV.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls.
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. —

0 upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body.

And makes her pew-fellow -^) with others' moan!

Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes;
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

Q. Mar. Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, -^) because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward ;
And the beholders of this tragic play.
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls.
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end :
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence: —
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, the dog is dead!

Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would
come,
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my
fortune ;

1 call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was.

The flattering index of a direful pageant, *'')

One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below:

A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;

A dream of Avhat thou wast; a garish flag.

To be the aim of every dangerous shot; -^)

A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;

A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Where is thy husband now? Avhere be thy brothers?

Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?

Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the

queen?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that foUow'd thee?
Decline all this, ^') and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me:
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert.
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my wearied head.
And leave the burden of it ail on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis-
chance, —
These English woes shall make me smile in France.

Q.EHz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day ;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he, that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with
thine !

Q Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce
like mine. [Exie Q. Margaret.

Duch. Why should calamity be full of words?

Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries !
Let them have scope : though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd : go with me.
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.

1^1) rum, within.
I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims.

Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching.

K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition ?

Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb.
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast -done.

Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden
crown.
Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown, - ')
And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?

Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
Clarence ?
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

Q.EHz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Duch. Where is kind Hastings?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets ! — strike alarum,
drums !
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say. —

[^Flourish. Alarumi.
Either be patient, and entreat me fair.
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.

Duch. Art thou my son?

K.Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.

K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, * ^)
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Duch. O, let me speak.

K. Rich. Do, then ; but I'll not hear.

Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.

K.Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in torment and in agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ?

Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou knowest it well.
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
Tetchy -') and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and furious;
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous;
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody;
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour canst thou name.
That ever grac'd me ^°) in thy company?

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, ' ') that
call'd your grace
To breakfast once, forth of ray company.

KKIV.

Act IV.

KING RICHARD III

539

If I be so disgracious in your sight,

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam. —

Strike up the drum.

Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak.

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.

Duch. Hear me a word.

For I shall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich. So.

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies.
And promise them success and victoi-y.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life, ^-) and doth thy death attend.

[Exit.

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less
spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going.

K.Rich. Stay, madam, ^^) I must speak a word
with you.

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood.
For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, —
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? O, let her live.
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy;
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.

Q.Eliz. To save her life, I'll say — she is not so.

K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.

Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers.

K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.

Q.Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were contraiy.

K.Rich. All unavoided^*) is the doom of destiny.

Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny :
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death.
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

K.Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my
cousins.

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction :
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart.
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use^s) of grief makes wild grief tame.
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys.
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling rest.
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody wars.
As I intend more good to you and yours.
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!

Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle
lady.

Q.Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their
heads?

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune,
The high imperial type^'') of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it ;
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise ^') to any child of mine?

K.Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all.
Will I withal endow a child of thine?
So in the lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs.
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love
thy daughter.

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
soul.

K. Rich. What do you think ?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from
thy soul :
So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers ;
And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.

K.Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter.
And do intend to make her queen of England.

Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen; Who
else should be?

<?.£?i«. What, thou?

K. Rich. Even so ! ^ 8) What think you

of it, madam?

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ?

K. Rich. That I would learn of you,

As one being best acquainted with her humour.

Q.Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart.

Q.Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her
brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, — as sometimes Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, —
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the way
To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz. There is no other way;

Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but
have thee, *9)
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now amended ;
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes.
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter.
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb.
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love.
Than is the doating title of a mother;
They are as children, but one step below.

XKTV.

540

KING RICHARD III.

Act IV.

i

Even of your mettle, of your very blood ;

Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans

Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. '*")

Your children were vexation to your youth,

But mine shall be a comfort to your age.

The loss, you have, is but — a son being king,

And, by that loss, your daugher is made queen.

I cannot make you what amends I would,

Therefore accept such kindness as I can.

Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,

Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,

This fair alliance quickly shall call home

To high promotions and great dignity:

The king, that calls your beauteous daughter, — wife,

B'amiliarly shall call thy Dorset — brother;

Again shall you be mother to a king.

And all the ruins of distressful times

Repair'd with double riches of content.

What! we have many goodly days to see:

The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,

Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl;

Advantaging their loan, Avith interest

Of ten-times- double gain of happiness.

Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;

Make bold her bashful years with your experience ;

Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ;

Put in her tender heart the aspiring tlame

Of golden sov'reignty; acquaint the princess

With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys;

And when this arm of mine hath chastised

The petty rebel, duU-brain'd Buckingham,

Bound with triumphant garlands will I come.

And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;

To whom I will retail my conquest won, '*^)

And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Cajsar.

Q. Eliz. What were I best to S9,y ? her father's
brother
Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee.
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting
war.

K.Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command,
entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King
forbids. "*-)

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

Q.Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.

K.Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.

Q.Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last?

K.Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens it.

Q.Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.

K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low.

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such sov'reignty.

K.Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told,

K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style.

K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead ; —
Too deep, and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam ; that is
past.

Q.Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings
break.

K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my
crown, —

Q.Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

XXIV.

K. Rich. I swear.

Q.Eliz. By nothing: for this is no oath.

Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour;
Thy garter, biemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory:
If something thou would'st swear to be believ'd.
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

K.Rich, Now by the world, —

Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

K. Rich. My father's death, —

Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

K. Rich. Then, by myself, —

Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-mis- us'd.

K. Rich. Why then, by God, — * ^}

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all.

If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him.
The unity, the king thy brother made.
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain.
If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy head.
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich. By the time to come.

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age:
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Mis-us'd ere usedj by times ill-us'd o'er past.

K.Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent!
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours!
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
In her consists my happiness, and thine;
Without her, follows to myself, and thee.
Herself, the laud, and many a christian soul.
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay :
It cannot be avoided, but by this;
It will not be avoided, but by this;
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,)
Be the attorney of my love to her.
Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish found in great designs.

Q.Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

K.Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

Q.Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself?

K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong
yourself.

Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.

K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them :
Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Q.Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

K.Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed.

Q.Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly.
And you shall understand from me her mind.

K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so fare-
well. [Kissing her. Exit Q. Elizabeth.

Relenting fool, and shallow, changing
How now? what news?

Act IV.

KING RICHARD III.

541

Enter Ratcliff ; Catksbt following.

Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back:
'Tis thought, that Richmond is their admiral;
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of liuckingham to welcome them ashore.
K.Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke**)
of Norfolk: —
RatcHfT, thyself, — or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.

K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke.

Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

K.Rich. Ratcliif, come hither: Post to Salisbury;

When thou com'st thither, — Dull, unmindful villain,

[To Catesby,
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke?
Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness'
pleasure,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby ; — Bid him levy
straight
The greatest strength and power he can make.
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
Cate. I go, [Exit.

Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salis-
bury ?
K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, be-
fore I go?
Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before.

Enter Stanley,

K. Rich. My mind is chang'd, — Stanley, what news
with you?

Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with
the hearing;
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.

K.Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
What need'st thou run so many miles about.
When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way?
Once more, what news?

Stan. Richmond is on the seas.

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him !
White liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

K. Rich. Well, as you guess ?

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
He makes for England, here to claim the crown.

K.Rich. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd?
Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd ?
What heir of York is there alive, but we?
And who is England's king, but great York's heir?
Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas?

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

K.Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege.
You cannot guess wherefore the Welchman comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

Stan. No, mighty liege, therefore mistrust me not.

K.Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him
back?
Where be thy tenants, and thy followers?
Are they not now upon the western shore.
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?

Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.

K.Rich. Cold friends to me: What do they in the
north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west ?

Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty king:
Plejiseth your majesty to give me leave,
I'll muster up my friends: and meet your grace.
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please.

. KKTV.

K.Rich. Ay, ay, thou would'st be gone to join
with Richmond:

1 will not trust you, sir,

Stan. Most mighty sovereign,

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful;
I never was, nor never will be false.
K. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you,
leave behind
Your son, George Stanley; look your heart be firm.
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to yon.

[Exit StakIiBY.

Enter a Messenger.

Mesg. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised.
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate.
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother.
With many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter another Messenger.

2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in

arms;
And every hour more competitors **')
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

Enter another Messenger.

3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham —
K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of

death? [He strikes him.

There, take thou that, till thou bring better news.

3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty,
Is, that, by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;
And he himself wander'd away alone.
No man knows whither.

, K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy :

There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

Enter another Messenger.

4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord Marquis Dorset,
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
But this good comfort bring I to your highness, —
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest:
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks.
If they were his assistants, yea, or no ;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne.

K. Rich. March, on, march on, since we are up
in arms;
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

Enter Catbsby.

Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken.
That is the best news; That the earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
Is colder news, but yet they must be told.*')

K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we rea-
son here, '*®)
A royal battle might be won and lost: —
Some one take order, Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury; — the rest march on with me.

[Exeunt.

542

KING RICHARD III.

Act V.

SCENE V.

A Room in Lord Stanley's House,

Enter Stanley and Sir Chuistopiier
Urswick. '*')

Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from
me: —
That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
If I revolt, oil' goes young George's head ;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

Christ. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in
Wales.

Stan. What men of name resort to him?

Christ. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt,
And Rice-ap-Thomas, with a valiant crew;
And many other of great fame and worth:
And towards London do they bend their course.
If by the way they be not fought withal.

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to
him ;
Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell. [Gives Papers to Sir Cjihistopheb.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Salisbury. An open Place.

Enter the Sheriff, and Guards, with Buckingham,
led to Execution.

Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with
him?

Sher. No, my good lord: therefore be patient.

Buck. Hastings and Edward's children, Rivers,
Grey,
Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice:
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge, mock my destruction! —
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?

Sher. It is, my lord.

Buck. Why, then All- Souls' day is my body's

dooms-day.
This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children, or his wife's allies:
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted:'
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul,
Is the detennin'd respite of my wrongs. ^)
That high Ail-seer which I dallied with.
Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms :
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, —
When he, quoth she, shall split thy hedrt with

sorrow.
Remember Margaret was a prophetess. —
Come, .sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt Buckingham, ^'c.

SCENE II.

Plain near Tamworth.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Richmond, Ox-
ford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Waltkr Herbert,
and others, with Forces, marching.

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
Bruis'd underneath the joke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar.
That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines.
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his

trough
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
Lies now -) even in the center of this isle.
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends.
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.

Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us.

Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends
for fear;
Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him.

Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name,

march :
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Bosworth Field.

Enter King Richard, and Forces; the Duke of
Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and others,

K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bos-

Avorth field. —
My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

K.Rich. My lord of Norfolk,

Nor. Here, most gracious liege.

K.Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! must
we not?

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord.

K.Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie to-night;
[Soldiers begin to set up the King's Tent.
But where, to-morrow? — Well, all's one for that. —
Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account:
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength.
Which they upon the adverse faction want.
Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen.
Let us survey the vantage of the ground; —
Call for some men of sound direction: — ^)
Let's want no discipline, make no delay;
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt.

Enter, on the other Side of the Field, Richmond,

Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and other Ij or ^s.

Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond'* Tent.

Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And, by the bright track of his fiery car.
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. —
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. —
Give me some ink and paper in my tent ; —

XXIV.

Act V.

KING RICHARD III.

543

I'll draw the form and model of our hattle,
Limit '*) each leader to his several charge.
And part in just proportion our small power.
My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William Brandon, —
And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me:
The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; — *)
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him.
And by the second hour in the morning
Desire the earl to see me in my tent: —
Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me;
Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?

Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
(Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,)
His regiment lies half a mile at least
South from the mighty power of the king.

Richfti. If without peril it be possible.
Sweet Blunt, make some good means <*) to speak

with him.
And give him from me this most needful note.

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it;
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!

Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come,
gentlemen.
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business;
In to my tent, the air is raw and cold.

[They withdraw into the Tent.

Enter, to his Tent, King Richard, Norfolk,
Ratcliff, and Catesby.

K.Rich. What is't o'clock?

Cate. It's supper time, my lord ;

It's nine o'clock. ")

K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. —

Give me some ink and paper. —
What, is my beaver easier than it was?
And all my armour laid into my tent?

Cate. It is, my liege; and all things are in rea-
diness.

K.Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

Nor. I go, my lord.

K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle
Norfolk.

Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit.

K. Rich. Ratcliff,

Rat. My lord?

K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms

To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night. —
Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch: — *)

[To Catesby.
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. —
Look that my staves ') be sound, and not too heavy.
Ratcliff,

Rat. My lord?

K.Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord North-
umberland? '°)

Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself,
Much about cock-shut time, ^') from troop to troop,
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

K.Rich. 1 am satisfied. ^^) Give me a bowl of
wine :
I have not that alacrity of spirit.
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. —
So, set it down. — '■^} Is ink and paper ready?

Rat. It is, my lord.

K. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; * *) leave me.

About the mid of night, come to my tent.
And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say.

[King RicHABD retires into his Tent. Exeunt
Ratcliff and Catesby.

Ricuhond'« Tent opens, and discovers him and
his Officers, ^-c.

Enter Stanley.

Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford.
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

Stan. I, by attorney, ' *) bless thee from thy mother,
Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
So much for that. — The silent hours steal on.
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
In brief, for so the season bids us be.
Prepare thy battle early in the morning;
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war. ' <^)
I, as I may, (that which I would, 1 cannot,)
With best advantage will deceive the time, ' ')
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:
But on thy side I may not be too forward.
Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George
Be executed in his father's sight.
Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love.
And ample interchange of sweet discourse.
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon;
God give us leisure for these rites of love!
Once more, adieu: — Be valiant, and speed well!

Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap;
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, *')
When I should mount with wings of victory:
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

[Exeunt Lords, ^c. with Stanley.
O Thou! whose captain I account myself,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye ;
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy victory!
To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes;
Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still! [S/eep».

The Ghost of Prince Edward, Son to Hbnrt the
Sixth, rises between the two Tents.

Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

[To King RicHABD.
Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
At Tewksbury; Despair therefore, and die! —
Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf:
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

The Ghost o/" King Henry the Sixth rises.

Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body

[To King RiCHABD,
By thee was punched full of deadly holes :
Think on the Tower, and me; Despair, and die;
Harry the sixth bids thee despair and die. —
Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!

[To RiCRMOKD.

Harry, that prophecy 'd thou should'st be king, J')
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep; Live, and flourish!

The Ghost o/ Clahencb rises.

Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

[To King Richard.
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death!
To-morrow in the battle think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword; ^°) Despair, and die!

544

KING RICHARD III

Act V.

Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,

[To Richmond.
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee;
Good angels guard thy battle! Live, and flourish!

The Ghosts o/Rivbrs, Grey, anrf Vauohan, rise.

Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

[To King Richard.
Rivers, that died at Pomfret! Despair, and die!
Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair !

[To King Richard.
Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan; and with guilty fear,
Let fall thy lance! Despair, and die! —

[To King Richard.
All. Awake ! and think, our wrongs in Richard's
bosom [To Richmond.

Will conquer him; — awake, and win the day!

The Ghost q/" Hastings rises.

Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,

[To King Richard.
And in a bloody battle end thy days!
Think on lord Hastings; and despair, and die! —
Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!

[To Richmond.
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise.

Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the
Tower,
Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die. —

Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy ;
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
Live, and beget a happy race of kings !
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

The Ghost of Queen Anne rises.

Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy
wife.
That never slept a quiet hour with thee.
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations :
To-morrow in the battle think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! —
Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;

[To Richmond.
Dream of success and happy victory;
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

The Ghost o/^ Buckingham rises.

Ghost. The first was I, that help'd thee to the crown ;

[To King Richard.
The last was I, that felt thy tyranny:
O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death;
Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath ! —
I died for hope, ^') ere I could lend thee aid:

[To Richmond.
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd:
God, and good angels, fight on Richmond's side;
And Richard falls in height of all his pride.

[The Ghosts vanish. King Richard starts
out of his dream.
K.Rich. Give me another horse, — *^) bind up
my wounds, —
Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ; I did but dream. —
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ; —
The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:

Richard loves Richard; that is, I am L

Is there a murderer here? No; — Yes; I am:

Then fly, — What, from myself ? Great reason: Why?

Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?

I love myself. -^) Wherefore? for any good.

That I myself have done unto myself?

O, no : alas, I rather hate myself.

For hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain : Yet I lie, I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues.

And every tongue brings in a several tale.

And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;

Murdex', stern murder, in the dir'st degree;

All several sins, all us'd in each degree.

Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty !

I shall despair. — • There is no creature loves me;

And, if I die, no soul will pity me: —

Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself

Find in myself no pity to myself.

Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd

Came to my tent: and every one did threat

To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

'^ Enter Ratcliff.

^'

Rat. My lord,

K.Rich. Who's there?

Rat. Ratcliff, my lord ; 'tis I. The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn :
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

K. Rich. O, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful
dream! —
What thinkest thou ? will our friends prove all true?

Rat. No doubt, my lord.

K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear, —

Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows,

K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To hear if any mean to shrink from me.

[Exeunt King Richard and Ratcliff.

Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others.

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond.

Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

Lords. How have you slept, my lord ?

Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest- boding
dreams
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head.
Have I since your departure had, my lords.
Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mur-
der'd.
Came to my tent, and cried — On! victory!
I promise you, my heart is very jocund
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning is it, lords?

Lords. Upon the stroke of four.

Rich. Why then 'tis time to arm, and give direc-
tion. [He advances to the Troops.
More than I have said, loving countrymen,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, —
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side;
The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
Richard except, those, whom we fight against,

XXIV.

Act V.

KING RICHARD III.

545

Had rather have us win, than him they follow.
For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide;
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help

him;
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, ^'*) where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy:
Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers;
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down.
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
If you do free your children from the sword.
Your children's children quit**) it in your age.
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights.
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords:
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt -'')
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully;
God, and Saint George! -') Richmond and victory!

\Exeunt.

Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants,
and Forces.

K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touching
Richmond ?

Rat. That he was never trained up in arms.

K. Rich. He said the truth: And what said Sur-
rey then?

Rat. He smil'd and said, the better for our purpose.

K, Rich. He was i'the right ; and so, indeed, it is.

[Clock strikes.
Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. —
Who saw the sun to-day?

Rat. ^ Not I, my lord.

K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine ; for, by the book.
He should have brav'd the east -*) an hour ago:
A black day will it be to somebody. —
Ratcliff. —

Rat. My lord ?

K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ;

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
I would, these dewy tears were from the ground.
Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me.
More than to Richmond? for the self-same heaven.
That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him.

Enter Norfolk.

Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in the field.

K.Rich. Come, bustle, bustle; — Caparison my
horse; —
Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
And thus my battle shall be ordered.
My forward shall be drawn out all in length,
Consisting equally of horse and foot;
Our archers shall be placed in the midst:
John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
They thus directed, we ourself will follow ^9)
In the main battle; whose puissance on either side
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
This, and Saint George to boot! — ^o) Whatthink'st
thou, Norfolk?

KKTV.

JYor. A good direction, warlike sovereign.
This found I <fti my tent this morning.

[Giving a Scrawl.

K.Rich. Jocky ofNorfolky be not too bold, [Reads.
For Dickon ^ ') thy master is bought and sold.
A thing devised by the enemy. —
Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge:
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;
Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devls'd at first to keep the strong in awe;
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell meli;

If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
Remember whom you are to cope withal; —
A sort of vagabonds, ^^) rascals, and run-aways,
A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth
To desperate ventures ^^) and assur'd destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest; ^'*)
You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives.
They would restrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow.
Long kept In Bretagne at our mother's cost ?
A milk-sop, one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as over shoes In snow?
Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
Lash hence these over-weenIng rags of France,
These famlsh'd beggars, weary of their lives;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit.
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves :
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us.
And not these bastard Bretagnes, whom our fathers
Have In their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd.
And, on record, left them the heirs of shame.
Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives?
Ravish our daughters ? — Hark, I hear their drum.

[Drum afar off.
Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride In blood;
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! — ^ *)

Enter a Messenger.

What says lord Stanley? will he bring his power?

Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come.

K. Rich. Off Instantly with his son George's head.^ *)

Nor. My lord, the enemy Is pass'd the marsh;
After the battle let George Stanley die.

K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my

bosom:
Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons !
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Another Part of the Field.

Alarum: Excursions. £nfcr Norfolk, and Forces;
to him Catbsby.

Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger;
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights.
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death:
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

Alarum. Enter King Richard.

K.Rich. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse.

35

546

KING RICHARD III.

Act V.

K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast.
And I will stand the hazard of the die:
I think, there be six RIchmonds in the field;
Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : —
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

[Exeunt.

Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond;

and exeunt, fighting. Retreat, and flourish. Then

enter Richmond, Stanley, bearing the Crown,

with divers other Lords, and Forces.

Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious
friends ;
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit
thee !
Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty,
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal;
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all ! —
But, tell me first, ^ ') is young George Stanley living?

Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town ;
Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

Richm. What men of name are slain on either side ?

Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers,
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon.

Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled.
That in submission will return to us;
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament.
We will unite the white rose with the red: —
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction.
That long hath frown'd upon their enmity! —
What traitor hears me, and says not, — amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son.
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire;
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided, in their dire division. —
O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,)
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace.
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!
Abate the edge ^^) of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce^') these bloody days again.
And make poor England weep in streams of blood !
Let them not live to taste this land's increase.
That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again;
That she may long live here, God say — Amen!

[Exeunt.

XXV.

KING HENRY VIII.

PEBSONS BEPRESENTED.

King Henry the Eighth.

Cardinal WoLSEr,

Cardinal Camprius.

Capucius, Ambassador from t?ie Emperor ChaxlesY.

Cranmbr, Archbishop of Canterbury.

Duke of Norfolk.

Duke of Buckingham.

Duke of Suffolk.

Earl of Surrey.

Lord Chamberlain.

Lord Chancellor.

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester.

Bishop of Lincoln.

Lord Abergavenny.

Lord Sands.

Sir Henry Guildford.

Sir Thomas Lovbll.

Sir Anthony Dbnny.

Sir Nicholas Vaux.

Secretaries to Wolsey.

Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey.

Griffith, Gentleman-Usher to Queen Katharine.

Three other Gentlemen.

Doctor Butts, Physician to the King.

Garter, King at Arms.

Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham.

Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms.

Door-keeper of the Council-Chamber.

Porter, and his Man.

Page to Gardiner.

A Crier.

Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry, after-
wards divorced.

Anns Bullen, her Maid of Honour, afterwards
Queen.

An old Lady, Friend to Anne Bullen.

Patience, Woman to Queen Katharine.

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows;
Women attending ttpon the Queen; Spirits
which appear to her: Scribes, Officers,
Guards, and other Attendants.!

Scene — chiefly in London and Westminster; once at Kimbolton.

PROLOGUE.

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

The subject will deserve it. Such, as give

Their money out of hope they may believe.

May here find truth too. Those, that come to see

Only a show or two, and so agree.

The play may pass; if they be still, and willing,

I'll undertake, may see away their shilling

Richly in two short hours. Only they.

That come to hear a merry, bawdy play,

A noise of targets; or to see a fellow

In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow,

Will be deceiv'd: for, gentle hearers, know.

To rank our chosen truth with such a show

As fool and fight is, ») beside forfeiting

Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,

(To make that only true we now intend,) -)

Will leave us never an understanding friend.

Therefore, for goodness' sake, and, as you are known

The first and happiest hearers of the town.

Be sad, as we would make you: Think, ye see

The very persons of our noble story,

As they were living; think, you see them great.

And foUow'd with the general throng, and sweat.

Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see

How soon this mightiness meets misery!

And, if you can be merry then, I'll say,
A man may weep upon his wedding day.

SCENE I.

ACT I.

London. An Ante-Chamber in
the Palace.

Enter the Duke o/Norfolk, at one Door; at the

other, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord

Abergavenny.

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have

you done.
Since last we saw in France?

Nor. I thank your grace:

Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.

Buck. An untimely ague

Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men.
Met in the vale of Arde.

Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: »)

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together;
Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have

weigh'd
Such a compounded one?

Buck. All the whole time

I was my chamber's prisoner,

XKV.

35

548

KING HENRY VIII.

Act I.

Nor. Then you lost

The view of earthly glory : Men might say,

Till this time, pomp was single; but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders it's : To-day, the French,
All clinquant, '*) all in gold, like heathen gods.
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain, India: every man, tliat stood,
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt: the madams too.
Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting: Now this mask
Was cry'd incomparable: and the ensuing night
Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings.
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst.
As presence did present them; him in eye
Still him in praise; and, being present both,
'Twas said, they saw but one; and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. *) When these suns
(E'er so they phrase them,) by their heralds challeng'd
The noble spirits to arras, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass ; that former fabulous story.
Being now seen possible enough, got credit.
That Bevis was believ'd. ^)

Buck. O, you go far.

Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing ')
Would by a good discourser lose some life,
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function. ^)

Buck. Who did guide,

I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together, as you guess ?

Nor. One, certes, that promises no element ')
In such a business.

Buck. 1 pray you, who, my lord?

Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion
Of the right reverend cardinal York.

Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is free'd
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities? ^°) I wonder
That such a keech ' ' ) can with his very bulk
Take up the rays o' the beneficial smi.
And keep it from the earth.

Nor. Surely, sir.

There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends:
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grace
Chalks successors their way,) nor call'd upon
For high feats don« to the crown; neither allied
To eminent assistants, but, spider-like.
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note.
The force of his own merit makes his way;
A gift that heaven gives for him, Avhich buys
A place next to the king,

Aber. I cannot tell

What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him : Whence has he that ?
If not from hell, the devil is a niggard;

Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.

Buck. Why the devil.

Upon this French going-out, took he upon him.

Without the privity o' the king, to appoint

Who should attend on him? He makes up the file ' -)

Of ail the gentry; for the most part such

Too, whom as great a charge as little honour

He meant to lay upon: and his own letter.

The honourable board of council out,

Must fetch him in he papers. *^)

Aber. I do know

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.

Buck. O, many

Have broke their backs with laying manors on them
For this great journey. What did this vanity,
But minister communication of
A most poor issue? ^*)

Nor. Grievingiy I think,

The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.

Buck. Every man,

After the hideous storm that foUow'd, was
A thing inspir'd; and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.

Nor. Which is budded out;

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

Aber. Is it therefore

The ambassador is silenc'd? **)

Nor. Marry, is't.

Aber. A proper title of a peace;") and purchas'd
At a superfluous rate!

Buck. Why, all this business

Our reverend cardinal carried. ' ' )

Nor. 'Like it your grace.

The state takes notice of the private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you,
(And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read
The cardinal's malice and his potency
Together: to consider further, that
What his high hatred would effect, wants not
A minister in his power: You know his nature,
That he's revengeful; and I know, his sword
Hath a sharp edge: it's long, and, it may be said.
It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend.
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel.
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock.
That I advise your shunning.

Enter Cardinal Wolsby, (f/te Purse borne before
him,') certain of the Guard, and two Secreta-
ries with papers. The Cardinai, iti his passage
fixeth his eye on Buckingham, and Buckingham
on him, both full of disdain.

Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha?
Where's his examination?

1 Seer. Here, so please you.

Wol. Is he in person ready?

1 Seer. Ay, please your grace.

Wol. Well, we shall then know more; and Buck-
ingham
Shall lessen this big look.

[Exeunt Wolsev and Train.

Buck. This butcher's cur ^^) is venom-mouth' d,
and I
Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore, best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
Out-worths a noble's blood. *')

Nor. What, are you chafd?

Ask God for temperance ; that's the appliance only.
Which your disease requires.

Buck. I read in his looks

Matter against me; and his eye revil'd
Me, as his abject object: at this instant
He bores me with some trick: ^"') He's gone to

the king;
I'll follow, and out-stare him.

KKV.

Act J.

KING HENRY VIII.

549

Nor. Stay, my lord,

And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about: To climb steep hills,
Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like
A full hot horse; who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
Can advise me like you: be to yourself
As you would to your friend.

Buck. I'll to the king:

And from a mouth of honour ^ ' ) quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim,
There's difference in no persons.

Nor. Be advis'd :

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: We may outrun.
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by over-running. Know you not.
The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er,
In seeming to augment it, wastes it? Be advis'd:
I say again, there is no English soul
More stronger to direct you than yourself:
If with the sap of reason you would quench,
Or but allay, the fire of passion.

Buck. Sir,

I am thankful to you: and I'll go along
By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow,
(Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but
From sincere motions,) --) by intelligence.
And proofs as clear as founts in July, when •

We see each grain of gravel, I do know
To be corrupt and treasonous.

Nor. Say not, treasonous.

Buck. To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch
as strong
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox.
Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous,
As he is subtle; and as prone to mischief.
As able to perform it: his mind and place
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,)
Only to show his pomp as well in France
As here at home, suggests -^) the king our master
To this last costly treaty, the interview.
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass
Did break i' the rinsing.

Nor. 'Faith, and so it did.

Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning
carcUnal
The articles o' the combination drew.
As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified.
As he cried. Thus let be: to as much end.
As give a crutch to the dead : But our count-C£irdinal
Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,
(Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
To the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperor,
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt,
(For 'twas, indeed, his colour; but he came
To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation:
His fears were, that the interview, betwixt
England and BVance, might, through their amity.
Breed him some prejudice; for firom this league
Peep'd harms that menac'd him: He privily
Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow.
Which I do well; for, I am sure the emperor
Paid ere he promis'd; — whereby his suit was

granted.
Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made.
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd; —
That he would please to alter the king's course.
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know,
(As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases.
And for his own advantage.

Nor. I am sorry

To hear this of him; and could wish, he were
Something mistaken in't. '"')

Buck. No, not a syllable;

I do pronounce him in that very shape.
He shall appear in proof.

Enter Brandon; a Sergeant at Arms before him,
and two or three of the Guard.

Bran. Your office, sergeant; execute it.

Serg. Sir,

My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high tresison, in the name
Of our most sovereign king.

Buck. Lo you, my lord.

The net has fall'n upon me; I shall perish
Under device and practice. -*)

Bran. I am sorry

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
The business present: 'Tis his highness' pleasure,
You shall to the Tower.

Buck. It will help me nothing.

To plead mine innocence; for that die is on me.
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of

heaven
Be done in this and all things! — I obey. —

0 my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well.

Bran. Nay, he must bear you company : — The
king [To ABBBGAVEiiiNy.

Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know
How he determines further.

Aber. As the duke said.

The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleeisure
By me obey'd.

Bran. Here is a warrant from

The king, to attach lord Montacute; and the bodies
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, ^<')
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, —

Buck. So, so;

These are the limbs of the plot: no more, I hope.

Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux.

Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins?

Bran. He.

Buck. My surveyor is false; the o'er-great car-
dinal
Hath show'd him gold: my life is spann'd already: -'')

1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham;
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on.
By dark'ning my clear sun. — My lord, farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Council- Chamber.

Cornets. Enter King Henrt, Cardinal Wolsky,

th^ Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas Lovbll,

Officers, and Attendants. The King enters, leaning

on the Cardinal'* shoulder.

K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it, -^)
Thanks you for this great care: I stood i'the level-')
Of a fuU-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks
To you that chok'd it. — Let be call'd before us
That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person
I'll hear him his confessions justify;
And point by point the treasons of his master
He shall again relate.

The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council take
their several places. The Cakdinal place* himself
under the King's feet, on his right side.

XKV.

550

KING HENRY VIII.

Act I.

A noise within, crying, Room for the Queen. Enter

the QuBKN, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk, and

Scffoi-k: she kneels. The King riselh from his

State, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her

by him.

Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel ; I am a suitor,

K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us: — Half
your suit
Never name to us; you have half our power;
The other moiety, ere you ask is given ;
Repeat your will, and take it.

Q. Kath. Thank your majesty.

That you would love yourself; and, in that love,
Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.

K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed.

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few,
And those of true condition, that your subjects
Are in great grievance: there have been commissions
Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart
Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although.
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on
Of these exactions, yet the king our master,
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even he

escapes not
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
In loud rebellion.

Nor. Not almost appears.

It doth appear: for, upon these taxations.
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them 'longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger.
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar.
And danger serves among them.

K. Hen. Taxation !

Wherein? and what taxation? — My lord cardinal,
You that are blam'd for it alike with us.
Know you of this taxation?

Wol. Please you, sir,

I know but of a single part, in aught
Pertains to the state; and front but in that file^°)
Where others tell steps with me.

Q. Kath. No, my lord.

You know no more than others : but you frame
Things, that are known alike; ^') which are not

wholesome
To those which would not know them, and yet must
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear them.
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say.
They are devis'd by you; or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.

K.Hen. Still exaction!

The nature of it? In what kind, let's know.
Is this exaction?

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous

In tempting o your patience; but am bolden'd
Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief
Comes through commissions, which compel from each
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
Without delay ; and the pretence for this
Is nam'd, your wars in France: This makes bold

mouths :
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
Allegiaiice in them ; their curses now.
Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pass,

That tractable obedience is a slave

To each incensed will. ^-) I would, your highness

Would give it quick consideration, for

There is no primer business. ^^)

K Hen. By my life,

This is against our pleasure.

Wol. And for me,

I have no further gone in this, than by
A single voice; and that not pass'd me, but
By learned approbation of the judges.
If I am traduc'd by tongues, ^ *) which neither know
My faculties, nor person, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing, — let me say,
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
That virtue must go through. We must not stint ^^)
Our necessary actions, in the fear
To cope^') malicious censurers; which ever,
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best.
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, ^^) is
Not ours, or not allow'd; ^^) what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, ^') is cried up
For our best act. If we shall stand still.
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at.
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State statues only.

K. Hen. Things done well.

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
Things done without example, in their issue
Are to be feared. Have you a precedent
Of this commission? I believe, not any.
We must not rend our subjects from our laws.
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ?
A trembling contribution! Why, we take.
From every tree, lop, *°) bark, and part o' the

timber ;
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd.
The air will drink the sap. To every county,
W^here this is question'd, send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has denied
The force of this commission: Pray, look to't;
I put it to your care.

Wol. A word with you.

[To the Secretary.
Let there be letters writ to every shire.
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons
Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd.
That, through our intercession, this revokement
And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you
B'urther in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary.

Enter Surveyor.

Q. Kath. I am sorry, that the duke of Buckingham
Is run in your displeasure.

K. Hen. It grieves many:

The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker,
To nature none more bound; his training such.
That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,
And never seek for aid out of himself. *')
Yet see

When these so noble benefits shall prove
Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt.
They tui-n to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
Than ever they were fair. This man so complete.
Who was enroH'd 'mongst wonders, and when we.
Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find
His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady.
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear
(This was his gentleman in trust,) of him
Things to strike honour sad. — Bid him recount

XXV.

Act 1,

KING HENRY VIII

551

The fore-recited practices: whereof

We cannot feel too little, hear too much.

Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate
what you,
INIost like a careful subject, have collected
Out of the duke of Buckingham.

K. Hen. Speak freely.

Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech. That if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry it so
To make the scepter his: These very words
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law.
Lord Aberga'ny; to whom by oath he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.

Wol. Please your highness, note

This dangerous conception in this point.
Not friended by hi* wish, to your high person
His will is most malignant; and it stretches
Beyond you, to your friends.

Q. Kath. My leam'd lord cardinal,

Deliver all with charity.

K. Hen. Speak on:

How grounded he his title to the crown,
Upon our fail? to this point hast thou beard him
At any time speak aught V

Surv. He was brought to this

Bv a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins.

K.Hen. What was that Hopkins?

Surv. Sir, a Chartrcux friar,

His confessor; who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty.

K. Hen. How know'st thou this ?

Suro. Not long before your highness sped to France,
The duke being at the Rose, •*-) within the parish
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
What was the speech amongst the Londoners
Concerning the French journey: I replied.
Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious,
To the king's danger. Presently the duke
Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted,
'Twould prove the verity of certain words
Spoke by a holy monk: that oft, says he.
Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of some moment:
Whom after under the confesnion's seal
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spohCf
My chaplain to no creature living, but
To me, should utter, with demure confidence
This pausiugly ensu'd, — Neither the king, nor

his heirs,
(Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive
To gain the love of the commonalty ; the duke
Shall govern England.

Q. Kath. If I know you well.

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed,
You charge not in your spleen a noble person.
And spoil your nobler soul! I say, take heed;
Yes, heartily beseech you.

K. Hen. Let him on : —

Go forward.

iS«rp. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.

I told my lord the duke. By the devil's illusions
The monk might be deceiv'd ; and that 'twas dang'roos

for him.
To ruminate on this so far, until
It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,
It was much like to do: He answer'd. Tush!
It can do me no damage: adding further.

That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd.

The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads

Should have gone olf.

K. Hen. Ha! what, so rank? *J) Ah, ha!

There's mischief in this man : Canst thou say

further?

Surv. I can, my liege.

K. Hen. Proceed.

Surv. Being at Greenwich,

After your highness had reprov'd the duke
About sir William Bloraer, —

K, Hen. I remember.

Of such a time: — Being my servant sworn.

The duke retain'd him his. But on; What

hence ?

Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed.
As, to the Tower, I thought, — / would have play d
The part my father meant to act upon
The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in Ids presence ; which, if granted.
As he made semblance of his duty, would
Have put his knife into hiai.

K.Hen. A giant traitor!

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom.
And this man out of prison?

Q- Kath. God mend all!

K.Hen. There's something more would out of thee;
What say'st?

Surv. After — the duke his father, — with th«
knife, —
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger.
Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes.
He did discharge a homble oath; whose tenour
Was, — Where he evil us'd, he would out-go
His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.

K. Hen. There's his period.

To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd;
Call him to present trial : if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none.
Let him not seek't of us : by day and night, '' ■*)
He's traitor to the height. [JBjwuat.

SCENE III.

A Room in the Palace.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands.

Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should
juggle
Men into such strange mysteries? ■**)

Sands. New customs.

Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nav, let them be unmanly, yet are foUow'd.

Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English '
Have got by the late voyage, is but merely
A fit or two o'the face; "*'') but they are shrewd

ones;
For when they hold them, you would swear directly,
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so.

Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones;
one would take it.
That never saw them pace before, the spavin,
A springhalt "*') reign'd among them.

Cham. Death ! my lord.

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too.
That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How

now?
What news, sir Thomas Lovell?

EntiBT Sir Thomas Lovkll.

Lov. 'Faith, my lord,

I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.

Cham. What b't for?

KXV.

552

KING HENRY VIII.

Act I.

Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

Cham. I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray
our monsleurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.

Lov. They must either

(For so run the conditions,) leave these remnants
Of fool, and feather, '*<*) that they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance.
Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks;
Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings.
Short blister'd breeches, ■*') and those types of travel,
And understand again like honest men;
Or pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it,
They may, cum privilegio, wear away
The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at.

Sands. 'Tis time to give them physic, their diseases
Are grown so catching.

Chain. What a loss our ladies

Will have of these trim vanities!

Lov. Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies;
A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow.

Sands. The devil fiddle them! I am glad, they're
going;
(For, sure, there's no converting of them;) now.
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song.
And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r-lady,
Held *") cuiTent music too.

Cham. Well said, lord Sands;

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

Sands. No, my lord;

Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Cham. Sir Thomas,

Whither were you a going?

Lov. To the cardinal's;

Your lordship is a guest too.

Cham. O, 'tis true:

This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
To many lords and ladies; there will be
The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.

Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ;
His dews fall every where.

Cham. No doubt, he's noble;

He had a black mouth, that said other of him.

Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal;
in him.
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:
Men of his way should be most liberal,
They are set here for examples.

Cham. True, they are so;

But few now give so great ones. My barge stays ; * ^)
Your lordship shall along : — Come, good sir Thomas,
We shall be late else: which I would not be,
For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford,
This night to be comptrollers.

Sands. I am your lordship's. [ExeuiU.

SCENE IV.

The Presence-Chamber in York-Place.

Hautboys. A small Table under a State for the

Cardinal, a longer Table for the Guests. Enter,

at one Door, Annb Bui^lkn, and divers Lords,

Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as Guests ; at another

Door, enter Sir Hknuy Guildford.
Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace

Salutes ye all: This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you: none here, he hopes.
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad : he would have all as merry
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome.

Can make good people. O, my lord, you are

tardy ;

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir

Thomas Lovkll.
The very thought of this fair company
Clapp'd wings to me.

Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford.

Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these
Should find a running banquet ere they rested,
I think, would better please them : By my life,
They are a sweet society of fair ones.

Lov. O, that your lordship were but now confessor
To one or two of these!

Sands. I would, I were;

They should find easy penance.

Lov. 'Faith, how easy?

Sands. As easy as a down-bed would aiford it.

Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir
Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this:
His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze;
Two women plac'd together makes cold weather : —
My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking;
Pray, sit between these ladies.

Sands. By my faith,

And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet
ladies :

[Seats himself between Anne Bullen and
another Lady.
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;
I had it from my father.

Anne. Was he mad, sir?

Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:
But he would bite none; just as I do now,
He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

\KisseB her.

Cham. Well said, my lord. —

So, now you are fairly seated: — Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning.

Sands. For my little cure,

Let me alone.

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsky, attended;
and takes his State.

Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests; that noble
lady.
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry.
Is not my friend: This, to confirm my welcome;
And to you all good health. [Vrinks.

Sands. Your grace is noble : —

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
And save me so much talking.

Wol. My lord Sands,

I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbours. —
Ladies, you are not merry ; — Gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?

Sands. The red wine first must rise

In their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have them
Talk us to silence.

Anne. You are a merry gamester.

My lord Sands.

Sands. Yes, if I make my play.

Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam.
For 'tis to such a thing, —

Anne. You cannot show me.

XKV.

Act II.

KING HENRY VIII.

553

Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon.
[Vrum and Trumpets within: Chambers
discharged, *^)
Wot. What's that?

Cham. Look out there, some of you.

[Exit a Servant.
Wol. What warlike voice?

And to what end is this? — Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war you are privileg'd.

Re-enter Servant.

Cham. How now? what is't?
Serv. A noble troop of strangers;

For so they seem: they have left their barge, and

landed ;
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.

Wol. Good lord chamberlain, '

Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French

tongue ;
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them : — Some attend him. —
[Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise,
and Tables removed.
You have now a broken banquet ; but we'll mend it.
A good digestion to you all: and, once more,
I shower a welcome on you ; — Welcome all.

Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve others, as
Maskers, habited like Shepherds, with sixteen Torch-
bearers; ushered by the Lord Chambbrt^ain. They
pass directly before the Cardinal, and grace-
fully salute him.

A noble company! what are their pleasures?

Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they
pray'd
To tell your grace : — That, having heard by fame
Of this so noble and so fair assembly
This night to meet here, they could do no less,
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,
But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat
An hour of revels with them.

Wol. Say, lord chamberlain,

They have done my poor house grace; for which

I pay them
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures.
[Ladies chosen for the Dance. The King
chooses Anke Bullen.

K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! O, beauty.
Till now I never knew thee. [Music. Dance.

Wol. My lord,

Cham. Your grace?

Wol. Pray, tell them thus much from me:
There should be one amongst them, by his person,
More worthy this place than myself: to whom,
If I but knew him, with my love and duty
I would surrender it.

Cham. I will, my lord.

[Cham, goes to the Company, and returns.

Wol. What say they?

Cham. ^ Such a one, they all confess.

There is, indeed ; which they would have your grace
Find out, and he will take it. ^^)

Wol. Let me see then. —

[Comes from his State.
By all your good leaves, gentlemen; — Here I'll

make
My royal choice.

K. Hen.

You have found him, cardinal:
[Unmasking.

You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord :
You are a churchman, or I'll tell you, cardinal,
I should judge now unhappily. **)

Wol. I am

Your grace is grown so pleasant.

K. Hen. My lord chamberlain,

Pr'ythee, come hither: What fair lady's that?

Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bullen's
daughter.
The viscount Rochford, one of her highness' women.

K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweet-
heart,
I were unmannerly, to take you out.
And not to kiss you. — *^) A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round.

Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
I'the privy chamber?

Lov. Yes, my lord.

Wol. Your grace,

I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

K. Hen. I fear, too much.

Wol. There's fresher air, my lord,

In the next chamber.

K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Sweet
partner,
I must not yet forsake you : — Let's be merry ; —
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure
To lead them, once again; and then let's dream
Who's best in favour. — Let the music knock it.

[Exeunt, with Trumpets.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Street.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.

1 Gent. Whither away so fast?

2 Gent. O, — God save you !
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become

Of the great duke of Buckingham.

1 Gent. I'll save you
That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner.

2 Gent. Were you there?

1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I.

2 Gent. Pray, speak, what has happen'd?

1 Gent. You may guess quickly what.

2 Gent. Is he found guilty?

1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it.

2 Gent. I am sorry for't.

1 Gent. So are a number more.

2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it?

1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
Came to the bar; where, to his accusations.

He pleaded still, not guilty, and alledg'd
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
The king's attorney, on the contrary,
Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions
Of divers witnesses; which the duke desir'd
*) To him brought viva voce, to his face:
At which appear'd against him, his surveyor;
Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Court,
Confessor to hun; with that devil-monk,
Hopkins, that made this mischief.

2 Gent. That was he.
That fed him with his prophecies?

1 Gent. The same.

All these accus'd him strongly; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but indeed, he could not:
And so his peers, upon this evidence.

xsv.

554

KING HENRY VIII

Act II.

Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten.
2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself?

1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, —

to hear
His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd
With such an agony, he sweat extremely.
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:
But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly.
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.

2 Gent. I do not think, he fears death.

1 Gent. Sure, he does not,
He never was so womanish; the cause

He may a little grieve at.

2 Gent. Certainly,
The cardinal is the end of this.

1 Gent. 'Tis likely,
By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder.
Then deputy of Ireland; who remov'd.

Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
Lest he should help his father.

2 Gent. That trick of state
Was a deep envious one.

1 Gent. At his return.

No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted,
And generally; whoever the king favours.
The cardinal instantly will find employment,
And far enough from court too.

2 Gent. All the commons
Hate him perniciously, and, o'my conscience.
Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much
They love and dote on; call him, bounteous Buck-
ingham,

The mirror of all courtesy ; —

1 Gent. Stay there, sir,
And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.

Enter Buckingham from his arraignment ; Tip-
staves before him; the Axe with the edge towards
him ; Halberds on each side; with him, Sir Thomas
LovuLL, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William
Sands, and common People.

2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him.
Buck. All good people,

You that thus far have come to pity me,

Hear what I say, and then go home and lose ine.

I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment.

And by that name must die; Yet, heaven bear witness.

And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me,

Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!

The law I bear no malice for my death.

It has done, upon the premises, but justice:

But those, that sought it, I could wish more christians :

Be what they will, A heartily forgive them:

Yet let them look they glory not in mischief.

Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ;

For then my guiltless blood must cry against them.

For further life in this world I ne'er hope,

Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies

More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me,

And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,

His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave

Is only bitter to him, only dying.

Go with me, like good angels, to my end;

And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me.

Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice.

And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o'God's name.

Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity.
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.

Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you,

As I would be forgiven: I forgive all;
There cannot be those numberless offences
'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: no black envy
Shall make my grave. — ^) Commend me to his grace ;
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him,
You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers
Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me.
Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live
Longer than I have time to tell his years!
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be!
And, when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness and he fill up one monument!

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace;
Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux,
Who undertakes you to your end.

Vaux. Prepare there.

The duke is coming ; see, the barge be ready ;
And fit it with such furniture, as suits
The greatness of his person.

Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas,

Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable.
And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
And with that blood will make them one day groan

for't.
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Bannister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd.
And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!
Henry the seventh succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins.
Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
Henry the eighth, life, honour, name, and all
That made me happy, at one stroke has taken
For ever from the world. 1 had my trial.
And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me
A little happier than my wretched father:
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, — both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most :
A most unnatural and faithless service !
Heaven has an end in all: Yet, you that hear me,
This from a dying man receive as certain :
Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels,
Be sure, you be not loose; for those you make friends.
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people.
Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell:

And when you would say something that is sad,
Speak how I fell. — I have done; and God forgive me!
[Exeunt BucKiNHGAM and Traiu.

1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! — Sir, it calls,
I fear, too many curses on their heads,

That were the authors.

2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless,
'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling

Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,
Greater than this.

1 Ge/it. Good angels keep it from us!
Where may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?

2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
A strong faith ^) to conceal it.

1 Gent. Let me have it;
I do not talk much.

2 Gent. I am confident;

You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear

KXV.

Act II.

KING HENRY VIII

555

A buzzing, of a separation
Between the king and Katharine?

1 Qent. Yes, but it held not:
For when the king once heard it, out of anger
He sent command to the lord major, straight

To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues
That durst disperse it.

2 Gent. But that slander, sir,
Is found a tnith now: for it grows again
Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain.
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal.
Or some about him near, have, out of malice

To the good queen, possessed him with a scruple
That will undo her: To confirm this too,
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately;
As all think, for this business.

1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal;
And merely to revenge him on the emperor.

For not bestowing on him, at his asking,

The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd.

2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark: But is't

not cruel.

That she should feel the smart of this? The car-
dinal

Will have his will, and she must fall.
1 Gent. 'Tis woful.

We are too open here to argue this ;

Let's think in private more. [Exeunt.

SCENE 11.

An Ante-Chamber in the Palace.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a Letter.

Cham. My lord, — The horses your lordship sent
for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen,
ridden, and furnished. They were young and hand-
some; and of the best breed in the north. When
they were ready to set out for London, a man of
my lord cardinals, by commission, and main power,
took 'em from me; with this reason, — His master
would be served before a subject, if not before the
king; which stopped our mouths, sir.

I fear, he will, indeed: Well, let him have them:
He will have all, I think.

Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.

Nor. Well met, my good

Lord chamberlain.

Cham. Good day to both your graces.

Suf How is the king employed?

Cham. I left him private,

Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

Nor. What's the cause?

Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's wife
Has crept too near his conscience.

Svf. No, his conscience

Has crept too near another lady. i

Nor.^ 'Tis so;

This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune.
Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.

Suf. Pray God, he do! he'll never know himself else.

Nor. How holily he works in all his business!
And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the

league
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great

nephew.
He dives into the king's soul; and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience.
Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage :
And, out of all these to restore the king.

He counsels a divorce: a loss of her.
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre :
Of her, that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king: And is not this course pious?

Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis
most true,
These news are every where; every tongue speaks

them,
And every true heart weeps for't: All, that dare
Look into these affairs, see this main end, —
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open
The king's eyesj that so long have slept upon
This bold bad man.

Suf. And free us from his slavery.

Nor. We had need pray.
And heartily, for our deliverance;
Or this imperious man will work us all
From princes into pages; all men's honours
Lie in one lump before him, to be fiashion'd
Into what pitch he please. ■*)

Suf. For me, my lords,

I love him not, nor fear him ; there's my creed :
As I am made without him, so I'll stand.
If the king please; his curses and his blessings
Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in.
I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him
To him, that made him proud, the pope.

Nor. Let's in;

And with some other business, put the king
B'rora these sad thoughts, that work too much upon

him:
My lord, you'll bear us company?

Cham. Excuse me;

The king hath sent me other-where: besides.
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him:
Health to your lordships.

Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.

[Exit Lord CHAUBEBiaiM.

Norfolk opens a folding-door. The King is dis-
covered sitting, and reading pensively.

Suf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much afflicted.

K.Hen. Who is there? ha?

Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry.

K. Hen. Who's there, I say ? How dare you thrust
yourselves
Into my private meditations?
Who am I? ha?

Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all ofl'ences
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way,
Is business of estate ; in which, we come
To know your royal pleasure.

K.Hen. You are too bold.

Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business:
Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha? —

Enter Wolsey and Campeius.

Who's there? my good lord cardinal ? — O, my Wolsey, |
The quiet of my wounded conscience.
Thou art a cure fit for a king. — You're welcome,

[To Campeius.
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom;
Use us, and it : — My good lord, have great care
I be not found a talker. *) [To Wolsey.

Wol. Sir, you cannot

I would, your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conference.

K. Hen. We are busy ; go.

[To NoKFOLK and Soffolk.

HKV.

556

KING HENRY VIII.

Act II.

[Aaide,

Nor. This priest has no pride in him?

Suf. Not to speak of;

I would not be so sick though, ') for his

place :
But this cannot continue.

Nor. If it do,

I'll venture one heave at him. ''}

Suf. I another.

[Exeunt Nobfolk and Suffolk.

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom
Above all princes, in committing freely
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom:
Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her.
Must now confess, if they have any goodness.
The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
I mean, the learned ones, in christian kingdoms.
Have their free voices;^) Rome, the nurse of jugdment,
Invited by your noble self, hath sent
One general tongue unto us, this good man,
This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius;
Whom, once more, I present unto your highness.

K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms I bid him
welcome.
And thank the holy conclave for their loves;
They have sent me such a man I would have
wish'd for.

Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers'
loves.
You are so noble: To your highness' hand
I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
(The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant.
In the unpartial judging of this business.

K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be ac-
quainted
Forthwith, for what you come: — Where's Gardiner?

Wol. I know, your majesty has always lov'd her
So dear in heart, not to deny her that
A woman of less place might ask by law.
Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her.

K. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have ; and my

favour
To him that does best; God forbid else. Cardinal,
Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;
I find him a fit fellow. [Exit WotsBv.

Re-enter Wolsby, with Gardiner.

Wol. Give me your hand: much joy and favour
to you;
You are the king's now.

Gard. But to be commanded

For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.

[Aside.

K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner.

[They converse apart.

Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace
In this man's place before him?

Wol. Yes, he was.

Cam. Was he not held a learned man?

Wol. Yes, surely.

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
Even of yourself, lord cardinal.

Wol. How! of me?

Cam. They will not stick to say, you envied him;
And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man still; ') which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and died.

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him!

That's christian care enough : for living raurmurers.
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool;
For he would needs be virtuous : That good fellow.

If I command him, follows my appointment;
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen.

[Exit Gakdineb.
The most convenient place that I can think of,
For such receipt of learning, is Black-B'riars ;
There ye shall meet about this weighty business : —
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. — O, my lord.
Would it not grieve an able man,, to leave
So sweet a bedfellow ? But, conscience, conscience, —
O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An Ante-Chamber in the Queen't Apartments.

Enter Annb Bullen, and an old Lady.

Anne. Not for that neither; — Here's the pang
that pinches:
His highness having liv'd so long with her : and she
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her, — by my life.
She never knew harm-doing ; — O now, after
So many courses of the sun enthron'd.
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the which
To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than
'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process.
To give her the avaunt! *") it is a pity
Would move a monster.

Old L. Hearts of most hard temper

Melt and lament for her.

Anne. O' God's will! much better,

She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal,
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, **) do divorce
It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging
As soul and body's severing.

Old L. Alas, poor lady!

She's a stranger now again. '^)

Anne. So much the more

Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly bom.
And range with humble livers in content.
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief.
And wear a golden sorrow.

Old L. Our content

Is our best having. *^)

Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead,

I would not be a queen.

Old L. Beshrew me, I would,

And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you.
For all this spice of your hypocrisy:
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you
Have too a woman's heart: which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
Which, to say sooth, are blessings : and which gifts
(Saving your mincing) the capacity
Of your soft cheveril "*) conscience would receive,
If you might please to stretch it.

Anne. Nay, good troth, —

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, — You would not be
a queen?

Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven.

Old L. "Tis strange : a three-pence bowed would
hire me.
Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you.
What think you of a duchess? have you limbs
To bear that load of title?

Anne. No, in truth.

Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck off a
little; ^5)
I would not be a young count in your way.
For more than blushing comes to: if your back

KXV.

Act II.

KING HENRY VIII.

557

Cannot vouchsafe this barden, 'tis too weak
Ever to get a boy.

Anne. How you do talk!

I swear again, I would not be a queen
For all the world.

OldL. In faith, for little England

You'd venture an emballing: I myself
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd
No wore to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here ?

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer't worth
to know
The secret of your conference?

Anne. My good lord.

Not your demand; it values not your asking:
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.

Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women: there is hope.
All will be well.

Anne. Now I pray God, amen!

Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly
blessings
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
Commends his good opinion to you, and
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title
A thousand pound a year, annual support.
Out of his grace he adds.

Anne. I do not know.

What kind of my obedience I should tender;
More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers
Are not words duly hallow'd, •') nor my wishes
More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers, and

wishes.
Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship,
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience,
As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness;
Whose health, and royalty, I pray for.

Cham. Lady,

I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, ^'')
The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well;

\_Aside.
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled.
That they have caught the king : and who knows yet,
But from this lady may proceed a gem.
To lighten all this isle ? — I'll to the king,
And say, I spoke with you.

Anne. My honour'd lord.

[Exit Lord Ghahbeuain.

OldL. Why, this it is; see, see!
I have been begging sixteen years in court,
(Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could
Come pat betwixt too early and too late.
For any suit of pounds: and you, (O fate!)
A very fresh-fish, here, (fye, fye upon
This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fiU'd up,
Before you open it.

Anne. This is strange to me.

OldL. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence,
no. '8)
There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,)
That would not be a queen, that would she not.
For all the mud in Egypt: — ^^) Have you heard it?

Anrie. Come, you are pleasant.

OldL. With your theme, I could

O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke !
A thousand pounds a year! for pure respect;
No other obligation: By my life,
That promises more thousands: Honour's train
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time.

I know, your back will bear a duchess; — Say,
Are you not stronger than you were?

Anne. Good lady,

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy.
And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being.
If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me.
To think what follows.
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
In our long absence: Pray, do not deliver
What here you have heard, to her.

OldL. ' What do you think me?

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Hall in Black-fryars.

Trumpets, Sennet, -") and Cornets. Enter two
Vergers, with short silver wands; next them two
Scribes in the habits of doctors; after them, the
Archbishop o/" Canterbury alone; after him, the
Bishops o/' Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint
Asaph ; next them, with some small distance, follows
a Gentleman, bearing the Purse, with the great
seal, and a cardinals hat; then two Vriests, bearing
each a silver cross ; then a Gentleman- Usher bare~
headed, accompanied with a Sergeant at Arms,
bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen, bearing
two great silver pillars; -') after them, side by
side, the two Cardinals Wolsey and Campeius;
two Noblemen with the sword and mace. Then
enter the King and Queen and their Trains. The
King takes place under the cloth of state; the two
Cardinals sit under him as judges. The Queen
takes place at some distance from the King. The
Bishops place themselves on each side the court,
in manner of a consistory; between them, the
Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The
Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand
in convenient order about the stage.

Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
Let silence be commanded.

K.Hen. What's the need?

It hath already publicly been read.
And on all sides the authority allow'd;
You may then spare that time.

Wol. Be't so : — Proceed.

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into
the court.

Crier. Henry king of England, <fec.

K.Hen. Here.

Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come
into court.

Crier. Katharine queen of England, dec.

[The QnEKN makes no answer, rises out of her c&atr,
^068 about the court, comes to the King, and
kneels at his feet; then speaks.

Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice;
And to bestow your pity on me: for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger.
Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir.
In what have I offended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure.
That thus you should proceed to put me off,^
And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,
I have been to you a true and humble wife.
At all times to your will conformable;
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,
Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry,
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour,
I ever contradicted your desire,

KXV.

558

KING HENRY VIII

Act II.

Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends

Have I not strove to love, although I knew

He were mine enemy V what friend of mine

That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I

Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice

He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind

That I have been your wife, in this obedience,

Upward of twenty years, and have been blest

With many children by you : If, in the course

And process of this time, you can report,

And prove it too, against mine honour aught.

My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty.

Against your sacred person, in God's name,

Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt

Shut door upon me, and so give me up

To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir,

The king, your father, was reputed for

A prince most prudent, of an excellent

And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,

My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one

The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many

A year before: It is not to be question'd

That they had gather'd a wise council to them

Of every realm, that did debate this business.

Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore I

humbly
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel
I will implore; if not; i'the name of God,
Your pleasure be fulfiU'd!

Wol. You have here, lady,

(And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men
Of singular integrity and learning.
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled
To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless,
That longer you desire the court; as well
B'or your own quiet, as to rectify
What is unsettled in the king.

Cam. His grace

Hath spoken well, and justly: Therefore, madam.
It's fit this royal session do proceed;
And that, without delay, their arguments
Be now produc'd, and heard.

Q.Kath. Lord cardinal, —

To you I speak.

Wol. Your pleasure, madam?

Q. Kath. Sir,

I am about to weep; but, thinking that
We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so,) certain.
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
I'll turn to sparks of fire.

Wol. Be patient yet.

Q. Kath. I will, Avhen you are humble ; nay, before,
Or God will punish me. I do believe,
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that
You are mine enemy; and make ray challenge, *-)
You shall not be my judge: for it is you
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, —
Which God's dew quench ! — Therefore, I say again,
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul.
Refuse you for my judge: whom, yet once more,
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not
At all a friend to truth.

Wol. I do profess.

You speak not like yourself; who ever yet
Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me

wrong:
I have no spleen against you; nor injustice
For you, or any: how far I have proceeded,
Or how far further shall, is warranted
By a commission from the consistory,

Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me,

That I have blown this coal : I do deny it :

The king is present: if it be known to him.

That I gainsay -^) my deed, how may he wound,

And worthily, my falsehood? yea, as much

As you have done my truth. But if he know

That I am free of your report, he knows,

I am not of your wrong: Therefore in him

It lies, to cure me: and the cure is, to

Remove these thoughts from you ; The which before

His highness shall speak in, I do beseech

You^ gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,

And to say so no more.

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord,

I am a simple woman, much too weak
To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and humble-

mouth'd ;
You sign your place and calling, ^'*) in full seeming.
With meekness and humility: but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours.
Gone slightly o'er low steps; and now are mounted
Where powers are your retainers: and your words,
Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you.
You tender more your person's honour, than
Your high profession spiritual : That again
I do refuse you for my judge; and here,
Before you all, appeal unto the pope,
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness.
And to be judg'd by him.

[She curi'siea to the King, and offers to depart.

Cam. The queen is obstinate.

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
Disdainful to be try'd by it; 'tis not well.
She's going away.

K. Hen. Call her again.

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into the
court.

Grif. Madam, you are call'd back.

Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, keep
your way :
When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help.
They vex me past my patience! — pray you, pass on:
I will not tarry: no, nor ever more.
Upon this business, my appearance make
In any of their courts.

[Exeunt Queen, Griffith, and fter other
Attendants.

K.Hen. Go thy ways, Kate:

That man i'the world, who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted.
For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone,
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, —
Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) ^*)
The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ;
And, like her true nobility, she has
Carried herself towards me.

Wol. Most gracious wr.

In humblest manner I require your highness.
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
Of all these ears, (for where I am robb'd and bound.
There must I be unloos'd; although not there
At once and fully satisfied,) ^<') whether ever I
Did broach this business to your highness; or
Laid any scruple in your way, which might
Induce you to the question on't? or ever
Have to you, — but with thanks to God for such
A royal lady, — spake one the least word, might * ''}
Be to the prejudice of her present state,
Or touch of her good person?

KKV.

Act III.

KING HENRY VIII.

559

K.Hen. My lord cardinal,

I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honour,
I free you froin't. You are not to be taught
That you have many enemies, that know not
Why they are so, but like to village curs,
Bark when their fellows do: by some of these
The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd:
But will you be more justified'? you ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never
Desir'd it to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd; oft
The passages made toward it: — -*) on my honour,
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point.
And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, —
I w ill be bold with time, and your attention : —
Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ; — give

heed to't : —
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness.
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd •
By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador:
Who had been hither sent on the debating
A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and
Our daughter Marj- : I'the progress of this business,
Ere a determinate resolution, he
(I mean, the bishop) did require a respite;
Wherein he might the king bis lord advertise
Whether our daughter were legitimate.
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager.
Sometime our brother's wife. This respite shook
The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me.
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
The region of my breast; which forc'd such way,
That many maz'd considerings did throng.
And press'd in with this caution. First, methought,
I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb,
If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should
Do no more offices of life to't, than
The grave does to the dead: for her male issue
Or died where they were made, or shortly after
This world had air'd them : Hence I took a thought,
This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom,
Well worthy the best heir o'the world, should not
Be gladded in't by me: Then follows, that
I weigh'd the danger which my reahns stood in
By this my issue's fail: and that gave to me
Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
The wild sea ^') of my conscience, I did steer
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
Now present here together; that's to say,
I meant to rectify my conscience, — which
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, —
By all the reverend fathers of the land.
And doctors learn'd. — First, I began in private
With you, my lord of Lincoln ; you remember
How under my oppression I did reek.
When I first moT'd you.

Lin. Very well, my liege.

K.Hen. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself
to say
How far you satisfied me.

Lin. So please your highness.

The question did at first so stagger me, —
Bearing a state of mighty moment in't.
And consequence of dread, — that I committed
The daring'st counsel which I had, to doubt;
And did entreat your highness to this course,
Which you are running here.

K.Hen. I then moy'd yon,

My lord of Canterbury; and got your leave
To make this present summons : — Unsolicited
I left no reverend person in this court;
But by particular consent proceeded.
Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on:

For no dislike i'the world against the person
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward :
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life.
And kingly dignity, we are contented
To wear our mortal state to come, with her,
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
That's paragon'd o'the world.

Cam. So please your highness.

The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness
That we adjourn this court till further day:
Mean while must be an earnest motion
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends unto his holiness. [They rise to depart.

K. Hen. I may perceive, [Atide.

' These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
Pr'ythee return! with thy approach, I know.
My comfort comes along. Break up the court:
I say, set on. [Exeunt, in manner at they entered.

ACT lU.

Scene I. Palace at Bridewell.

A Room in the Queen'« Apartment.

The Ql'ebn, and tome of her Women, at work.

Q.Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows
sad with troubles;
Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst : leave working.

Song.

Orpheus with his lute made trees.
And the mountain- tops, that freexe.

Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his music, plants, and flotcers.
Ever sprung; as sun, and showers.

There had been a lasting spring.

Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art;
Killing care, and grief of heart.

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

Enter a Gentleman.

Q.Kath. How now?

Gent. An't please your grace, the two great cardinals
Wait in the presence. ')

Q. Kath. Would they speak with me?

Gent. They will'd me say so, madam.

Q. Kath. Pray their graces

To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their

business
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour ?
I do not like their coming, now I think on't.
They should be good men ; their affairs as righteous :
But all hoods make not monks.

Enter Wolsby and Campeius.

Wol. Peace to your highness!

Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a
housewife ;
I would be all, against the worst may happen.
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw
Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.

KKV.

560

KING HENRY VIII.

Act III.

Q. Kath. Speak it here;

There's nothing I have done yet, o'my conscience,
Deserves a corner: 'Would, all other women
Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!
My lords, I care not, (so much I am happy
Above a number,) if my actions
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them,
Envy and base opinion set against them, -)
I know my life so even: If your business
Seek me out, and that way 1 am wife in,
Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing.

Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina
serenissima, —

Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin;
I am not such a truant since my coming.
As not to know the language I have liv'd in:
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,

suspicious ;
Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank you,
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ;
Believe me, she has had much wrong : Lord cardinal.
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed.
May be absolv'd in English.

Wol. _ _ Noble lady,

I am sorry, my integrity should breed,
(And service to his majesty and you,)
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.
We come not by the way of accusation,
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses;
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow;
You have too much, good lady: but to know
How you stand minded in the weighty difference
Between the king and you; and to deliver.
Like free and honest men, our just opinions,
And comforts to your cause.

Cam. Most honour'd madam.

My lord of York, — out of his noble nature.
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace;
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) —
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
His service and his counsel.

Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside.

My lords, I thank you both for your good "wills.
Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so !)
But how to make ye suddenly an answer.
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,
(More near my life, I fear,) with ray weak wit,
And to such men of gravity and learning,
In truth, I know not. I was set at work
Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking
Either for such men, or such business.
For her sake that I have been, ^) (for I feel
The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces.
Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause;
Alas! I am woman, friendless, hopeless.

Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with
these fears;
Your hopes and friends are infinite.

Q. Kath. In England,

But little for my profit: Can you think, lords.
That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure,
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,)
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,
They that must weigh out my afflictions.
They that my trust must grow to, live not here;
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence.
In mine own country, lords.

Cam. I would, your grace

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.

Q.Kath. How, sir?

Cam. Put your main cause into the king's protection;

He's loving, and most gracious; 'twill be much
Both for your honour better, and your cause;
For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you.
You'll part away disgrac'd.

Wol. He tells you rightly.

Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin:
Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye!
Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge.
That no king can corrupt.

Cam. Your rage mistakes us.

Q. Kath. The more shame for ye; holy men I
thought ye.
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye:
Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your com-
fort?
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady?
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
I will not wish ye half my miseries,
I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye;
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.

Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction;
You turn the good we offer into envy.

Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing : Woe upon ye.
And all such false professors! Would ye have me
(If you have any justice, any pity;
If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits,)
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
Alas! he has banish'd me his bed already;
His love, too long ago: I am old, my lords.
And all the fellowship I hold now with him
Is only my obedience. What can happen
To me, above this wretchedness? all your studies
Make me a curse like this.

Cam. Your fears are worse.

Q. KatJi. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak
myself.
Since virtue finds no friends,) — a wife, a true one?
A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory,)
Never yet branded with suspicion?
Have I with all my full affections
Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey 'd him?
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? '*)
Almost forgot my prayers to content hira?
And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords.
Bring me a constant woman to her husband.
One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure;
And to that woman, when she has done most,
Yet will I add an honour, — a great patience.

Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty.
To give up willingly that noble title
Your master wed me to: nothing but death
Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

Wol. 'Pray, hear me.

Q.Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English
earth,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.
What will become of me now, wretched lady?
I am the most unhappy woman living. —
Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes?

[To her Women.
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity.
No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me.
Almost, no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily.
That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head, and perish.

Wol. If your grace

Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest,
You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady.
Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places,

XKV.

Act III.

KING HENRY VIII.

561

The way of our profession is against it;
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them.
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ;
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage.
The hearts of princes kiss obedience.
So much they love it; but, to stubborn spirits.
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
I know, you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul as even as a calm; Pray, think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.
Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your

virtues
With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit,
As yours was put into you, ever casts
Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves

you;
Beware, you lose it not: For us, if you please
To trust us in your business, we are ready
To use our utmost studies in your service.
Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: And, pray,

forgive me,
If I have used myself *) unmannerly;
You know, I am a woman, lacking wit
To make a seemly answer to such persons.
Pray, do my service to his majesty :
He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers,
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers.
Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs,
That little thought, when she sat footing here.
She should have bought her dignities so dear.

[Exeunt.

SCENE H.

Ante -Chamber to the King'* Apartment.

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk,
the Earl of Svurutc, and the Lord Chamberlain.

Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints
And force them ^) with a constancy, the cardinal
Cannot stand under them : If you omit
The offer of this time, I cannot promise,
But that you shall sustain more new disgraces,
With these you bear already.

Sur. I am joyful

To meet the least occasion, that may give me
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
To be reveng'd on him.

Suf. Which of the peers

Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
Strangely neglected? when did he regard
The stamp of nobleness in any pei'son.
Out of himself?

Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures:

What he deserves of you and me, I know;
What we can do to him, (thouglv now the time
Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot
Bar his access to the king, never attempt
Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft
Over the king in his tongue.

^or. O, fear him not;

His spell in that is out: the king hath found
Matter against him, that for ever mai-s
The honey of his language. No, he's settled,
Not to come off, in his displeasure.

Sur. Sir,

I should be glad to hear such news as this
Once every hour.

Nor. Believe it, this is true.

In the divorce, his contrary proceedings ')
Are all unfolded; wherein he appears.
As I could wish mine enemy.

u

KXV

Sur. How came

His practices to light?

Suf. Most strangely.

Sur. O, how, how?

Suf The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried.
And came to the eye o'the king : wherein was read,
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness
To stay the judgment o'the divorce; For if
It did take place, / do, quoth he, -perceive.
My king is tangled in affection to
A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen.

Sur. Has the king this ?

Suf. Believe it.

Sur. Will this work?

Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he coasts,
And hedges, his own way. But in this point
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic
After his patient's death; the king already
Hath married the fair lady.

Sur. 'Would he had!

Suf May you be happy in your wish, my lord!
For, I profess, you have it.

Sur. Now all my joy

Trace the conjunction! ^)

Suf. My amen to't!

Nor. All men's.

Suf. There's order given for her coronation!
Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left
To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords,
She is a gallant creature, and complete
In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall
In it be memoriz'd. ')

Sur. But, will the king

Digest this letter of the cardinal's?
The Lord forbid !

Nor. Marry, amen!

Suf. No, no;

There be more wasps that buz about his nose.
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campelus
Is stolen away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;
Has left the cause of the king unhandled; and
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal.
To second all his plot. I do assure you,
The king cry'd ha! at this.

Cham. Now, God incense him.

And let him cry, ha, louder!

Nor. But, my lord,

When returns Cranmer?

Suf He is return'd, in his opinions; ^°) which
Have satisfied the king for his divorce,
Together with all famous colleges
Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe.
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
Her coronation. Katharine no more
Shall be call'd, queen; but princess dowager,
And widow to prince Arthur.

Nor, This same Cranmer'a

A worthy fellow, and has ta'en much pain
In the king's business.

Suf He has ; and ^e shall see him

For it, an archbishop.

Nor. So I hear.

Suf 'Tis so.

The cardinal —

Enter Wolsey and Cromwell.
Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody.

Wot. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king?
Crom. To his own hand, in his bedchamber.
Wol. Look'd he o'the inside of the paper?
Crom. Presently

He did unseal them: and the first he view'd,

36

562

KING HENRY VIII.

Act in.

He did it with a serious mind; a heed
Was in his countenance: You, he bade
Attend him here this morning.

Wol. Is he ready

To come abroad?

Crom. I think, by this he is.

Wol. Leave me awhile. — [Exit Ckomwell.

It shall be to the duchess of Alen^on,
The French king's sister: he shall marry her. —
Anne Bullen! No: I'll no Anne BuUens for him:
There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen !
No, we'll no BuUens. — Speedily I wish
To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pembroke !

Nor. He's discontented.

8uf. May be, he hears the king

Does whet his anger to him.

Sur. Sharp enough,

Lord, for thy justice!

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's
daughter.
To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! —
This candle burns not clear; 'tis I must snuff it;
Then, out it goes. — What though I know her

virtuous,
And well deserving? yet I know her for
A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to
Our cause, that she should lie i'the bosom of
Our hard-rul'd king. Again, thei'e is sprung up
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
And is his oracle.

Nor, He's vex'd at something.

Svf. I would, 'twere something that would fret
the string.
The master-cord of his heart!

Enter the King, reading a Schedule; and Lovelx,.

Svf. The king, the king.

K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
To his own portion ! and what expence by the hour
Seems to flow from him ! How, i'the name of thrift.
Does he rake this together! — Now, my lords;
Saw you the "cardinal?

Nor. My lord, we have

Stood here observing him: Some strange commotion
Is in his brain; he bites his lip, and starts;
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground.
Then, lays his finger on his temple; straight.
Springs out into fast gait; then stops again.
Strikes his breast hard; and anon, he casts
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures
We have seen him set himself.

K. Hen. It may well be;

There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning
Papers of state he sent me to peruse.
As I required; And, wot you, what I found
There; tfn my conscience, put unwittingly?
Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, —
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure.
Rich stulTs, and ornaments of household; which
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks
Possession of a subject.

Nor. It's heaven's will;

Some spirit put this paper in the packet,
To bless your eye withal.

K. Hen. If we did think

His contemplation were above the earth.
And fix'd on spiritual object, he sho\ild still
Dwell in his musings; but, I am afraid,
His thinkings are below the moon; not worth
His serious considering.

[He takes his seat, and whispers Loveli., who
goes to W0L8EY.

Wol. Heaven forgive me!

Ever God bless your highness!

K. Hen. Good my lord.

You are full of heavenly stufF, and bear the inventory
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which
You were now running o'er; you have scarce time
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span,
To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that
I deem you an ill husband: and am glad
To have you therein my companion.

Wol. Sir,

For holy offices I have a time; a time
To think upon the part of business, which
I bear i'the state; and nature does require
Her times of preservation, which, perforce,
I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
Must give my tendance to.

K. Hen. You have said well.

Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together,
As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well-saying!

K. Hen. 'Tis well said again;

And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well:
Xnd yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:
He said, he did; and with his deed did crown
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come home.
But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.

Wol. What should this mean?

Sur. The lord increase this business! [Aside.

K. Hen. Have I not made you

The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me,
If what I now pronounce, you have found true:
And, if you may confess it, say withal.
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you?

Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces,
Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could
My studied purposes requite; which went
Beyond all man's endeavours ; — my endeavours
Have ever come too short of my desires,
Yet, fil'd with my abilities: ^') Mine own ends
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed
To the good of your most sacred person, and
The profit of the state. For your great graces
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
Can nothing render, but allegiant thanks;
My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty,
Which ever has, and ever shall be growing,
Till death, that winter, kill it.

K. Hen. Fairly answer'd;

A loyal and obedient subject is
Therein illustrated: The honour of it
Does pay the act of it; as, i'the contrary.
The foulness is the punishment. I presume
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you.
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, more
On you, than any; so your hand, and heart.
Your brain, and every function of your power.
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, *^)
As 'twere in love's particular, be more
To me, your friend, than any.

Wol. I do profess.

That for your highness' good I ever laboured
More than mine own; that am, have, and will be. ^^)
Though all the world should crack their duty to you.
And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty.
As doth a rock against the chiding flood, '*)
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.

BXV.

Act III.

KING HENRY VIII.

563

K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken :

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast.
For you have seen him open't. — Read o'er this ;

[Giving him papers.
And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.

l_Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Woisey : the
Nobles throng after him, smiling, and whis-
pering.

Wot. What should this mean?

What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so ;
This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,
Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains?
I know, 'twill stir him strongly; Yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune
Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Pope?
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell!
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness :
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening.
And no man see me more.

Re-enter the Dukes oy Norfolk and Suffolk, the
Earl of SuRRuy, and the Lord Chamberlain.

Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who com-
mands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, ' *) my lord of Winchester's, **')
Till you hear further from his highness.

Wol. Stay,

Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot carry
Authority so weighty.

Suf. Who dare cross them.

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it,
(1 mean, your malice,) know, officious lords,
I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy.
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces.
As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!
Follow your envious courses, men of malice;
You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt.
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal.
You ask with such a violence, the king,
(Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me:
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours.
During my life; and, to confirm his goodness.
Tied it by letters patents: Now, who'll take it?

Sur. The king, that gave it.

Wol. It must be himself then.

Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

Wol. Proud lord, thou liest;

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue, than said so.

Sur. Thy ambition.

Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law :
The heads of all thy brother cardinals.

(With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,)
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
You sent me deputy for Ireland ;
Far from his succour, from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolv'd him with an axe.

Wol. This, and all else

This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is most false. The duke by law
Found his deserts: how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end.
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, lords, I should tell you.
You have as little honesty as honour;
'■') That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master.
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be.
And all that love his follies.

Sur. By my soul.

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st

feel
My sword i'the life-blood of thee else. — My lords,
Can you endure to hear this arrogance?
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be thus jaded ^*) by a piece of scarlet.
Farewell, nobility; let his grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks. '')

Wol. All goodness

Is poison to thy stomach.

Sur. Yes, that goodness,

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one.
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion;
The goodness of your intercepted packets.
You writ to the pope, against the king: your goodness.
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. —
My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble.
As you respect the common good, the state
Of our despis'd nobility, our issues.
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, —
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life : — I'll startle you
Worse than the sacring bell, ^°) when the brown

wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
But that I am bound in charity against it!

Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's band:
But, thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol. So much fairer,

And spotless, shall mine innocence arise.
When the king knows my truth.

Sur. This cannot save you:

I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these articles; and out they shall.
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal.
You'll show a little honesty.

Wol. Speak on, sir;

I dare your worst objections: if I blush.
It is, to see a nobleman want manners.

Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have
at you.
First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge.
You wrought to be a legate; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes. Ego et Rex meus
Was still inscrib'd ; in which you brought the king
Ta be your servant.

Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge

Either of king or council, when you went
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold
To carry into Flanders the great seal.

KKV.

36

564

KING HENRY VIII.

Act III

Sur. Item, you sent a large commission
To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude,
■Without the king's will, or the state's allowance,
A league between his highness and Ferrara.

Suf. That out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. ^')

Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub-
stance,
(By what means got, I leave to your own conscience,)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing ^^)
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ;
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.

Cham. O my lord,

Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
So little of his great self.

Sur. I forgive him.

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is, —
Because all those things, you have done of late
By your power legatine within this kingdom.
Fall into the compass of a pramunire, — ^^)
That therefore such a writ be sued against you;
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge.

Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your stubborn answer,
About the giving back the great seal to us.
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.

\_Exeunt all hut Wolsey.

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness !
This is the state of man; To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms.
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root.
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd.
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders.
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ;
I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to.
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, -'*)
More pangs and fears than wars or women have:
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again. —

Enter Cromwell, amazedly.

Why, how now, Cromw«ll?

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.

IVol. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder,
A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.

Crom. How does your grace ?

IVol. Why, well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now ; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly, dignities,
A stiU and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden.
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.

Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right
use of it.

Wol. I hope, I have: I am able now, methinks,
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)
To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom. The heaviest, and the worst,

Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol. God bless him!

Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord chancellor in your place.

Wol. That's somewhat sudden;

But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones.
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings.
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
Instail'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol. That's news indeed.

Crom. Last, that the lady Anne,

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married.
This day Avas view'd in open, ^s) as his queen.
Going to chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down.
O Cromwell,
The king has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever:
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours.
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon ray smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master: Seek the king;
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
What and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him,
(I know his noble nature,) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use ^'') now, and provide
For thine own future safety.

Crom. O my lord,

Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron.
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. —
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, —
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master raiss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then.
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace.
To silence envious tongues. Be jiist, and fear not :
Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's,

KSV.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VIII

565

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O

Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king:
And, — Pr'j-thee, lead me in :
There, take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe.
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call nune own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal -'')
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Crom. Good sir, have patience.

WoL So I have. Farewell

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.

[EjKutO.

SCENE I.

ACT IV.

A Street in Westminster.

Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.

1 Gent. You are well met once again.

2 Gent. And so are you. ')

1 Crent. You come to take your stand here, and

behold
The lady Anne pass from her coronation?

2 Crent. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter,
The duke of Buckingham came from his trial.

1 Crent. Tis very true: but that time offer'd sorrow;
This, general joy.

2 Gent. 'Tis well: The citizens,

I am sure, have shovm at full their royal minds;
As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward
In celebration of this day -) with shows.
Pageants, and sights of honour.

1 Gent. Never greater.
Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.

2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains.
That paper in your hand?

1 Gent. Yes; 'tis the list
Of those, that claim their offices this day.
By custom of the coronation.

The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims

To be high stewjird; next, the duke of Norfolk,

He to be earl marshal: you may read the rest.

2 Gent. I thank you, sir; had I not known those

customs,
I should have been beholden to your paper.
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? how goes her business?

1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop
Of Canterburj", accompanied with other

Learned and reverend fathers of his order.
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to which
She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not:
And, to be short, for not appearance, and
The king's late scruple, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd.
And the late marriage ') made of none effect:
Since which, she was removed to KImboIton,
Where she remains now, sick.

2 Gent. Alas, good lady ! —

\TrumpeU.
The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming.

The Order of the Procession.
A lively flourith of Trumpett : then, enter

1. Two Judges.

2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace 6«-

/wre him.

[Mndc
Then Gar-
his head.

3. Choristers nngimg.

4. Mayor of London bearing the mace.

ter, in hit coat of armt, and, on
a gilt copper crown.

5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a scepter of gold, on

his head a demi-coronal of gold. With him,
the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver
with the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet.
Collars of SS.

6. Duke of Suffolk, in hi* robe of estate, hi* co-

ronet on hi* head, bearing a long white wand,
a* high-steward. With him, the Duke of
Norfolk, with the rod of marshalship, a co-
ronet on his head. Collars of SS.

7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-port* ;

under it, the Queen in her robe; in her hair
ricJtly adorned with pearl, crowned. On each
side of her, the Bishops of London and Win-
chester.

8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, >« a coronal of

gold wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen^
train.

9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlet*

of gold without flowers.

2 Gent. A royal train, believe me. — These I
know; —
Who's that, that bears the scepter?

1 Gent. Marquis Dorset.
And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod.

2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman : And that should *) be
The duke of Suffolk.

1 Gent. 'Tis the name; high-steward.

2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk ?

1 Gent. Yes.

2 Gent. Heaven bless thee!

[Looking on tie Queea.
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. —
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
Our king has all the Indies in his arms.
And more, and richer, when he strains that lady:
I cannot blame his conscience.

1 Gent. They, that bear
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.

2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so are all, are

near her.
I take it, she that carries up the train.
Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk.

1 Gent. It is; and all the rest are countesses.

2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars

indeed ;
And, sometimes, falling ones.
1 Gent. No more of that.

[Exit Procession, witk a great fiourith •f
Trumpet*.

Enter a third Gentleman.

God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?
3 Gent. Among the crowd i'the abbey; where a
finger
Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I ^m stifled *)
With the mere rankness of their joy.

2 €fent. Yoo saw
The ceremony?

3 Gent. That I did.

1 Gent. How was it?
S Gent. Well worth the seeing.

2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us.

3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream
Of lords, and ladies, ha>-ing brought the queen
To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her; while her grace sat down

XKV.

566

KING HENRY VIII.

Act IV.

To rest a while, some half an hour, or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
That ever lay by man: which when the people
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks,
(Doublets I think,) flew up; and had their faces
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
I never saw before. Great-bellied women.
That had not half a week to go, like rams ^)
In the old time of war, would shake the press,
And make them reel before them. No man living
Could say. This is my wife, there ; all were woven
So strangely in one piece.

2 Gent. But, 'pray, what foUow'd? ')

3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest

paces
Came to the altar : where she kneel'd, and, saint-like.
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.
Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people:
When by the archbishop of Canterbury
She had all the royal makings of a queen;
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir,
With all the choicest music of the kingdom.
Together sung Te Deuin. So she parted,
And with the same full state pac'd back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.

1 Gent. Sir, you
Must no more call it York-place, that is past;
For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost;

'Tis now the king's, and call'd — Whitehall.

3 Gent. I know it;

But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.

2 Gent. What two reverend bishops
Were those that went on each side of the queen?

3 Gent. Stokesley and Gardiner: the one, of Win-

chester,
(Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,)
The other, London.

2 Gent. He of Winchester

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's.
The virtuous Cranmer.

3 Ge7it. All the land knows that:
However, yet there's no great breach; when it comes,
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.

2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you?

3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell;
A man in much esteem with the king, and truly

A worthy friend. — The king

Has made him master o'the jewel-house,

And one, already, of the privy-council.

2 Gent. He will deserve more.

3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt.
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which

Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests ;
Something I can command. As I walk thither,
I'll tell ye more.
Both. You may command us, sir. [-Exeunt.

SCENE IL 8)

Kimbolton.

Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between
Griffith and Patiknck.

Crrif. How does your grace?
Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death:

My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,

Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair; —
So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?

Grif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace,

Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died :
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, ^)
For my example.

Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam:

For after the stout earl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer.
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill.
He could not sit his mule.

Kath. Alas, poor man!

Grif. At last, with easy roads, ^^) he came to
Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gave these words, — O father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state.
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!
So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness
Pursu'd him still; and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight, (which he himself
F'oretold should be his last,) full of repentance.
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity, — He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, '■ ') ever ranking
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion
Ty'd all the kingdom: *-) simony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law : I'the presence
He would say untruths; and be ever double.
Both in his words and meaning: He was never,
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful:
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.

Grif. Noble madam,

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We, write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now?

Kath. Yes, good Griffith;

I were malicious else.

Grif. This cardinal.

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle,
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading :
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam.
He was most princely : Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich, and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous.
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself.
And found the blessedness of being little:
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died, fearing God.

KHV.

Act IV.

KING HENRY VIII

567

Kath. After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth, and modesty,
Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! —
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
I have not long to trouble thee. — ■ Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.

Sad and solemn Music.

Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down
quiet.
For fear we wake her; — Softly, gentle Patience.

The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another,
six Personages, clad in white robes, wearing on their
heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their
faces; branches of bays, or palm, in their hands.
They first congee unto her, then dance ; and, at certain
changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her
head, at which, the other four make reverend courfsies;
then the two, that held the garland, deliver the same
to the other next two, who observe the same order in
their changes, and holding the garland over her head :
which done, they deliver the same garland to the last
two, who likewise observe the same order: at which,
(as it were by inspiration,) she makes in her sleep
signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven:
and so in their dancing they vanish, carrying the
garland with them. The music continues.

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all
gone ?
And leave me here in wi'etchedness behind ye?

Crrif. Madam, we are here.

Kath. It is not you I call for:

Saw ye none enter, since I slept?

Grif. None, madam.

Kath. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop
Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
They promis'd me eternal happiness;
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall.
Assuredly.

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.

Kath. Bid the music leave.

They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases.

Pat. Do you note.

How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks.
And of an earthly cold? Mark you her eyes?

Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray.

Pat. Heaven comfort her!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. An't like your grace, —

Kath. You are a saucy fellow:

Deserve we no more reverence?

Grif. You are to blame.

Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness.
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.

Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.

Kalh. Admit him entrance, Griffith : But this fellow
Let me ne'er see again.

[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger.

Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius.

If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor.
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.

Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.

Kath. O my lord.

The times, and titles, naw are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
What is your pleasure with me?

Cap. Noble lady.

First, mine own service to your grace; the next.
The king's request that I would visit you;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too
late;
'Tis like a pardon after execution:
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?

Cap. Madam, in good health.

Kath. So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
Banish'd the kingdom! — Patience, is that letter,
I caus'd you write, yet sent away?

Pat. No, madam.

[Giving it to Kathabink.

Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.

Cap. Most willing, madam.

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness
The model of our chaste loves, ■ ^) his young

daughter : —
The dews of heaven fall thick In blessings on her! —
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding;
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature;
1 hope, she will deserve well;) and a little
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
Upon my wretched women, that so long,
Have foUow'd both my fortunes faithfully:
Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
(And now I should not lie,) but will deserve,
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul.
For honesty, and decent carriage,
A right good husband, let him be a noble ;
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them.
The last is, for my men; — they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw them from me; —
That they may have their wages duly paid them,
And something over to remember me by;
If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life.
And able means, we had not parted thus.
These are the whole contents : — And, good my lord,
By that you love the dearest in this world.
As you wish chrLstiaui peace to souls departed.
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.

Cap. By heaven, I will;

Or let me lose the fashion of a man)

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
In all humility unto his highness:
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell,
My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;
Call in more women. — When I am dead, good

wench.
Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over

KKV.

568

KING HENRY VIII.

Act V.

With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katuahike.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Gallery in the Palace.

Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page
tvith a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas

LoVBLli.

Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?

Boy. It hath struck.

Gar. These should be hours for necessities,
Not for delights; times to repair our nature
With comforting repose, and not for us
To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir

Thomas !
Whither so late?

Lov. Came you from the king, my lord?

Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero •)
With the duke of Suffolk.

Lov. I must to him too,

Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the
matter?
It seems, you are in haste; an if there be
No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
Some touch of your late business: -) Affairs, that walk
(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have
In them a wilder nature, than the business
That seeks dispatch by day.

Lov. My lord, I love you;

And durst commend a secret to your ear
Much weightier than this work. The queen's in

labour,
They say in great extremity; and fear'd.
She'll with the labour end.

Gar. The fruit, she goes with,

I pray for heartily; that it may find
Good time, and live : but for the stock, sir Thomas,
I wish it grubb'd up now.

Lov. Methinks, I could

Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says
She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
Deserve our better wishes.

Gar. But, sir, sir, —

Hear me, sir Thomas: You are a gentleman
Of mine own way; ^) I know you wise, religious:
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, —
'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me,
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
Sleep in their graves.

Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two

The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom-
well, —
Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O'the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, '•)
With which the time will load him : The archbishop
Is the king's hand, and tongue ; And who dare speak
One syllable against him?

Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas,

There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
To speak iny mind of him: and, indeed, this day.
Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think, I have
Incens'd the lords o'the council, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is,)
A most arch heretic, ^) a pestilence

That does infect the land : with which they moved.
Have broken with the king; *) who hath so far
Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace
And princely care; foreseeing those fell mischiefs
Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded,
To-morrow morning to the council-board
He be convented. ') He's a rank weed, sir Thomas,
And we must root him out. From your affairs
I hinder you too long: Good night, sir Thomas.
Lov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your ser-
vant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page.

As Lovell is going out, enter the King, and
the Duke of Suffolk.

K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
My mind's not ou't, you are too hard for me.

Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before.

K. Hen. But little, Charles ;
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on ray play. —
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news?

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I sent your message; who return'd her thanks
In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your highness
Most heartily to pray for her.

K. Hen. What say'st thou? ha!

To pray for her? what, is she crying out?

Lov. So said her woman; and that her sufferance
made
Almost each pang a death.

K. Hen. Alas, good lady !

Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Your highness with an heir !

K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charles,

Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
For I must think of that, which company
Will not be friendly to. *)

Suf. I wish your highness

A quiet night, and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.

K. Hen. Charles, good night. —

[Exit Suffolk.

Enter Sir Anthony Denny.

Well, sir, what follows?

Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,
As you commanded me.

K. Hen. Ha! Canterbury?

Den. Ay, my good lord.

K. Hen. 'Tis true: Where is he, Denny?

Den. He attends your highness' pleasure.

K. Hen. Bring him to us.

[Exit Denny.

Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake;
I am happily come hither. [A»ide.

Re-enter Denny, with Cranmbb.

K. Hen. Avoid the gallery.

[Lovell seems to stay.
Ha ! — I have said. — Be gone.
What ! — [Exeunt Lovell and Denny.

Cran. I am fearful: — Wherefore frowns he thus?
'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.

K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to know
Wherefore I sent for you.

Cran. It is my duty,

To attend your highness' pleasure.

K. Hen. Tray you, arise.

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.

Li=^

KBV.

Act V.

KING HENRY VIII.

569

Come, you and I must walk a turn together;

I have news to tell you : Come, come, give me your

hand.
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
And am right sorry to repeat what follows:
I have, and most unwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
Grievous complaints of you : which, being consider'd,
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
This morning come before us; where, I know,
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself.
But that, till further trial, in those charges
Which will require your answer, you must take
Your patience to you, and be well contented
To make your house our Tower: You a brother

of us, 9)
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.

Cran. I humbly thank your highness;

And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know.
There's none stands under more calumnious tongues.
Than I myself, poor man.

K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury ;

Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted
In us, thy friend : Give me thy hand, stand up ;
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame.
What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
You would have given me your petition, that
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you
Without indurance, '°) further.

Cran. Most dread liege,

The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty;
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies.
Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not, ' ')
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
What can be said against me.

K. Hen. Know you not how

Your state stands i'the world, with the whole world?
Your enemies

Are many, and not small; their practices
Must bear the same proportion: and not ever *-)
The justice and the truth o'the question carries
The due o'the verdict with it : At what ease
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
To swear against you ? such things have been done.
You are potently oppos'd; and with a malice
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, *^)
I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master.
Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd
Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to ;
You take a precipice for no leap of danger.
And woo your own destruction.

Cran. God, and your majesty,

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
The trap is laid for me!

K. Hen. Be of good cheer;

They shall no more prevail, than we give way to.
Keep comfort to you; and this morning see
You do appear before them; if they shall chance.
In charging you with matters, to commit you,
The best persuasions to the contrary
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
Will render you no remedy, this ring
Deliver them, and your appeal to us
There make before them. — Look, the good man

weeps !
He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother !
I swear, he's true-hearted! and a soul
None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone.

And do as I have bid you. — [Exit Cranmkb.] He

has strangled
His language in his tears.

Enter an old Lady.

Gent. [Within.'\ Come back; What mean you?

Lady. I'll not come back ; the tidings that I bring
Will make my boldness manners. — Now, good angels,
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
Under their blessed wings!

K. Hen. Now, by thy looks

I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd?
Say, ay; and of a boy.

Lady. Ay, ay, my liege;

And of a lovely boy: The God of heaven
Both now and ever bless her ! — 'tis a girl,
Promises boys herafter. Sir, your queen
Desires your visitation, and to be
Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you
As cherry is to cherry.

K. Hen. Lovell, —

Enter Lovbll.
Lot. Sir.

K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the
queen. [Exit King.

Lady. An hundred marks! By this light, I'll have
more.
An ordinary groom is for such payment.
I will have more, or scold it out of him.
Said I for this, the girl is like to him?
I will have more, or else unsay't; and now
While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue. \Exetint.

SCENE II.
Lobby before the Council-Chamber.

Enter Cranmeh; Servants, Door- Keeper, ^c.

attending.
Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet the gentle-
man.
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me
To make great haste. All fast? what means this? —

Hoa!
Who waits there? — Sure, you know me?
D.Keep. Yes, my lord;

But yet I camiot help you.
Cran. Why?

D. Keep. Your grace must wait, till you be call'd for.

Enter Doctor Butts.

Cran. So.

Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad,
I came this way so happily: The king
Shall understand it presently. [Exit Bbtts.

Cran. [Aside.] 'Tis Butts,

The king's physician; as he past along.
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me !
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For certain.
This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me,
(God turn their hearts ! I never sought their malice,)
To quench mine honour: they would shame to

make me
Wait else at door; a fellow counsellor,
Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their plea-
sures
Must be fulfiU'd, and I attend with patience.

Enter at a Window above, » *) the King and Butts.
Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight, —
K. Hen. What's that. Butts?

Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day.
K. Hen. Body o'me, where is it?

XXV.

570

KING HENRY VIII.

Act V.

Butts. There, my lord:

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury;
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants.
Pages, and footboys.

K.Hen. Ha! 'Tis he, indeed:

Is this the honour they do one another?
'Tis well, there's one abdve them yet. I had thought,
They had parted so much honesty among them, ^ *)
(At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour.
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery :
Let them alone, and draw the curtain close; '*)
VVe shall hear more anon. — \Exeunt.

The Council-Chamber.

Enter the Lord Chancbllor, the Duke 0/ Suffolk,
Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner,
onrf Cromwell. The Chancellor j>/accs himself at
the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seat
being left void above him, as for the Archbishop
of Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in order
on each side. Cromwell at the lower end,
as Secretary.

Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary:
Why are we met in council?

Crom. Please your honours,

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.

Gar. Has he had knowledge of it?

Crom. Yes.

Nor. Who waits there?

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords?

Gar. Yes.

D. Keep. My lord archbishop,

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.

Chan. Let him come in.

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now.

^ [Ceanmer approaches the Council-table.

Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty: But we all arc men.
In our own natures trail; and capable
Of our flesh, few are angels : * ') out of which frailty.
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us.
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little.
Toward the king' first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your

chaplains,
(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions,
Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too.
My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses.
Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle;
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur

them.
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell, all physic; And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours.
The upper Germany, ^^) can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
And with no little study, that my teaching.
And the strong course of my authority.
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever, to do well: nor is there living
(I speak it with a single heart, *') iny lords,)

A man, that more detests, more stirs against.

Both in his private conscience, and his place,

Defacers of a public peace, than I do.

'Pray heaven, the king may never find 'a heart

With less allegiance in it! Men, that make

Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment.

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,

That, in this case of justice, my accusers.

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face.

And freely urge against me.

Suf. Nay, my lord.

That cannot be; you are a counsellor,
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

Gar. My lord, because we have business of more
moment,
W^e will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure.
And our consent, for better trial of you.
From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More, than I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you.
You are always iny good friend ; if your will pass,
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror.
You are so merciful : I see your end,
'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord.
Become a churchman better than ambition;
Win straying souls with modesty again.
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience.
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more.
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.

Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted gloss discovers, -")
To men that understand you, words and weakness.

Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.

Gar. Good master secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.

Crom. Why, my lord?

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect? ye are not sound.

Crom. Not sound?

Gar. Not sound, I say.

Crom. 'Would you were half so honest!

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.

Gar. I shall remember this bold language.

Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Chan. This is too much;

Forbear, for shame, my lords.

Gar. I have done.

Crom. And I.

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands agreed,
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords?

All. We are.

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy.

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?

Gar. What other

Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome:
Let some o'the guard be ready there.

Enter Guard.
Cran. For me?

Must I go like a traitor thither?

KKV.

Act V.

KING HENRY VIII

571

Gar. Receive him,

And see hiin safe i'the Tower.

Cran. Stay, good my lords,

I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the king my master.

Cham. This is the king's ring. -')

Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all.
When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling,
'Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. Do you think, my lords.

The king will suffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certaui:

How much more is his life in value with him?
'Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom. My mind gave me,

In seeking tales, and informations.
Against this man, (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)
Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.

Enter King, frowning on them ; takes his seat.

Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound
to heaven
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect.
His royal self in judgment comes to hear
That cause betwixt her and this great offender.

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commend-
ations.
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach; you play the spaniel.
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me ;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure.
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. —
Good man, [to Cbanmek] sit down. Now let me see

the proudest
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee :
By all that's holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think his place becomes thee not. --)

Sur. May it please your grace, —

K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me.

I had thought, I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom, of my council ; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,)
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
W^hy, what a shame was this? Did my commission
Bid ye so far foi'get yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom; There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.

Chan. Thus far,

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather
(If there be faith in men,) meant for his trial.
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I am sure, in me.

K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him ;

Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, If a prince

May be beholden to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Can-
terbury,
I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, -^) and answer for her.

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour; How may I deserve it.
That am a poor and humble subject to you?

K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your
spoons; -'*) you shall have
Two noble partnex's with you; the old duchess of

Norfolk,
And lady marquis Dorset: Will these please you?
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you,
Embrace, and love this man.

Gar. With a true heart,

And brother-love, I do it.

Cran. And let heaven

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy
true heart.
The common voice, I see, is verified
Of thee, which says thus. Do my lord of Canterbury
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever. —
Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
To have this young one made a christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The Palace Yard.

Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and
his Man.

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals:
Do you take the court for Paris-garden?-*) ye
rude slaves, leave your gaping. -*)

[jnthin.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you
rogue: Is this a place to roar in? — Fetch me a
dozen crab-tree-staves, and strong ones; these are
but switches to them. — I'll scratch your heads:
You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for
ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?

Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much impossible
(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,)
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
On May-day morning; which ^vill never be:
We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them.

Port. How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man. Alas, I know not. How gets the tide in?
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot
(You see the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no spare, sir.

Port. You did nothing, sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col-
brand, ^') to mow them down before me: but, if I
spared any, that had a head to hit, either young
or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me
never hope to see a chine again; and that! would
not for a cow, God save her.

[rFithin.] Do you hear, master porter?

Port. 1 shall be with you presently, good master
puppy. — Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock them down
by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? -S)
or have we some strange Indian with the great tool

KKV.

572

KING HENRY VIII

Act V.

come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless
me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my
christian conscience, this one christening will beget
a thousand: here will be father, godfather, and all
together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There
is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be
a brazier by his face, *') for, o'my conscience,
twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all
that stand about him are under the line, they need
no other penance : The fire-drake ^ °) did I hit three
times on the head, and three times was his nose dis-
charged against me; he stands there, like a mortar-
piece to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife
of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her
pink'd porringer fell off her head, ^') for kindling
such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the me-
teor 3^) once, and hit that woman, who cried out
clubs! ^^) when I might see from far some forty
truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the
hope of the Strand, where she was quartered : They
fell on ; I made good my place ; at length they came
to the broomstaff with me, I defied them still; when
suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, ^'*)
delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain
to draw mine honour in, and let them win the
work: ^^) The devil was amongst them, I think,
surely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-
house, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience,
but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of
Limehouse, ^') their dear brothers, are able to en-
dure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum, *')
and there they are like to dance these three days;
besides the running banquet of two beadles, ^^)
that is to come.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here!
They grow still too, from all parts they are coming.
As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters,
These lazy knaves? — Ye have made a fine hand,

fellows.
There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these
Your faithful friends o'the suburbs? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.

Port. An't please your honour

We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a pieces, we have done:
An army cannot rule them.

Cham. As I live.

If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines, for neglect : You are lazy knaves ;
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, ^') when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound;
They are come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press, and find a way out
To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months.

Port. Make way there for the princes.

Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll
make your head ake.

Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail; I'll
pick you o'er the pales else. "*") [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Palace.''^)

Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen,
Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Nor-
folk, U!ith hit marshall's staff, Duke of Suffolk,

two Noblemen hearing great standing bowls '*^)
for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen
bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of
Norfolk, godmother, bearing the Child richly ha-
bited in a mantle, t^c. Train borne by a Lady:
then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other
godmother, and Ladies. The Troop pass once
about the stage, and Garter speaks.

Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, * *) send
prosperous life, long, and ever happy to the high
and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!

Flourish. Enter King, and Train.

Cran. \Kneeling.'\ And to your royal grace, and
the good queen,
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray ; —
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady.
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!

K.Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop;

What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

K.Hen. Stand up, lord. —

\The King kisses the Child.
With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thee !
Into whose hands I give thy life.

Cran. Amen.

K.Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too pro-
digal :
I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady.
When she has so much English.

Cran. Let me speak, sir.

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness,)
A pattern to all princes living with her.
And all that shall succeed; Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces.
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is.
With all the virtues that attend the good.
Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her.
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her :
She shall be lov'd and fear'd : Her own shall bless her :
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn.
And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows

with her:
In her days, every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour.
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
[Nor shall this peace sleep with her: '*'*) But as

when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phcenix.
Her ashes new create another heir.
As great in admiration as herself;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
(When heaven shall call her froii^ this cloud of

darkness,)
Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was.
And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror.
That were the servants to this chosen infant.
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour, and the greatness of his name

XKV.

Act V.

KING HENRY VIII.

573

Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches

To all the plains about him : Our children's

children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.
K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.]

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
'Would I had known no more! but she must die,
She must, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop.
Thou hast made me now a man; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing:
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me.
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. —
I thank ye all, — To you, my good lord mayor.
And your good brethren, I am much beholden;
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence.
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,
lords;

Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay.
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

'Tis ten to one, this play can never please

All that are here: Some come to take their ease,

And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear.

We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,

They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city

Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — that's witty !

Which we have not done neither: that; I fear.

All the expected good we are like to hear

For this play at this time, is only in

The merciful construction of good women;

For such a one we show'dthem; *5) If they smile, **)

And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while

All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,

If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap.

vcsv.

XXVI.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

PERSONS BEPRESENTED.

Priam, King of Troy :

Hectob,

Troilus,

Paris, ) his Sons.

Driphobus,

Helbnus,

^TKNOR, } Trojan Commanders.

Calchas, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the

Greeks.
Pandarus, Uncle to Cressida.
Mabgarklon, a bastard Son of Priam.

Agamemnon, the Grecian General:
Menblaus, his Brother.

Grecian Commanders.

Achilles,
Ajax,
Ulysses,
Nestor,

DiOMEDES,

Patroclus,

Thbrsites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.

Alexander, Servant to Cressida.

Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to

Diomedes.
Helen, Wife to Menelaus.
Andromache, Wife to Hector.
Cassandra, Daughter to Priam; a Prophetess.
Cressida, Daughter to Calchas.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.

Scene — Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.

PROLOGUE.

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece

The princes orgulous, *) their high blood chaf'd

Have to the port of Athens sent their ships.

Fraught with the ministers and instruments

Of cruel war: Sixty and nine that wore

Their crowns regal, from the Athenian bay

Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made.

To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures

The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps: and that's the quarrel.

To Tenedos they come;

And the deep drawing barks do there disgorge

Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains

The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch

Their brave pavilions: Priam's six -gated city,

Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,

And Antenorides, with massy staples,

And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 2)

Sperr up the sons of Troy. ^)

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits.

On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,

Sets all on hazard: — And hither am I come,

A prologue arm'd, — '*) but not in confidence

Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited

In like conditions as our argument, —

To tell you, fair beholders, that our play

Leaps o'er the vaunt *) and firstlings of those broils,

'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away

To what may be digested in a play.

Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are;

Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Troy. Before Priam'« Palace.
Enter Troilus armed; and Pandarus.

Tro. Call here my varlet, <') I'll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart.
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.

Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended?

Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their
strength.
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear.
Tamer than sleep, fonder ') than ignorance;
Less valiant than the virgin in the night.
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my
part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that
will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the
grinding.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the
bolting.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the
leavening.

Tro. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the
word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the
cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay,
you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance
to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench s) at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;

KXVI.

Act I.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

575 i

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, —

So, traitor ! when she comes ! When is she

thence ?

Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever
I saw her look, or any woman else.

Tro. I was about to tell thee, — When ray heart.
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain;
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,)
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than
Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more com-
parison between the women. — But, for my part,
she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term
it, praise her, — But I would somebody had heard
her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise
your sister Cassandra's wit; but —

Tro. O, Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, —
When I do tell thee. There my hopes lie drown'd.
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand.
In whose comparison all whites are ink.
Writing their own reproach ; To whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman! ') This thou

tell'st me.
As true thou tell'st me, when I say — I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm.
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as
she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an
she be not, she has the mends ' **) in her own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-
thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone
betw een and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what,
with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not
so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she
would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday.
But what care I ? I care not, an she were a black-
a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say I, she is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's
a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the
Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her:
for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the
matter.

Tro. Pandarus, —

Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, —

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me ; I will leave
all as I found it, and there an end.

[Exit Panbarus. An Alarum.

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace, rude
sounds !
Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair.
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But, Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo,

As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where she resides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter ^Eneas.
JEne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not

afield?
Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer
sorts, '*)
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, ^Eneas, from the field to-day?
jEne. That Paris is returned home, and hui't
Tro. By whom, iEneas?

jEne. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum.

jEne. Hark ! what good sport is out of town to-day !
Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were
may. —
But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither ?
JEne. In all swift haste.
Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Street.

Enter Cressida and Alexander.

Cres. Who were those went by ?

Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen.

Cres. And whither go they ?

Alex. Up to the eastern tower,

Whose height commands as subject all the vale.
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache and struck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war, * ^)
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light.
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

Ores. What was his cause of anger?

Alex. The noise goes, this : There is among the
Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him, Ajax.

Cres. Good; And what of Mm?

Alex. They say he is a very man per se.
And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick,
or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of
their particular additions; *^) he is as valiant as
the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant :
a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours,
that his valour is crushed into folly, '*) his folly
sauced with discretion : there is no man hath a vir-
tue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man
an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is
melancholy without cause, and merry against the
hair: **) He hath the joints of every thing; but
every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty
Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Ar-
gus, all eyes and fto sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me
smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the
battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and shame

BXVI.

576

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

Act I.

whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and
waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cres. Who comes here?

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cres, Hector's a gallant man.

Alex. As may be in the world, lady.

Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan, Good morrow, cousin Cressid: What do you
talk of? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How do
you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?

Cres. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came?
Was Hector armed, and gone, ere yejcarae to Ilium?
Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.

Pan. Was he angry?

Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too;
he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that:
and there is Troilus will not come far behind him;
let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them
that too.

Cres. What, is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of
the two.

Cres, O, Jupiter ! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector?
Do you know a man, if you see him?

Cres. Ay ; if I ever saw him before, and knew him.

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he
is not Hector.

Pan, No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some de-
grees.

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself.

Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he
were,

Cres. So he is.

Pan. — ■ — 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.

Cres. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself. — 'Would 'a
were himself? Well, the gods are above; Time must
friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well, — I would, my
heart were in her body! — No, Hector is not a
better man than Troilus.

Cres. Excuse me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. The other's not come to't; you shall tell me
another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector
shall not have his wit this year.

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own.

Pan. Nor his qualities ;

Cres. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

Cres, 'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself
swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour,
(for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brown neither.

Cres. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.

Cres, To say the truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan. So he has.

Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much: if she
praised him above, his complexion is higher than
his; he having colour enough, and the other higher,

is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I
had as lief, Helen's golden tongue had commended
Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan. I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him
better than Paris.

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, "■) indeed.

Pa7i. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him
the other day into the compassed window, — ")
and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs
on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring
his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he,
within three pound, lift as much as his brother
Hector.

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? '^)

Pa7i. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him; —
she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven
chin,

Cres. Juno have mercy! — How came it cloven?

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think his
smiling becomes him better than any man in all
Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not ?

Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Pan. Why, go to then; — But to prove to you
that Helen loves Troilus,

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll
prove it so.

Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than
I esteem an addle egg.

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love
an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell.

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she
tickled his chin! — Indeed, she has a marvellous
white hand, I must needs confess.

Cres. Without tlie rack.

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair
on his chin.

Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

Pan. But, there was such laughing; — Queen He-
cuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er.

Cres. With mill-stones.

Pan. And Cassandra laughed.

Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under
the pot of her eyes ; — Did her eyes run o'er too ?

Pan. And Hector laughed.

Cres. At what was all this laughing?

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied
on Troilus' chin.

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have
laughed too.

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at
his pretty answer.

Cres. What was his answer?

Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs
on your chin, and one of them is white.

Cres. This is her question.

Pa7i. That's true; make no question of that. One
and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: That
white hair is my father, and all the rest are his
sons. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is
Paris my husband? The forked one, quoth he, pluck
it out, and give it him. But, there was such
laughing ! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed,
and all the rest so laughed, that it passed. * ')

Cres. So let it now ; for it has been a great while
going by.

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday;
think on't.

Cres. So I do.

XXVI.

Act I.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

577

Pan. I'll be swoni, 'tis true; he will weep you,
an 'twere a man born in April.

Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a
nettle against May. \_A Retreat sounded.

Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field : Shall
we stand up here, and see them, as they pass to-
ward Ilium? Good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida.

Cres. At your pleasure.

Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here
we may see most bravely: I'll tell you them all by
their names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus
above the rest.

iENBAs passes over the Stage.

Cres. Speak not so loud.

Pan. That's iEneas; Is not that a brave man?
he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you;
But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.

Cres. Who's that?

Aktbnor passes over.

Pan. That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I can
tell you; and he's a man good enough: he's one
o'the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and
a proper man of person : — When comes Troilus? —
I'll show you Troilus anon ; if he see me, you shall
see him nod at me.

Cres. Will he give you the nod?

Pan. You shall see.

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. -")

Hector passes over.

Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that;
There's a fellow! — Go thy way, Hector! — There's
a brave man, niece. — O brave Hector! — Look,
how he looks! there's a countenance: Is't not a
brave man?

Cres. O, a brave man!

Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good —
Look you what hacks are on his helmet? look you
yonder, do you see? look you there! there's no
jesting: there's laying on; take't off who will, as
they say : there be hacks !

Cres. Be those with swords?

Paris passes over.

Pan. Swords ? any thing, he cares not : an the de-
vil come to him, it's all one: By God's lid, it do«s
one's heart good: — Yonder comes Paris, yonder
comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece ; Is't not a gal-
lant man too, is't not? — Why, this is brave now. —
Who said, he came hurt home to-day ? he's not
hurt: why, this will do Helen's heart good now.
Ha! 'would I could see Troilus now! — you shall
see Troilus anon.

Cres. Who's that?

Hblbncs passes over.

Pan. That's Helenus, — I marvel, where Troilus
is : — That's Helenus ; — I think he went not forth
to-day: — That's Helenus.

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle?

Pan. Helenus? no; — yes, he'll fight indifferent
well: — I marvel, where Troilus is! — Hark; do
you not hear the people cry, Troilus? — Helenus
is a priest.

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

Troilus passes over.

Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus: 'Tis Troi-
lus! there's a man, niece! — Hem — Brave Troilus!
the prince of chivalry.

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace!

Pan. Mark him ; note him ; — O brave Troilus ! —
Look well upon him, niece; look you, how his
sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than
Hector's; And how he looks, and how he goes! —

0 admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three and twenty.
Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way; had I a sister
were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should
take his choice. O admirable man ! Paris ! — Paris
is dirt to him; and I warrant, Helen, to change,
would give an eye to boot.

Forces pats over the Stage.

Cres. Here come more.

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts ! chaff and bran, chaff and
bran ! porridge after meat ! I could live and die i'the
eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; the eagles
are gone; crows and daws, crows and daws! 1 had
rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon
and all Greece.

Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles ; a better
man than Troilus.

Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel.

Cres. Well, well.

Pan. Well, well? — Why, have you any discre-
tion? have you any eyes? Do you know what a man
is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse,
manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liber-
ality, and such like, the spice and salt that season
a man?

Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked
with no date in the pye, — ^ ') for then the man's
date is out.

Pan. You are such a woman! one knows not at
what ward you lie. -^)

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon
my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to
defend mine honesty ; my mask, to defend my beauty ;
and you, to defend all these : and at all these wards

1 lie, at a thousand watches.
Pan. Say one of your watches.

Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one
of the chiefest of them too; if I cannot ward what
I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling
how I took the blow; unless it swell past biding,
and then it is past watching.

Pan. You are such another!

Enter Troilds' Boy.

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.

Pan. Where?

Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him.

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come: [Exit Boy.

I doubt, he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece.

Cres. Adieu, uncle.

Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by.

Cres. To bring, uncle,

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus.

Cres. By the same token — you are a bawd. —

[Exit Panoabvs.
Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice.
He offers in another's enterprize :
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be;
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing:
That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not

this —
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is:
That she was never yet, that ever knew
Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue:
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, —
Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech: ^^)

XXVI. "*'

578

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act L

Then though my heart's content ^■') firm love doth

bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Exit.

SCENE III.

The Grecian Camp. Before Agamemnon's
Tent.

Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses,
Mbnelaus, and others.

Agam. Princes,
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
The ample proposition, that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below.
Fails in the promis'd largeness : checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd;
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap.
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us.
That we come short of our suppose so far,
That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand;
Sith every action that hath gone before.
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gav'st surmised shape. Why then, you princes.
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works;
And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought

else
But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love: for then, the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread.
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd -*) and kin:
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown.
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan.
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself
Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled.

'Sest. With due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply ^^)
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth.
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk?
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut.
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus' horse: Where's then the saucy boat.
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd greatness? either to harbour fled.
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide.
In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and brightness.
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize, ^')
Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks.
And flies fled under shade, ^s) Why, then, the thing

of courage, ^')
As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize,
And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key.
Returns to chiding 3°) fortune.

Vlyss. Agamemnon, —

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit.
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation

The which, — most mighty for thy place and sway, —

[To AGA3IESIN0If.

And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-ont life, —

[To Nbstok.
I give to both your speeches, — which were such,
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass; and such again,
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver.
Should with a bond of air (strong as the axletree
On which heaven rides) knit all the Greekish ears
To his experienc'd tongue, — ^') yet let it please

both, —
Thou great, — and wise, — to hear Ulysses speak.
Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less
expect ^^)
That matter needless, of importless burden.
Divide thy lips; than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws,
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle.

Vlyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down.
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
But for these instances.

The specialty of rule^^) hath been neglected:
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
When that the general is not like the hive, '*)
To whom the foragers shall all repair,
What honey is expected? Degrees being vizarded.
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this cen-
ter, 3 5)
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form.
Office, and custom, in all line of order:
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol,
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd
Amidst the other; whose med'cinable eye
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil.
And posts, like the commandment of a king.
Sans check, to good and bad : But, Avhen the planets,
In evil mixture, to disorder wander.
What plagues, and what portents? what mutiny?
What raging of the sea? shaking of earth?
Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors.
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate ^^)
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixture? O, when degree is shak'd.
Which is the ladder of all high designs.
The enterprize is sick! How could communities.
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 3')
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, ^^)
The primogenitive and due of birth,
Pierogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels.
But by degree, stand in authentic place?
Take but degree away, untune that string,
And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets
In mere ^'') oppugnancy: The bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe:
Strength should be lord of imbecility.
And the rude son should strike his father dead:
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong,
(Between whose endless jar justice resides,)
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then every thing includes itself in power.
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an universal wolf.
So doubly seconded with will and power.
Must make perforce an universal prey.
And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate.
Follows the choking.
And this neglection of degree it is.

HKVI.

Act I.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

579

That by a pace"*") goes backward, with a purpose

It hath to climb.*') The general's disdaia'd

By him one step below; he, by the next;

That next, by him beneath: so every step,

Exampled by the first pace that is sick

Of his superior, grows to an envious fever

Of pale and bloodless emulation: *-)

And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot.

Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,

Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.

Hest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
The fever whereof all our power ^^) is sick.

Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
What is the remedy?

tJlyti. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns
The sinew and the forehand of our host, —
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclua
Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day
Breaks scurril jests;

And with ridiculous and awkward action
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,)
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation ■*■*) he puts on;
And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scatfoldage, — *^) '
Such to-be-pitied and o'er- wrested seeming "**)
He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd,'*'')
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, \
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling.
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applau!>e;
Cries — Excellent! — 'Tis Agamemnon just. —
Now play me Nestor; — hem, and stroke thy beard.
At he, being 'drest to some oration.
That's done; — as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels: *^) as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries. Excellent'.
'Tit Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit.
And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget.
Shake in and out the rivet; — And at this sport.
Sir Valour dies ; cries, O! — enough, Patroclus ; —
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion.
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions.
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce.
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

Nest. And in the imitation of these twain
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice,) many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-will'd; and bears his head
In such a rein, *') in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle; and sets Thersites
(A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,) * °)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure.
How rank soever rounded in with danger. 5»)

Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice :
Count wisdom as no member of the war;
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand: the still and mental parts, —

That do contrive how many hands shall strike.
When fitness calb them on; and know, by measure '*)
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, —
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:
They call this — bed- work, mappery, closet- war;
So that the ram, that batters down the wall.
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize.
They place before his hand that made the engine:
Or those, that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles* horse
Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet tounda.

Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

Enter JEhbas.

Men. From Troy.

Agam. VVhat would you 'fore our tent?

^ne. Is this

Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray?

Agam. Even this.

uiEne. May one, that is a herald, and a prince,
Do a fair message to his kingly ears.

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon head and general.

JEne. Fair leave, and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks *^)
Know them from eyes of other mortals?

Agam. How ?

JEne. Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready wth a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus:
Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Ageunemnon?

Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.

^ne. Courtiers as free, as debonsur, unarm'd.
As bending angels; that's their fame in peace;
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls.
Good arms, strong joints, true swords, and Jove's

accord
Nothing so full of heart. **) But peace, ./Eneas,
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth:
But what the repining enemy commends.
That breath fame blows ; * *) that praise, sole pure,
transcends.

Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself iEneas?

^ne. Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Agam. What's your affair, I pray yon ?

jSne. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes from
Troy.

yEne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him ;
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear;
To set his sense on the attentive bent.
And then to speak.

Agam. Speak frankly as the wind;

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: -^
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake.
He tells thee so himself. -

JEne. Trumpet, blow loud.

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; —
And every Greek of mettle, let him know.
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.

[Trumpet sounds.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,)
Who in this dull and long-continued truce **)
Is rusty grown; he bade me take a trumpet.

XXVI.

37

580

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act II.

And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!

If there be one among the fair'st of Greece,

That holds his honour higher than his ease;

That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril ;

That knows his valour, and knows not his fear;

That loves his mistress more than in confession, ^ ')

(With truant vows to her own lips he loves,)

And dare avow her beauty and her worth,

In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge.

Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,

Shall make it good, or do his best to do it.

He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer.

Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;

And will to-morrow with his trumpet call,

Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,

To rouse a Grecian that is true in love:

If any come, Hector shall honour him;

If none, he'll say in, Troy, when he retires.

The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth

The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord iEneas ;
If none of them have soul in such a kind.
We left them all at home: But we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a meie recreant prove.
That means not, hath not, or is not in love !
If then one is, or hath, or means to be.
That one meets Hector; if none else, 1 am he.

'Neit. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now:
But, if there be not in our Grecian host
One noble man, that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love, Tell him from me, —
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver.
And in ray vantbrace **) put this wither'd brawn;
And meeting him, will tell him, that my lady
Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste
As may be in the world; His youth in flood,
I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.

^ne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!

Vlyss. Amen.

Agam. Fair lord ^Eneas, let me touch your hand ;
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
Achilles shall have word of this intent;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent:
Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.

[Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestob.

fJlyss. Nestor,

Nest. What says Ulysses?

Vlyss. I have a young conception in my brain.
Be you my time to bring it to some shape. *')

j!Vc«*. What is't?

Vlyss. This 'tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To overbulk us all.

Nest. Well, and how?

Vlyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,!
However it is spread in general name.
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up:
And, in the publication, make no strain, *°)
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough, — will, with great speed of judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Vlyss. And wake him to the answer, think you ?

Nest. Yes,

It is most meet; Whom may you else oppose,

That can from Hector bring those honours off,

If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat.

Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;

For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute

With their fm'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses,

Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd

In this wild action: for the success,

Although particular, shall give a scantling *»)

Of good or bad unto the general;

And in such indexes, although small pricks ^^)

To their subsequent volumes, there is seen

The baby figure of the giant mass

Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd.

He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice:

And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,

Makes merit her election; and doth boil,

As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd

Out of our virtues; Who miscarrying.

What heart receives from hence a conquering part.

To steel a strong opinion to themselves?

Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments.

In no less working, than are swords and bows

Directed by the limbs.

Vlyss. Give pardon to my speech; —
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not.
The lustre of the better shall exceed.
By showing the worse first. Do not consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame, in this.
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

Nest. 1 see them not with my old eyes: what are
they?

Vlyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Wcitfe he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;
And we were better parch in Afric sun.
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes.
Should he 'scape Hector fair: If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion ^^) crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort '' *) to fight with Hector : Among ourselves.
Give him allowance for the better man,
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off.
We'll dress him up in voices: If he fail.
Yet go we under our opinion ^^) still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, —
Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.

Nest. Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on,''') as 'twere their bone.

[Exeunt,

ACT II. 0

SCENE I. Another Part of the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Theksitbs.

Ajax. Thersites,

Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils? full,
all over, generally?
Ajax. Thersites,

XXVI.

Act IL

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

581

Ther. And those boils did run ? — Say so, — did
not the general run, then? were not that a botchy
core?

Ajax. Dog,

Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I
see none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch- wolfs son, canst thou not hear?
Feel then. [Strikes him.

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mon-
grel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I
will beat thee into handsomeness,

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness :
but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration,
than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst
strike, canst thou? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou
strikest me thus?

Ajax. The proclamation, —

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.

Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch.

Ther. I would, thou didst itch from heatl to foot,
and I had the scratching of thee; I would make
thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou
art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow
as another.

Ajax. I say the proclamation,

Ther. Thou gnimblest and railest every hour on
Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his great-
ness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that
thou barkest at him.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites!

Ther. Thou shouldest strike him.

Ajax. Cobloaf ! -)

Ther. He would pun thee into shivers ^) with his
fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

Ajax. You whoreson cur! [Beating him.

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! •*)

Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou
hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an
assinego *) may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant
ass ! thou art here put to thrash Trojans ; and thou
art bought and sold '') among those of any wit, like
a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, ') I
will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by
inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou I

Ajax. You dog !

Ther. You scurvy lord!

Ajax. You cur ! [Beating him.

Ther, Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel;
do, do.

Enter Achillbs and Patroclus.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you
thus?
How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?

Ther. You see him there, do you?

Achil. Ay; what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do; what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why 1 do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for,
whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he
utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have
bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones :
I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia

mater ^) is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow.
This lord, Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in
his belly, and his guts in his head, — I'll tell you
what I say of him.

Achil. What?

Ther. I say, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interpose*.

Ther. Has not so much >vit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for
whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the
fool will not: he there; that be; look you there.

Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will shame it.

Pair. Good words, Thersites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenour
of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I serve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I serve here voluntary.

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not
voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary ; ') Ajax was
here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

Ther. Even so? — a great deal of your wit too
lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector
shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of
your brains; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut
with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites?

Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor, — whose
wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on
their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make
you plough up the wars.

Achil. What, what?

Ther. Yes, good sooth ; To, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! to !

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as
thou, afterwards.

Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach
bids me, »<») shall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I
come any more to your tents; I will keep where
there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.

[ExiU

Patr. A good riddemce.

Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all
our host:
That Hector, by the first hour of the sun.
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call some knight to anus.
That hath a stomach; and such a one, that ^are
Maintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell.

Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him?

Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise.
He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you: — I'll go learn more of it.

[Exeunt.

SCENE U.

Troy. A Room in Priam'« Palace.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilcs, Paris, and
Hblbnds.

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent.
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks;

KXVI.

582

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act II.

Deliver Helen, and all damage else —
As honour, loss of time, travel, expence.
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is

consunt'd
In hot digestion of this cormorant war, —
Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say you to't?

Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as toucheth my particular, yet,
Dread Priam,

There is no lady of more softer bowels.
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear.
More ready to cry out — Who knows what follows?
Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
Since the first sword was drawn about this question.
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes, ^')
Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean of ours:
If we have lost so many tenths of ours.
To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro. Fye, fye, my brother!

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father, in a scale
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of his infinite? '-)
And buckle-in a waist most fathomless.
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fye, for godly shame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons.
You are so empty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so?

Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother
priest,
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your

reasons :
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star dis-orb'd? — Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates and sleep: Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their

thoughts
With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect ' ^)
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The holding.

Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued?

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry.
To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes, that is attributive *'•)
To what infectiously itself affects.
Without some image of the aifected merit.

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears.
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment: How may I avoid.
Although my will distaste what it elected.
The wife I chose? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour:
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant.

When we have soil'd them : nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective sieve, **)
Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath with full consent *<') bellied his sails;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce.
And did him service: he touch'd the ports desir'd;
And, for an old aunt, »') whom the Greeks held

captive.
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and

freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl.
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships.
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Go, go,")
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands.
And cry'd — Inestimable !^ why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate ;
And do a deed that fortune never did, **)
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen.
That in their country did them that disgrace, ^
We fear to warrant in our native place !

Cas. [JFithin.] Cry, Trojans, cry !

Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this ?

Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.

Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans.

Hect. It is Cassandra.

Enter Cassandka, raving.

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand eyes.
And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

Hect. Peace, sister, peace.

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled elders,
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours! let us pay betiuiea
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
Troy must not be, nor goodly Illon stand;
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, '') burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a woe:
Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit.

Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high
strains
Of divination in our sister work
Some touches of remorse? or is your blood
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason,
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause.
Can qualify the same?

Tro. Why, brother Hector,

We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds.
Because Cassandra's mad; her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste ^") the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our several honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. ^') For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons:
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain!

Par. Else might the world convince of levity *^)
As well my undertakings, as your counsels :
But I attest the gods, your full consent *^)
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off
All fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms?

XXVI.

Act II.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

583

What propugnation is in one man's valour,

To stand the push and enmity of those

This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done,
Nor faint in the pursuit.

Pri. Paris, you speak

Like one besotted on your sweet delights:
You have the honey still, but these the gall;
So to be valiant, is no praise at all.

Par. Sir, 1 propose not merely to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
But 1 would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip'd -off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen.
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me.
Now to deliver her possession up,
On terms of base compulsion? Can it be.
That so degenerate a strain as this.
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There's not the meanest spirit on our party.
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw.
When Helen is defended; nor none so noble.
Whose life were ill-bestow'd, or death unfam'd.
Where Helen is the subject: then, I say.
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well;
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have gloz'd, — ^'^) but superficially; not much
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle -*) thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy:
The reasons you allege, do more conduce
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood.
Than to make up a free determination
'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure, and revenge.
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves.
All dues be render'd to their owners; Now
What nearer debt in all humanity.
Than wife is to the husband? if this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection;
And that great minds, of partial indulgence '^^)
To their benumbed wills, ^') resist the same;
There is a law in each well-order'd nation.
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, —
As it is known she is, — these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud
To have her back return'd: Thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong.
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth; ^^) yet, ne'ertheless,
My spritely brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still;
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
Upon our joint and several dignities.

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design:
Were it Hot glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens, ^^)
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown;
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds;
Whose present courage may beat down our foes.
And fame, in time to come, canonize us: '°)
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory.
As smiles upon the forehead of this action,
For the wide world's revenue.

Hect. I am youi's,

You valiant offspring of great Priamus. —

I have a roisting challenge sent amongst

The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,

Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits:

I was adv^rtis'd, their great general slept.

Whilst emulation ^^ in the army crept;

This, I presume, will wake him. {Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' Tent.

Enter Tubrsitbs.

Ther. How now, Thersites ? what, lost in the laby-
rinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it
thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy
satisfaction!' would, it were otherwise; that I could
beat him, whilst he rail'd at me: 'Sfoot, I'll learn
to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue
of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, —
a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these
two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall
of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olym-
pus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods;
and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy
Caduceus; ^^) if ye take not that little little less-
than-little wit from them that they have! which
short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant
scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly
from a spider, without drawing their massy irons, *^)
and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on
the whole camp! or, rather, the bone-ache! for that,
methinks, is the curse dependant on those that war
for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil,
envy, say Amen. What, ho! my lord Achilles!

Enter Patroclus.

Patr. Who's there? Thersites? good Thersites,
come in and rail.

Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt counter-
feit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my con-
templation: but it is no matter; Thyself upon thy-
self! The common curse of mankind, folly and
ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless
thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee !
Let thy blood be thy direction ^'*) till thy death:
then if she, that lays thee out, says — thou art a
fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she
never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's
Achilles ?

Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?

Ther. Ay; The heavens hear me!

Enter Achili-bs.

Achil. Who's there?

Pair. Thersites, my lord.

Achil. Where, where? — Art thou come? Why,
my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served
thyself in to ray table so many meals? Come; what's
Agamemnon ?

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles: — Then tell me,
Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites; Then tell me, I pray
thee, what's thyself?

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me, Patro-
clus, what art thou?

Patr. Thou mayest tell, that knowest.

Achil. O, tell, tell.

Ther. I'll decline ^5) the whole question. Aga-
memnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I
am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool.

Patr. You rascal!

Ther. Peace, fool; I have not done.

xxcn.

584

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act II.

Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther-
sites.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool;
Thersites is a fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is
a fool.

Achil. Derive this; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command
Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of
Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool, to serve such a
fool: and Patroclus is a fool positive.

Patr. Why am I a fool?

Ther. Make that demand of the prover. — It suf-
fices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here.

Enter Agahemkon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedbs,
and Ajax.

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody : — Come
in with me, Thersites. [Exit.

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and
such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and
a whore : A good quarrel, to draw emulous factions,
and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on
the subject! and war, and lechery, confound all!

[Exit.

Agam. Where is Achilles?

Patr. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord.

Agam. Let it be known to him, that we are here.
He shent our messengers;^*) and we lay by
Our appertainments, visiting of him:
Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think
We dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.

Patr. I shall so say to him. [Exit.

Vlyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent;
He is not sick.

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you may
call it melancholy, if you will favour the man ; but,
by my head, 'tis pride: But, why, why? let him
show us a cause. — A word, my lord.

[Takes Agamemnon aside.

Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Vlyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.

Nest. Who? Thersites?

Vlyss. He.

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost
his argument.

Vlyss. No; you see, he is his^argument, that has
his argument; Achilles.

Nest. All the better; their fraction is more our
wish, than their faction : But it was a strong com-
posure, a fool could disunite.

Vlyss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may
easily untie. Here comes Patroclus.

Re-enter Patroclus.

Nest. No Achilles with him.

Vlyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for cour-
tesy: his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.

Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry.
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatness, and this noble state, ^')
To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other.
But, for your health and your digestion sake,
An after-dinner's breath. ^^)

Agam. ' Hear you, Patroclus; —

We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath; and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, —
Not virtuously on his own part beheld, —
Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,

Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him.
We come to speak with him: And you shall not sin,
If you do say — we think him over-proud.
And under-honest; in self-assumption greater.
Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than

himself
Here tend the savage strangeness 3') he puts on;
Disguise the holy strength of their command.
And underwrite *") in an observing kind "**)
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if
The passage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this; and add,
That, if he overbold his price so much.
We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lie under this report —
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give *-)
Before a sleeping giant; — Tell him so.

Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. [Exit.

Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied.
We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter.

[Exit Ulvssbs.

Ajax. What is he more than another?

Agam. No more than what he thinks he is.

Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think, he thinks
himself a better man than I am?

Agam. No question.

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say —
he is?

Agam. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as va-
liant, as Avise, no less noble, much more gentle, and
altogether more tractable.

Ajax. Why should a man be proud? How doth
pride grow? I know not what pride is.

Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your
virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him-
self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his
own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in
the deed, devours the deed in the praise.

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en-
gendering of toads.

Nest. And yet he loves himself; Is it not strange?

[Aside.

Re-enter Ulysses.

Vlyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

Agam. What's his excuse?

Vlyss. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the stream of his dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
In will peculiar and in self-admission.

Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Untent his person, and share the air with us?

Vlyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake
only.
He makes important : Possess'd he is with greatness ;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self- breath: imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse.
That 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters down himself: What should I say?
He is so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it '*^)
Cry — No recovery.

Agam. Let Ajax go to him. —

Dear lord, go you and greet hhn in his tent:
'Tis said, he holds you well; and will be led.
At your request, a little from himself.

Vlyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud lord.
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam; '*'*)

KXVI.

Act III

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

585

And never suffers matter of the world
Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he ?
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit.
As amply titled as Achilles is.
By going to Achilles:

That were to enlard his fat-already pride; **)
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With enteitaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid;
And say in thunder — Achilles, go to him.
Nett. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.

Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause!

[Atide.

Ajax. If I go to him, with my ann'd fist I'll pash
him *fi)
Over the face.

Agam. O, no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze his
pride: ■*')
Let me go to him.

Vltfss. Not for the worth *^) that bangs upon our
quarrel.

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow,

Kest. How he describes

Himself! [Aside.

Ajax. Can he not be sociable?

Vlyst. The raven

Chides blackness. [J»ide.

Ajax, I will let his humours blood.

Agam. He'll ""] be physician, that should be the
patient. [Atide.

Ajax. An all men
Were o'my mind,

Vlyst. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside.

Ajax. He should not bear it so.
He should eat swords first: shall pride carry it?

Jiest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside.

Vlyst, He'd have ten shares.

[Aside.

Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple :

iiett. He's not yet thorough warm: force him *°)
with praises:
Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. [Aside.

Vlyss, My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

[To Agamehnon.

Nett. O noble general, do not do so.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

Vlyst. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
Here is a man — But 'tis before his face;
I will be silent.

Jiest. Wherefore should you so?

He is not emulous, *') as Achilles is.

Vlyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter ^ ^) thus
with us!
I would, he were a Trojan !

Nest, What a vice

Were it in Ajax now

Vlyss. If he were proud?

Dio. Or covetous of praise?

Vlyss. Ay, or surly borne?

Dio. Or strange, or self- affected ?

l7/y«»., Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet
composure ;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck;
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition:
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight,

Let Mars divide eternity in twain.

And give him half: and, for thy vigour.

Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield *^)

To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom.

Which like a bourn, 5->) a pale, a shore, confines

Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here's Nestor, —

Instructed by the antiquary times.

He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; —

But pardon, father Nestor, were your days

As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd.

You should not have the eminence of him,

But be as Ajax.

Ajax, Shall I call you father?

Nest. Ay, my good son.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Vlyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
To call together all his state of war;
Fresh kings are come to Troy: To-morrow,
We must with all our main of power stand fast:
And here's a lord, — come knights from east to west,
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep:
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw
deep. [ExeuiU,

ACT m.

SCENE I. Troy. A Room in Pridna't Palace.
Enter Pandabus and a Servant.

Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not you
follow the young lord Paris?

Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman; I
must needs praise him.

Serv. The lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord Pan-
darus.

Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better.

Pan. I do desire it.

Serv. You are in the state of grace. [Music within.

Pan, Grace! not so, friend; honour and lordship
are my titles : — What music is this ?

Serv. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians?

Serv. Wholly, sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv, To the hearers, sir.

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?

Serv, At mine, sir, and theirs that love mnsic.

Pan, Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. Who shall I command, sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am
too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At whose
request do these men play?

Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the
request of Paris my lord, who is there in person;
with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of
beauty, love's invisible soul,

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida?

Serv. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out that
by her attributes?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not
seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris
from the prince Troilus : I will make a complimental
assault upon him, for my business seeths.

BKVT.

586

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act III.

Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase,
indeed !

Enter Paris and Helen, attended.

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair
company ! fair desires, in all fair measxire, fairly
guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair
thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. —
Fair prince, here is good broken music.

Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life,
you shall make it whole again: you shall piece it
out with a piece of your performance: — Nell, he
is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, sir,

Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

Par. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits. *)

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen: —
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll
hear you sing, certainly.

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with
me. — But (marry) thus my lord, — My dear lord,
and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus —

Helen. My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord, —

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends
himself most affe,ctionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody;
If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet
queen, i'faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour
offence.

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that
shall it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such
words: no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you,
that, if the king call for him at supper, you will
make his excuse.

Helen. My lord Pandarus,

Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very
sweet queen?

Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-
night?

Helen. Nay, but my lord,

Pan. What says my sweet queen? — My cousin
will fall out with you. You must not know where
he sups.

Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; -)
come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say —
Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick.

Par. I spy.

Pan. You spy! what do you spy? — Come, give
me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing
you have, sweet queen.

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my
lord Paris.

Pan. He! no, she'll none of him; they two are
twain.

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them
three.

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll
sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, sweet
lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may.

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo
us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pan. In good troth, it begins so:

Love, love, nothing but love, still more!

For, oh, love's bow

Shoots buck and doe:

The shaft confounds,

Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry — Oh ! oh ! they die I
Yet that which seems the wound to kill.

Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!
So dying love lives still:

Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!

Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha !
Hey ho!

Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose.

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that
breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts,
and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds
is love.

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood,
hot thoughts, and hot deeds? — Why, they are
vipers : Is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet lord,
who's a-field, to-day ?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all
the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed
to-night, *) but my Nell would not have it so. How
chance my brother Troilus went not?

Helen. He hangs the lip at something ; — you know
all, lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear
how they sped to-day. — You'll remember your
brother's excuse?

Par. To a heir.

Part. Farewell, sweet queen.

Helen. Commend me to your niece.

Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit.

[A Retreat sounded.

Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's hall,
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles.
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd.
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector.

Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris :
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty.
Give us more palm in beauty than we have;
Yea, over-shines ourself.

Par, Sweet, above thought I love thee. \Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Pandarus' Orchard.

Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting.

Pan. How now ? where's thy master ? at my cousin
Cressida's ?
Serv. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.

Enter Troilds.

Pan. O, here he conies. — How now, how now?

Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant.

Pan. Have you seen my cousin?

Tro. No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door,
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance to those fields,
Where I may wallow in the lily beds

XKVI.

Act III.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

587

Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fly with ine to Cressid!

Pan. Walk here i'the orchard, I'll bring her straight.

[Exit Pandabds.

Tro. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
The imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchants my sense; What will it be,
When that the watry palate tastes indeed
Love's thrice-reputed nectar? death, I fear me;
Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine,
Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness,
For the capacity of my ruder powers:
I fear it much; and I do fear besides,
That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
The enemy flying.

Re-enter Pandarus.

Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come straight :
you must be witty now. She does so blush, and
fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed
with a sprite: I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest
villain: — she fetches her breath as short as a new-
ta'en sparrow. [JBxrt PANDARns,

Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom :
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse;
And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring
The eye of majesty.

Enter Pandarus and Crbssida.

Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? shame's
a baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths now
to her, that you have sworn to me. — What, are
you gone again? you must be watched ere you be
made tame, must you? Come your ways, come your
ways; an you draw backward, we'll put you i'the
fills. — *) Why do you not speak to her? — Come,
draw this curtain, and let's see your picture. Alas
the day, how loath you are to oifend daylight! an
'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on,
and kiss the mistress. *) How now, a kiss in fee-
farm ! build there, carpenter ; the air is sweet.
Nay, you shall fight your hearts out, ere I part
you. The falcon as the tercel, ') for all the ducks
i'the river: go to, go to.

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady.

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but
she'll bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your
activity in question. What, billing again ? Here's —
In witness whereof the parties interchangeably —
Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire. [Exit FA^DABU8.

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ?

Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus ?

Cres. Wished, my lord? — The gods grant! — O
my lord!

Tro. What should they grant? what makes this
pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies my
sweet lady in the fountain of our love?

Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.

Tro. Fears make devils cherubims; they never see
truly.

Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds
safer footing than blind reason stumbling without
fear: To fear the worst, oft cures the worst.

Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all
Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster.

Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither?

Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings; when we vow
to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers;
thinking it harder for our mistress to devise impo-
sition enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty

imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, —
that the will is infinite, and the execution confined;
that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave
to limit.

Cres. They say, all lovers swear more performance
than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that
they never perform ; vowing more than the perfection
of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of
one. They that have the voice of lions, and the
act of hares, are they not monsters?

Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : Praise us
as we are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head
shall go bare, till merit crown it: no perfection in
reversion shall have a praise in present: we will
not name desert, before his birth; and, being born,
his addition shall be humble. ') Few words to fair
faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid, as what
envy can say worst, shall be a mock for his truth; *)
and what truth can speak truest, no truer than
Troilus.

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord?

Re-enter Pandarus.

Pan. What, blushing still? have you not done talk-
ing yet?

Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate
to you.

Pan. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy
of you, you'll give him me: Be true to my lord:
if he flinch, chide me for it.

Tro. You know now your hostages; your uncle's
word, and my firm faith.

Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too ; our kin-
dred, though they be long ere they are w ooed, they
are constant, being won: they are burs, I can tell
you; they'll stick where they are thrown.

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me
heart: —
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day.
For many weary months.

Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?

Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord,
With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; —
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
I love you now; but not, till now, so much
But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ;
My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
Too headstrong for their mother: See, we fools!
Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us.
When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
Ant yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man;
Or that we women had men's privilege
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue;
For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent. See. see, your silence.
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws
My very soul of counsel: Stop my mouth.

Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.

Pan. Pretty, i'faith.

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you,nardon me:
'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss :
I am asham'd; — O heavens! what have I done? —
For this time will I take my leave, my lord.

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid?

Pan. Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow
morning,

Cres. Pray you, content you.

Tro. VVhat offends you, lady ?

Cres. Sir, mine own company.

Tro. You cannot shun

Yourself.

B3Cn.

588

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

Act in.

Cres. Let me go and try:
I have a kind of self resides with you:
But an unkind self, that itself will leave,
To be another's fool. I would be gone: —
"Where is my wit? I know not what I speak.

Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak
so wisely.

Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than
love;
And fell so roundly to a large confession,
To angle for your thoughts: But you are wise;
Or else you love not: For to be wise, and love,
Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.

Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman,
(As, if it can, I will presume in you,)
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;
To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, —
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the match ') and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in love;
How were I then uplifted! but, alas,
I am as true as truth's simplicity.
And simpler than the infancy of truth. '")

Cres. In that I'll war with you.

Tro. O virtuous fight.

When right with right wars who shall be most right!
True swains in love shall, in the world to come.
Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes,
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, *')
Wants similes, truth tir'd with iteration, — •
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
As iron to adamant, as earth to the center, —
Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
As truth's authentic author to be cited, **)
As true as Troilus shall crown up '^) the verse,
And sanctify the numbers.

Cres. Prophet may you be!

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth.
When time is old and hath forgot itself,
W^hen water drops have worn the stones of Troy,
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up,
And mighty states characterless are grated
To dusty nothing; yet let memory
From false to false, among false maids in love,
Upbraid my falsehood! when they have said — as

false
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth.
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf,
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son;
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood.
As false as Cressid.

Pan. Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll
be the witness. — Here I hold your hand; here,
my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another,
since I have taken such pains to bring you together,
let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's
end after my name, call them all — • Pandars; let
all constant men be Troiluses, all false women
Cressids, and all brokers-between Pandars! say.

amen.
Tro. Amen.
Cres. Amen.

Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a cham-
ber and a bed, which bed, because it shall not speak
of your pretty encounters, press it to death : away.
And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here.
Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this geer!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Grecian Camp.

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedbs, Nbstor,
Ajax, Mbnklaus, and Calchas.

Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you.
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind,
That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
Incurr'd a traitor's name; expos'd myself.
From certain and possess'd conveniences.
To doubtful fortunes; sequest'ring from me all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition.
Made tame and most familiar to my nature;
And here, to do you service, and become
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted :
I do beseech you, as in way of taste.
To give me now a little benefit.
Out of those many register'd in promise.
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.

Agam. What would'st thou of us, Trojan ? make
demand.

Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner call'd Antenor,
Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.
Oft have you, (often have you thanks therefore,)
Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange,
Whom Troy hath still denied: But this Antenor,
I know, is such a wrest "*) in their affairs.
That their negotiations all must slack.
Wanting his manage; and they will almost
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
In change of him: let him be sent, great princes.
And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
Shall quite strike off all service I have done,
In most accepted pain. ' ^)

Agam. Let Diomedes bear him.

And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have
What he requests of us. — Good Diomed,
Furnish you fairly for this interchange:
Withal, bring word — if Hector will to-morrow
Be answer'd in his challenge: Ajax is ready.

Dio. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
Which I am proud to bear.

[Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent,

Ulyss. Achilles stands i'the entrance of his tent : —
Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and, princes all.
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him:
I will come last : 'Tis like, he'll question me.
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on

him:
If so, I have derision med'cinable.
To use between your strangeness and his pride.
Which his own will shall have desire to drink;
It may do good: pride hath no other glass
To show itself, but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.

Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along; —
So do each lord; and either greet him not,
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.

Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me?
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.

Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught
with us?

Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?

Achil. No.

Nest. Nothing, my lord.
SKVI.

Act hi.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

589

Agam. The better.

[Exeunt Agasbxkon and Nbstok.

Achil. Good day, good day.

Men. How do you? how do you? [Exit Mekei.aii8.

Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me?

Ajax. How now, Patroclus?

Achil. Good morrow, Ajax.

Ajax. Ha?

Achil. Good morrow.

Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [ExUKjax.

Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not
Achilles?

Patr. They pass by strangely: they were us'd to
bend,
To send their smiles before them to Achilles;
To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep
To holy altars.

Achil. What, am I poor of late?

'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune.
Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is.
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others.
As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies.
Show not their mealy wings, but to the summer;
And not a man, for being simply man.
Hath any honour; but honour for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, favour, **)
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers.
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Do one pluck down another, and together
IHe in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess.
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out
Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses;
I'll interrupt his reading. —
How now, Ulysses?

IJlyts. Now, great Thetis' son?

Achil. What are you reading ?

UlysM. A strange fellow here

Writes me. That man — how dearly ever parted, ' ')
How much in having, or without, or in, —
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath.
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat thein, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses.

The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself,
(That most pure spirit of sense,) behold itself.
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself.
Till it hath travell'd, and is married there
Where it may see itself: this is not strange at aU.

tJlyii. I do not strain at the position.
It is familiar; but at the author's drift:
Who, in his circumstance, ' ^) expressly proves —
That no msui is the lord of any thing,
(Though in and of him there be much consisting,)
Till he communicate his parts to others:
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
Till he behold them fonn'd in the applause
Where they are extended; which, like an arch,

reverberates
The voice again; or like a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajsoc. ")

Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse;
That has he knows not what. Nature, what things

there are.
Most abject in regard, and dear in ose!
What things again most dear in the esteem.
And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow.
An act that very chance doth throw upon him,
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
While some men leave to do !
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
How one man eats into another's pride.
While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords! — why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast.
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me,
As misers do by beggars; neither gave to me
Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds forgot?

Vlytg. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back.
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past : which are devonr'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done: Perseverance, dear my lord.
Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow.
Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path;
For emulation hath a thousand sons.
That one by one pursue: If you give way.
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright.
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost; —
Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank.
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'er- run and trampled on: Then what they do ia

present.
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours :
For time is like a fashionable host.
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;
For beauty, wit.

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, —
That all, with one consent, praise new-bom gawds.
Though they are made and moulded of things past;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt.
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. ^'^)
The present eye praises the present object:
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man.
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye.
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee.
And still it might; and yet it may again.
If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive.
And case thy reputation in thy tent;
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late.
Made emulous missions- ') 'mongst the gods themselves.
And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil. Of this my privacy

I have strong reasons.

Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy

The reasons are more potent and heroical:
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
Which one of Priam's daughters. **)

XKVZ.

590

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act IV.

AcMl. Ha! known?

Ulyst. Is that a wonder?
The providence that's in a watchful state,
Knows ahnost every grain of Plutus' gold;
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps;
Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods.
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery (with whom relation
Durst never meddle ^^) in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine.
Than breath, or pen, can give expi-essure to:
All the commerce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ;
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena:
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home.
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump;
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing —
Great Hector's sister did Achilles win;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.

[JE*Jt.

Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you:
A woman impudent and mannish grown
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;
They think, my little stomach to the war,
And your great love to me, restrains you thus :
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane.
Be shook to air.

Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by
him.

Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake;
My fame is shrewdly gor'd.

Patr. O, then beware;

Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves;
Omission to do what is necessary -*)
Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus:
I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat.
To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's longing.
An appetite that I am sick withal.
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd!

Enter Thbhsites.

Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking
for himself.

Achil. How so?

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hec-
tor; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical
cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing.

Achil. How can that be?

T^ier. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,
a stride, and a stand : ruminates, like an hostess,
that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down
her reckoning: bites his lip with a politic regard,^*)
as who should say — there were wit in this head,
an 'twould out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly
in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without
knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hec-
tor break not his neck i'the combat, he'll break it
himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said,

Good morrow, Ajax; and he replies, Thanhs, Aga-
memnon. What think you of this man, that takes
me for the general? He is grown a very land fish,
languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a
man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin.

Achil. Thou must be my embassador to him, Ther-
sites.

Ther. Who, I ? why, he'll answer nobody ; he pro-
fesses not answering; speaking is for beggars; he
wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his
presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you
shall see the pageant of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him, — I humbly
desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous
Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to pro-
cure safe conduct for his person, of the magnani-
mous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-ho-
noured captain-general of the Grecian army, Aga-
memnon. Do this.

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax.

Ther. Humph!

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,

Ther. Ha!

Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite
Hector to his tent!

Ther. Humph!

Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.

Ther. Agamemnon?

Pair. Ay, my lord.

Ther. Ha!

Patr. What say you to't?

Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart.

Pair. You answer, sir.

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock
it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall
pay for me ere he has me.

Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What music
will be in him when Hector has knocked out his
brains, I know not: But, I am sure none; unless
the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings
on. -^)

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's
the more capable creature.*')

Achil. My mind his troubled, like a fountain stirr'd ;
And I myself see not the bottom of it.

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.

Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear
again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had rather
be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.

[Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Troy. A Street.

Enter at one side, ^nbas, and Servant, with a

Torch; at the other, Paris, Dbiphobcs, Antemor,

DioMBDEs, and others, with Torches.

Par. See, ho! who's that there?

Dei. 'Tis the lord ^neas.

./Ene. Is the prince there in person? —
Had I so good occasion to lie long.
As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord
ilCneas.

Par. A valiant Greek, ^Eneas; take his hand:
Witness the process of your speech, wherein

XKVI.

Act IV.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

591

You told — how Dioraed, a whole week by days,
Did haunt you in the field.

^ne. Health to you, valiant sir,

During all question ') of the gentle truce:
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance.
As heart can think, or courage execute.

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm; and so long, health:
But when contention and occasion meet.
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life.
With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

jiEne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
With his face backward. — In humane gentleness,
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life.
Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear.
No man alive can love, in such a sort.
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.

Dio. We sympathize: — Jove, let JBneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun!
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die.
With every joint a wound; and that to-morrow!

y^ne. We know each other well.

Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse.

Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting.
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I beard of. —
What business, lord, so early ?

^ne. I was sent for to the king; 'but why, I
know not.

Par. His purpose meets you; ^) 'Twas to bring
this Greek
To Calchas' house; and there to render him,
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid;
Let's have your company; or, if you please.
Haste there before us: I constantly do think,
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,)
ftly brother Troilus lodges there to-night;
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality wherefore; I fear.
We shall be much unwelcome.

jEne. That I assure you;

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,
Than Cressid borne from Troy.

Par. There is no help;

The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you.

jiEne. Good morrow, all. [Exit.

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; faith, tell me true,
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, —
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best,
Myself, or Menelaus?

fyio. Both alike:

He merits well to have her, that doth seek her
(Not making any scruple of her soilure,)
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge;
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour,)
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; ')
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors;
Both merits pois'd, *) each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman.

Dio. She's bitter to her country : Hear me, Paris. —
For everj- false drop in her bawdy veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been slain; since she could speak.
She hath not given so many good words breath.
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.

Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,

Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
But we in silence hold this virtue well, —
W^e'll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lies our way. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The tame. Court before the House of Pandaras.

Enter Troilus and Cressid a.

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the mom is cold.

Cre$. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;
He shall unbolt the gates.

Tro. Trouble him not;

To bed, to bed: Sleep kill those pretty eyes.
And give as soft attachment to thy senses.
As infants empty of all thought !

Crei. Good morrow then.

Tro. 'Pr'ythee now, to bed.

Cre$. Are you aweary of me?

Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows.
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.

Cre$. Night hath been too brief.

Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights
she stays.
As tediously as hell; but flies the grasps of love.
With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cret. Pr'ythee, tarry; —

You men will never tarry.

0 foolish Cressid ! — I might have still held off.
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there's

one up.
Pan. [Within.'] What, are all the doors open here?
Tro. It is your uncle.

Enter PA^DAftus.
Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he be mocking :

1 shall have such a life,

Pan. How now, how now? how go maidenheads? —
Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid?

Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle !
You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.

Pan. To do what ? to do what? — let her say what:
what have I brought you to do?

Cret. Come, come; beshrew your heart! you'll
ne'er be good.
Nor suffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capoc-
chia! *) hast not slept to-night? would he not, a
naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take him !

[Knocking.

Cres. Did I not tell you? — 'would he were knock'd
o'the head! —
Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see. —
My lord, come you again into my chamber:
Yon smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

Tro. Ha, ha!

Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such
thing. — [Knoe*ifi^.

How earnestly they knock! pray you, come in;
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.

[Exeunt TaoiLUs and Cbbsmda.

Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there? what's the
matter? will you beat down the door? How now?
what's the matter?

Enter Mkbas.
jEne. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow.
Pan. Who's there? my lord iEneas? By ray troth,
I knew you not: what news with you so early?

BBTI.

592

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act IV.

^ne. Is not prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what should he do here?

jEne. Come, he is here, ray lord, do not deny him ;
It doth import him much, to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know,
I'll be sworn : — For my own part, I came in late :
What should he do here?

jiUne. Who! — nay, then: —

Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware :
You'll be so true to him, to be false to him:
Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither : ^)
Go.

As Pandards is going out, enter Troilus.

Tro. How now? what's the matter?

^ne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you.
My matter is so rash: ') There is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith.
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Cressida.

Tro. Is it so concluded?

jEne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy:
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.

Tro. How my achievements mock me!
I will go meet them: and, my lord iEneas,
We met by chance; you did not find me here.

jiEne. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature
Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt TaoiLCs and J5nka8,

Pan. I'st possible? no sooner got, but lost? The
devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad.
A plague upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's
neck!

Enter Cressida.

Cres. How now? what is the matter ? Who was here?

Pan. Ah, ah!

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my
lord gone?
Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as
I am above!

Cres. O the gods! — what's the matter?

Pan. 'Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'Would thou had'st ne'er
been born ! I knew, thou would'st be his death : —

0 poor gentleman ! — A plague upon Antenor !
Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees,

1 beseech you, what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be
gone; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to
thy father, and be gone from Troilus ; 'twill be his
death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cres. O you immortal gods ! — I will not go.

Pan. Thou must.

Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father;
I know no touch of consanguinity; *)
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine!
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death.
Do to this body what extremes you can;
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very center of the earth.
Drawing all things to it. — I'll go in, and weep.

Pan. Do, do.

Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised
cheeks ;
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.

\Exeunt.

SCENE in.

The same. Before Pandarus' House.

Enter Paris, Troilus, ^Enbas, Deiphobus,
Antenor, and Diomedes.

Par. It is great morning; ') and the hour prefix'd
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon: — Good my brother Troilus,
Tell you the lady what she is to do.
And haste her to the purpose.

Tro. Walk in to her house ;

I'll bring her to the Grecian presently :
And to his hand when I deliver her.
Think it an altar; and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Exit.

Par. I know what 'tis to love;
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help! —
Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. A Room in Pandarus' House.

Enter Pandarus and Cressida.

Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.

Cres. Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste.
And violenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection.
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate.
The like allayinent could I give my grief:
My love admits no qualifying dross:
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

Enter Troilus.

Pan, Here, here, here he comes. — Ah sweet ducks !

Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him.

Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me
embrace too : O heart, — as the goodly saying

is,

o heart, o heavy heart,

Why sigh'st thou without breaking?
where he answers again.

Because thou canst not ease thy smart.

By friendship, nor by speaking.

There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away

nothing, for we may live to have need of such a

verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs ?

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity.
That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy.
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities — take thee from me.

Cres. Have the gods envy?

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.

Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?

Tro. A hateful truth.

Cres. What, and from Troilus too?

Tro. From Troj, and Troilus.

Cres. Is it possible?

Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our lock'd embrazures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath:
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste.
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how:
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,

KXVI.

Act IV.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

593

With distinct breath and consign'd kisses * °) to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu;
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. * ' )

^ne. [Within.] My lord! is the lady ready?

Tro. Hark! you are cail'd: Some say, the Ge-
nius so
Cries, Come ! to him that instantly must die, —
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.

Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind,
or my heart will be blown up by the root?

[Exit Pandaeus.

Cres. I must then to the Greeks?

Tro. No remedy.

Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks !
When shall we see again?

Tro. Hear me, my love: Be thou but true of
heart,

Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem'-) is
this?

Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us:
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee;
For I will throw my glove to death ^^) himself.
That there's no maculation in thy heart:
But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent protestation; be thou true,
And I will see thee.

Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true.

Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this
sleeve.

Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you ?

Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels.
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet, be true.

Cres. O heavens! — be true, again?

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love;
The Grecian youths are full of quality;
They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature

flowing.
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,)
Makes me afeard.

Cres. O heavens! you love me not.

Tro. Die I a villain then!
In this I do not call your faith in question,
So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt, '*) nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all.
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant :
But I can tell, that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil.
That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.

Cres. Do you think, I will?
. Tro. No.

But something may be done, that we will not:
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves.
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers.
Presuming on their changeful potency.

jiEne. [Within.] Nay, good my lord,

Tro. Come, kiss; and let us part.

Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus!

Tro. Good brother, come you hither ;

And bring ^neas, and the Grecian, with you.

Cres. My lord, will you be true?

Tro. Who I? alas, it is my vice, my fault:
While others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity; '*)
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns.
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.

KKVl

Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit

Is — plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it.

Enter ^Enbas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, and

DiOMEDBS.

Welcome, sir Diomed! here is the lady,
Which for Antenor we deliver yon:
At the port, '*) lord, I'll give her to thy hand;
And, by the way, possess thee what she is. ' ^)
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword.
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.

Dio. Fair lady Cressid,

So please you, save the thanks this prince expects :
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.

Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously.
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee.
In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises.
As thou unworthy to be cail'd her servant.
I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not.
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
I'll cut thy throat.

Dio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus,

Let me be privileg'd by my place, and message.
To be a speaker free; when I am hence,
I'll answer to my lust: '*) And know you, lord,
I'll nothing do on charge: To her own worth
She shall be priz'd; but that you say — be't so,
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, — no.

Tro. Come, to the port. — I'll tell thee, Diomed, * ')
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. —
Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk.
To our own selves bend we our needful talk.

[Exeunt TaoiLUS, GaEssinA, and Diohed.
[Trumpet heard.

Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet.

yEne. How have we spent this morning !

The prince must think me tardy and remiss.
That swore to ride before him to the field.

Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come, to field with
him.

Dei. Let us make ready straight.

jEne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
Let us address to tend on Hectoi-'s heels:
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
On his fair worth, and single chivalry. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The Grecian Camp. Lists set out.

Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patro-
cLus, Mbnelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others.

Agam. Here art thou in appointment ***) fresh
and fair,
Anticipating time with starting courage.
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax; that the appalled air
May pierce the head of the great combatant.
And hale him hither.

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse.

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek -')
Out-swell the colic of puffd Aquilon:
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ;
Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpets sound.

Vlyss. No trumpet answers.

Achil. 'Tis but early days.

38

594

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act IV.

Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daughter ?

Vlyn. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait;
He rises on the toe: that spirit of his
In aspiration lifts him from the earth.

Enter Diomed, with Cbbssida.

Agam. Is this the lady Cressid?

Dio. Even she.

Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet
lady.

Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss.

Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular;
'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general.

Nest. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin. —
So much for Nestor.

Achil. I'll take that winder from your lips, fair lady :
Achilles bids you welcome.

Men. I had good argument for kissing once.

Pair. But that's no argument for kissing now:
For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment;
And parted thus you and your argument.

Ulyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns !
For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns.

Pair. The first was Menelaus' kiss; — this, mine;
Patroclus kisses you.

Men. O, this is trim!

Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him.

Men. I'll have my kiss, sir : — Lady, by your leave.

Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive?

Patr. Both take and give.

Cres. I'll make my match to live, ^-)

The kiss you take is better than you give;
Therefore no kiss.

Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.

Cres. You're an odd man ; give even, or give none.

Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd.

Cres. No, Paris is not; for, you know, 'tis true,
That you are odd, and he is even with you.

Men. You fillip me o'the head.

Cres. No, I'll be sworn.

Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his horn. —
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?

Cres. You may.

Ulyss. I do desire it.

Cres. Why, beg then.

Ulyss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss.
When Helen is a maid again, and his.

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.

Ulyss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.

Dio. Lady, a word ; — I'll bring you to your father.
[Diomed leads out Cbkssida.

Nest. A woman of quick sense.

Ulyss. Fye, fye upon her !

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip.
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive ^^) of her body.
O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue.
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, *'*)
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
To every ticklish reader! set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity,-^)
And daughters of tlie game. [Trumpet within.

All. The Trojans' trumpet.

Agam. Yonder comes the troop.

Enter Hkctor, armed; Mtrnxs, Troilus, and

other Trojans, with Attendants.
^ne. Hail, all the state of Greece! what shall
be done
To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose,
A victor shall be known? will you, the knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other; or shall they be divided

By any voice or order of the field?
Hector bade ask.

A^am. Which way would Hector have it?

jEne. He cares not, he'll obey conditions.

Achil. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely done,
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
The knight oppos'd.

^ne. If not Achilles, sir.

What is your name?

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing.

./Ene. Therefore Achilles: But, whate'er, know
this; —
In the extremity of great and little.
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; ^')
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well.
And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy.
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood: -')
In love whereof, half Hector stays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek.

Achil. A maiden battle then ? — O, I perceive you.

Re-enter Diomeb.

Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight,
Stand by our Ajax: as you and lord iEneas
Consent upon the order of their fight.
So be it; either to the uttermost.
Or else a breath; ^^) the combatants being kin,
Half stints -') their strife before their strokes begin.
[Ajax and HECToa enter the lists.

Ulyss. They are oppos'd already.

Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks so
heavy ?

Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue; ^°)
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd:
His heart and hand both open, and both free;
For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he shows;
Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty.
Nor dignifies an impair thought^') with breath:
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes ^^)
To tender objects; but he, in heat of action.
Is more vindicative than jealous love:
They call him Troilus; and on him erect
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says jEneas; one that knows the youth
Even to his inches, and, with private soul.
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 3^)

[jilarum. IIectob and Ajax fight.

Agam. They are in action.

Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own !

Tro. Hector, thou sleep 'st ;

Awake thee!

Agam. His blows are well dispos'd: — there, Ajax !

Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease.

jiEne. Princes, enough, so please you-

Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again.

Dio. As Hector pleases.

Hect. Why then, will I no more : —

Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed;
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain:
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so.
That thou could'st say — This hand is Grecian ally
And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
Bounds-in my father's ; by Jove multipotent,
Thou shouid'st not bear from me a Greekish member

KXVI.

Act IV.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

595

Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud: But the just gods gainsay,
That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother,
My sacred aunt, ^'*) should by my mortal sword
Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax:
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus:
Ck)usin, ail honour to thee!

Ajax. . I thank thee. Hector:

Thou art too gentle, and too free a man:
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition^*) earned in thy death.

Hect. Not Neoptolemus ^*) so mirable
(On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st O yes
Cries, This is he,) could promise to himself
A thought of added honour torn from Hector.

./Ene. There is expectance here from both the sides,
What further you will do.

Hect. We'll answer it;

The issue is embracement: — Ajax, farewell.

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success,
(As seld' I have the chance,) I would desire
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.

Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles
Doth long to see luiarm'd the valiant Hector.

Hect. .dKneas, call my brother Troilus to me:
And signify this loving interview
To the expecters of our Trojan part;
Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin;
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.

Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.

Hect. The worthiest of them tell me neune by name;
But for Achilles, my own searching eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.

Agam. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to one
That would be rid of such an enemy;
But that's no welcome: Understand more clear.
What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with

husks
And formless ruin of oblivion;
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
Bids thee, with most di\ine integrity.
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.

Hect. I thank thee, most imperious ^ ") Agamemnon.

Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you.

[To Tboilus.

Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greet-
ing; —
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.

Hect. Whom must we answer ?

Men. The noble Menelaus.

Hect. O you, my lord ? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks !
Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath; ^^)
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove:
She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.

Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme.

Hect. O, pardon; I offend.

fiest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I have seen

thee,
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed.
Despising many forfeits and subduements.
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i'the air.
Not letting it decline on the declin'd; ^')
That I have said to some my standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!
And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath.
When that a ring of Greeks have heinm'd thee in.
Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen;
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, •*")

Anjd once fought with him : he was a soldier good ;
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
Never like thee: Let an old man embrace thee:
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

jEne. 'Tis the old Nestor.

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle.
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand vnth time : —
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in con-
tention.
As they contend with thee in courtesy.

Hect. I would they could.

Nest. Ha!
By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time —

Vlyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here her base and pillar by us.

Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead.
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy.

Vlyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue:
My prophecy is but half his journey yet;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town.
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds.
Must kiss their own feet.

Hect. I must not believe you:

There they stand yet: and modestly I think.
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all;
And that old common arbitrator, time.
Will one day end it.

Vlyss. So to him we leave it.

Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome :
After the general, I beseech you next
To feast with me, and see me at my tent.

Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou ! —
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
1 have with exact view perus'd thee. Hector,
And quoted joint by joint. "**)

Hect. Is this Achilles?

Achil. I am Achilles.

Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee.

Achil. Behold thy fill.

Hect. Nay, I have done already.

Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time.
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.

Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er;
But there's more in me, than thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?

Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his
body
Shall I destroy him? whether there, there, or there?
That I may give the local wound a name;
And make distinct the very breach, whereout
Hector's great spirit flew: Answer me, heavens!

Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud man,
To answer such a question: Stand again:
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly.
As to prenominate in nice conjecture.
Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achil. I tell thee, yea.

Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,**)
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. —
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.
His insolence draws folly from my lips;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words.
Or may I never

Ajax, Do not chafe thee, cousin; —

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone.

BKVI.

38

im

596

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act V.

Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't:
You may have every day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach; the general state, I fear,
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. ^^)

Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field;
We have had pelting wars, '* "*) since you refus'd
The Grecians' cause.

Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector ?

To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death;
To-night, all friends.

Hect. Thy hand upon that match.

Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent ;
There in the full convive'**) we: afterwards.
As Hector's leisure, and your bounties shall
Concur together, severally entreat him. —
Beat loud the tabourines, "* ^) let the trumpets blow
That this great soldier may his welcome know.

[Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulvsses.

Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ?

tJlyts. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus:
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night:
Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth.
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid.

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much.
After we part from Agamemnon's tent,
To bring me thither?

Ulyss. You shall command me, sir.

As gentle tell me, of what honour was
This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there.
That wails her absence?

Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth:
But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.

\_Exeunt.

SCENE J.

ACT V.

The Grecian Camp.
Achilles' Tent.

Before

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-
night.
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. —
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

Patr. Here comes Thersites.

Enter Thersites.

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ?

Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?
^ Ther. Why thou picture of what thou seeraest, and
idol of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.

Achil. From whence, fragment?

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.

Patr. Who keeps the tent now?

Ther. The surgeon's box, ^) or the patient's wound.

Patr. Well said, Adversity! 2) and what need these
tricks ?

Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy : I profit not by thy
talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet.

Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that?

Ther. Why his masculine whore. Now the rotten
diseases of the south, the guts- griping ruptures,
catarrhs, loads o'gravel i'the back, lethargies, cold
palsies, raw eyes, dirt -rotten livers, wheezing lungs,
bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i'the
palm, incurable bone-ach, and the rivelled fee simple
of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous
discoveries I

Patr. Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what
meanest thou to curse thus?

Ther. Do I curse thee?

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson
indistinguishable cur, no.

Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou
idle immaterial skein of sleive silk, ^) thou green
sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a pro-
digal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is
pestered with such water-flies ; diminutives of nature !

Pair. Out, gall!

Ther. Finch egg! *)

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from queen Hecuba;
A token from her daughter, my fair love;
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it :
Fall, Greeks: fail, fame; honour, or go, or stay;

My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.

Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;
This night in banquetting must all be spent. —
Away, Patroclus. [Exeunt Achilles and Pathoclus.

Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain,
these two may run mad ; but if with too much brain,
and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of
madmen. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest fellow
enough, and one that loves quails; but he has not
so much brain as ear-wax: And the goodly trans-
formation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, —
the primitive statue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ;
a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his
brother's leg, — to what form, but that he is,
should wit larded with malice, and malice forced
with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were nothing;
he is both ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he
is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat,
a fitchew, *) a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock,
or a herring without a roe, I would not care: but
to be Menelaus, — I would conspire against destiny.
Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Ther-
sites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so
I were not Menelaus. — Hey-day ! spirits and fires ! *)

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulys-
ses, Nbstor, Menelaus, and Diomed, with Lights.

Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong.
Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ;

There, where we see the lights.
Hect. I trouble you.

Ajax. No, not a whit.
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you.

Enter Achilles.

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all.

Again. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good night.
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.

Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' ge-
neral.

Men. Good night, my lord.

Hect. Good night, sweet Menelaus. ')

Ther. Sweet draught : Sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet sink,
sweet sewer.

Achil. Good night.
And welcome, both to those that go, or tarry.

Agam. Good night.

[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus.

Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,
Keep Hector company an hour or two.

Dio. I cannot, lord; I have important business.
The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hector.

Hect. Give me your hand.

KXVI.

Act V.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

597

VJyit. Follow his torch, he goes

To Calchas' tent; I'll keep you company.

[Atide to TaeiLDS.

Tr9. Sweet sir, yoa bouour uie.
* Hect. And so good night.

[£xit DioxED ; UiYssBs and TmoiLDS following.

Achil. Come, come, enter my tent.

[Exeunt Achil. Hectoe, Ajax, and \bst.

Tker. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue,
a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him when
he leers, than I \%ill a serpent whea he hisses: he
will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the
hound; *) but when he performs, astronomers fore-
tell it;* it is prodigious, ') there will come some
change; the sun borrows of the moon, when Dio-
med keeps his word. I will rather leave to see
Hector, than not to dog him : they say, he keeps a
Trojan drab, and uses the trsiitor Calchas' tent:
I'll after. — Nothing but lechery ! all incontinent
varlets ! [Exit.

SCENE II.

The tame. Before Calchas' Tent.

Enter Diomedbs.

Dio. What are you up here, ho? speak.
Cal. [JFithin.] Who calls?

Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's your
daughter ?
Cal. [Within.] She comes to you.

Enter Troilus and Ultssbs, at a dittance; after

them Thbrsitbs.

Ulyts. Stand where the torch may not discover us.

Enter Crbssisa.

Tro. Cressid, come forth to him !

Dio. How now, my charge?

Cret. Now, my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! a word
with you. [fFhitpen.

Tro. Yea, so familiar!

Ulyts. She will sing any man at first sight.

Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take
her cliff; •") she's noted.

Dio. Will you remember?

Cret. Remember? yes.

Dio. Nay, but do then;

And let your mind be coupled with your words.

Tro. What should she remember?

Vlytt. List!

Cret. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.

Ther. Roguery!

Dio. Nay, then, —

Cret. I'll tell you what:

Dio. Pho! pho! come, tell a pin: You are for-
sworn. —

Cret. In faith, I cannot: What would you have
me do?

Ther. A juggling trick, to be — secretly open.

Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me?

Cret. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath;
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.

Dio. Good night.

Tro. Hold, patience!

Vlytt. How now, Trojan?

Cret. Diomed,

Dio. No, no, good night : I'll be your fool no more.

Tro. Thy better must.

Cret. Hark ! one word in your ear.

Tro. O plague and madness!

Vlytt. You are mov'd, prince; let us depart, I
pray you.

Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
To wrathful terms; this place is dangerous;
The time right deadly; 1 beseech you, go.

Tro. Behold, I pray you!

Vlytt. Now, good my lord, go off:

You flow to great destruction; come, my lord.

Tro. I pr'ythee, stay.

Vlytt. You have not patience ; come.

Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's tor-
ments,
I will not speak a word.

Dio. And so, good night.

Cret. Nay, but you part in anger.

Tro. Doth that grieve thee?

0 wither'd truth!

Vlytt. Why, how now, lord?

Tro. By Jove,

1 will be patient.

Cret. Guardian ! — why, Greek !

Dio. Pho, pho! adieu; you palter. ")

Cret. In faith, I do not; come hither once again.

Vlytt. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
You will break out.

Tro. She strokes hb cheek !

Vlytt. Come, come.

Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience : — stay a little w hile.

Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump,
and potatoe finger, tickles these together! Fry,
lechery, fry!

Dio. But will you then?

Cret. In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.

Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it-

Cret. I'll fetch you one. [Exit.

Vlytt. You have sworn patience.

Tro. Fear me not, my lord;

I will not be myself, nor have cognition
Of what I feel; I am all patience.

Re-enter Crbssida.

Ther. Now the pledge; now, now, now!

Cret. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. **)

Tro. O beauty! where's thy faith?

Vlytt. My lord,

Tro. I will be patient; outwardly I will.

Cret. You look upon that sleeve ; Behold it welL —
He loved me — O false wench ! — Give't me again.

Dio. Whose was't?

Cret. No matter, ' ^) now I have't again.

I will not meet with you to-morrow night:
I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more.

Ther. Now she sharpens : — Well said, whetstone.

Dio. I shall have it.

Cret. What, this?

Dio. Ay, that.

Cret. O, all you gods ! — O pretty pretty pledge !
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed
Of thee, and me; and sighs, and takes my glove^
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it.
As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me;
He, that takes that, must take my heart withaL

Dio. I had your heart before, this foUows it.

Tro. I did swear patience.

Cret. You shall not have it, Diomed; 'faith yon
shall not;
I'll give you something else.

Dio. I will have this; Whose was it?

Cret. 'Tis no matter.

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was.

Cret. 'Twas one's that loved me better than you will.
But, now you have it, take it.
Dio. ' Whose was it?

598

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act V.

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder,"')
And by herself, I will not tell you whose.

Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm;
And grieve his spirit, that dares not challenge it.

Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn,
It should be challeng'd.

Creg. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; — And yet
it is not;
I will not keep my word.

Dio. Why then, farewell;

Thou never shalt mock Dlomed again.

Cres. You shall not go : — One cannot speak a word,
But it straight starts you.

Dio. I do not like this fooling.

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not
you, pleases me best.

Dio. What, shall I come? the hour?

Cres. Ay, come: O, Jove!

Do come: — I shall be plagu'd.

Dio. Farewell till then.

Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. —

[Exit DioaiEDEs.
Troilus, farewell! one eye yet looks on thee;
But with my heart the other eye doth see.
Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us I find.
The error of our eye directs our mind :
What error leads, must err; O then conclude.
Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude.

\_Exit Cke§8ii)a.

Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish
more.
Unless she said. My mind is now turn'd whore.

Vlyss. All's done, my lord.

Tro. It is.

Vlyss. Why stay we then?

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul
Of every syllable that here was spoke.
But, if I tell how these two did co-act.
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart.
An esperance so obstinately strong.
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears;
As if those organs had deceptions functions.
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here?

Vlyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. •^)

Tro. She was not, sure.

Vlyss. Most sure she was.

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

Vlyss, Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but now.

Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood! ' ^)
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
To stubborn critics — ^') apt, without a theme.
For depravation, — to square the general sex
By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid.

Vlyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil
our mothers?

Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

Ther. Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes?

Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida:
If beauty have a soul, this is not she;
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony.
If sanctimony be the gods' delight.
If there be rule in unity itself, ' ^)
This was not she. O madness of discourse.

That cause sets up with and against itself!
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason

Without revolt; ^^) this is, and is not, Cressid!

Within my soul there doth commence a fight

Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate ^ °)

Divides more wider than the sky and eartli ;

And yet the spacious breadth of this division

Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle
As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter.
Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates;
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven:
Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself;
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd;
And with another knot, five-finger-tied, ^*)
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love.
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.

Vlyss. May worthy Troilus ^') be half attach'd
With that which here his passion doth express?

Tro. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
In characters as red as Mars his heart
Inflam'd with Venus: never did young man fancy
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul.
Hark, Greek; As much as I do Cressid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomed:
That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm;
Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill,
My swoi'd should bite it: not the dreadful spout,
Which shipmen do the hurricano call
Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun.
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
In his descent, than shall my prompted sword
Falling on Diomed.

Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy. ^^)

Tro. O Cressid ! O false Cressid ! false, false, false !
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name.
And they'll seem glorious.

Vlyss. O, contain yourself;

Your passion draws ears hither.

Enter JEnbas.

JEne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord :
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.

Tro. Have with you, prince : — My courteous lord,
adieu: —
Farewell, revolted fair! — and, Diomed,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head! **)

Vlyss. I'll bring you to the gates.

Tro. Accept distracted thanks.

[Exeunt Troilus, JEheas, and Uiyssbs.

Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed ! I
would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would
bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the
intelligence of this whore: the parrot will not do
more for an almond, than he for a commodious drab.
Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing
else holds fashion : A burning devil take them. [Exit.

SCENE III.

Troy. Before Priam'« Palace.

Enter Hector and Andromache.

And. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd.
To stop his ears against admonishment?
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.

Hect. You train me to offend you; get you in:
By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.

And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.

Hect. No more, I say.

Enter Cassandra.

Cas. Where is my brother Hector?

And. Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in intent:
Consort with me in loud and dear petition, ^*)
Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.

XKVI.

Act V.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

599

Cat. O, it ia true.

Htct. Ho! bid my trumpet sound!

Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother.

Hect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me swear.

Cat. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish-*') vows;
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.

And. O! be persuaded: Do not count it holy
To hurt by being just: it is as lawful.
For we would give much, to use violent thefts,
And rob in the behalf of charity.

Cat. It is the purpose,- '') that makes strong the vow :
But vows, to every purpose, must not hold:
Unarm, sweet Hector.

Hect. Hold you still, I say;

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate:
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man -^)
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. —

Enter Troilus.

How now, young man ? mean'st thou to fight to-day ?

And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade.

[Exit Cassandra.

Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus ; doff thy harness,
youth,
I am to-day i'the vein of chivalry:
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong.
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy.

Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you.
Which better fits a lion, *') than a man.

Hect. What vice ia that, good Troilus? chide me
for it.

Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall.
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise, and live. ^^)

Hect. O, 'tis fair play.

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.

Hect. How now ? how now ?

Tro. For the love of all the gods,

Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother;
And when we have our armours buckled on.
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords;
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth.

Hect. Fye, savage, fye!

Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars.

Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.

Tro. Who should withhold me?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckoning with fiery truncheon ^ ' ) my retire ;
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way.
But by my ruin.

Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam.

Can. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast:
He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay.
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee.
Fall all together.

Pri. Come, Hector come, go back:

Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visions ;
Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt.
To tell thee — that this day is ominous:
Therefore, come back.

Hect. ^neas is a field;

And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks,
£ven in the faith of valour, to appear
This morning to them.

Pri. But thou shalt not go.

Hect. I must not break my faith.
You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir.
Let me not shame respect; ^-) but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice.
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.

Cat. O Priam, yield not to him.

And. Do not, dear father.

Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you:
Upon the love you bear me, get you in.

[Exit Akdroxachb.

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
IVIakes all these bodements.

Cat. O, farewell, dear Hector.

Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns pale !
Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents !
Hark how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out!
How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth!
Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement,
Like witless antics, one another meet.
And all cry — Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector!

Tro. Away! — Away! —

Cat. Farewell. — Yet, soft : — Hector, I take my
leave :
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit.

Hect. You are am^z'd, my liege, at her exclaim:
Go in, and cheer the town: we'll forth, and fight;
Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night.

Pri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand about
thee!
[Exeunt severally Pkiah and Hectob. Alarums.

Tro. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, believe,
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.

At Troilus it going out, enter, from the other
tide, Pandarus.

Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear?

Tro. What now?

Pan. Here's a letter from yon' poor girl.

Tro. Let me read.

Pan. A whoreson ptisic, a whoreson rascally ptisic
so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl;
and what one thing, what another, that I shall
leave you one o'these days: And I have a rheum
in mine eyes too; and such an ache in my bones,
that, unless a man were cursed, 3^) I cannot tell
what to think on't. — What says she there?

Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from
the heart; [Tearing the Letter.

The effect doth operate another way. —
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. —
My love with words and errors still she feeds;
But edifies another with her deeds. [Exeunt severally.

'SCENE rv.

Between Troy and the Grecian Camp.

Alarumt: Excurtiont. Enter Thbrsitbs.

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another;
I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet,
Diomed, has got that same scuny doting foolish
young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his helm: I
would fain see them meet; that that same young
Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send
that Greekish whore-masterly villain, >vith the sleeve,
back to the dissembling luxurious drab, onj**) a
sleeveless errand. O'the other side. The policy of
those crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-
eaten dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox,
Ulysses, — is not proved worth a blackberry: —
They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax,
against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles: and

KXVI.

600

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act V.

now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles,
and will not arm to-day; whereupon the Grecians
begin to proclaim barbarism,^*) and policy grows
into an ill opinion. Soft! here come sleeve, and
t'other.

Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.

Tro. Fly not; for, should'st thou take the river Styx,
I would swim after.

Dio. Thou dost miscall retire:

I do not fly; but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude:
Have at thee!

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian! — Now for thy
whore, Trojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!

[Exeunt TaoiLua and Diomedes, fighting.

Enter Hector.

Hect. What art thou, Greek, art thou for Hector's
match ?
Art thou of blood, and honour?

Tfier. No, no : — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing
knave ; a very filthy rogue.

Hect. I do believe thee; — live. [Exit.

Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me;
But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me !
What's become of the wenching rogues? I think,
they have swallowed one another: I would laugh
at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself.
I'll seek them. [Exit.

SCENE V.

The game.

Enter Diomedes and a Servant.

Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ;
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid:
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan,
And am her knight by proof.

Serv. I go, my lord.

[Exit Servant.

Enter Agamemnon.

Agam. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus
Hath beat down Menon: bastard Margarelon
Hath Doreus prisoner;

And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, ^^)
Upon the pashed ^') corses of the kings
Epistrophus and Cedius: Polixenes is slain;
Amphimacus, and Thoas, deadly hurt;
Patroclus ta'en or slain; and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruis'd: the dreadful sagittary
Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomed,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.

Enter Nestor.

Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles;
And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. —
There is a thousand Hectors in the field:
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
And there lacks work; anon, he's there afoot.
And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls ^^)
Before the belching whale; then is he yonder.
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge.
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath: ^')
Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes;
Dexterity so obeying appetite,
That what he will, he does; and does so much.
That proof is call'd impossibility.

Enter Ulysses.

Uly88. O, courage, courage, princes ! great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance;
Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd come

to him.
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend.
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it,
Roaring for Troilus; who hath done to-day
Mad and fantastic execution;
Engaging and redeeming of himself.
With such a careless force, and forceless care.
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning.
Bade him win all.

Enter Ajax.

Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus ! [Exit.

Dio. Ay, there, there.

Nest. So, so, we draw together.

Enter Achilles.

Achil. Where is this Hector?

Come, come, thou boy-queller, *°) show thy face;
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Another part of the Field.

Enter Ajax.

Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head!

Enter Diomedes.

Dio. Troilus, 1 say ! where's Troilus ?
Ajax. What would'st thou ?

Dio. I would correct him.

Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have my
office
Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus !

Enter Troilus.

Tro. O traitor Diomed ; — - turn thy false face, thou
traitor.
And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse!
Dio. Ha! art thou there?

Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed.
Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon. •*')
Tro. Come both, you cogging Greeks;*^) have at
you both. [Exeunt fighting.

Enter Hector.

Hect. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest
brother!

*

Enter Achilles.

Achil. Now do I see thee: — Ha! — Have at thee.
Hector.

Hect. Pause, if thou wilt.

Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.
Be happy, that my arras are out of use:
My rest and negligence befriend thee now.
But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit.

Hect. Fare thee well : —

I would have been much more a fresher man,
Had I expected thee. — How now, my brother?

KXVI.

Act V.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

eoi

Re-enter Troilcs.

Tro. Ajax hath ta'en Eneas; Shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven.
He shall not carry him; *^) I'll be taken too,
Or bring him off: — Fate, hear me what I say!
I reck not though I end my life to-day. [Exit.

Enter one in tumptuout Armour.

Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly j
mark: —
No? wilt thou not? — I like thy armour well;
I'll frush it, •*■*) and unlock the rivets all.
But I'll be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast,

abide ?
Why then, fljr on. 111 hunt thee for thy hide.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

The tame.

Enter Achillbs, with Myrmidons.

Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel :
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found.
Empale him with your weapons round about;
In fellest manner execute your arms. ■**)
Follow me, sins, and my proceedings eye: —
It is decreed — Hector the great mvtst die. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

The tame.

Enter Menblads and Vaais, Jighting:
Thbhsitbs.

then

Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at
it: Now, bull I now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now
my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! The
bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho I

[Exeunt Paris and Menelaus.

Enter Marcakblon.

Mar. Tom, slave, and fight

Ther. What art thou?

Mar. A bastard son of Priam's.

Ther. I am a bastard too: I love bastards: I am
a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind,
bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One
bear will not bite another, and wherefore should
one bastard ? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous
to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he
tempts judgment: B'arewell, bastard.

Mar. The devil take thee, coward! [Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Another part of the Field.

Enter Hector.

Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without.
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done : I'll take good breath :
Rest, sword : thou hast thy fill of blood and death !
[Put* off hit Helmet, and hangs hit Shield
behind him.

Elnter Acuillbs and Myrmidons.

Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:

Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun.
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.

Hect. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.

Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man I seek.

[Hector falU.
So, Ilion, fall thou next; now, Troy, sink down;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. —
On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain,
Achillet hath the mighty Hector tlain.

[A Retreat founded.
Hark ! a retreat upon our Grecian part.

Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.

Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the
earth.
And, stickler like,"*') the armies separates.
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed.

[Sheath* hi* tword.
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.

SCENE X.

The tame.

Enter AeAHBMNON, Ajax, Mbnelacs, Nestor, Dio-
MEDBs, and others, marching. Shoutt within.

Agam. Hark! Hark! what shout is that?

Nett. Peace, drums.

[Witkin.] Achilles!

Achilles! Hector's slain! AchiUes!

Dio. The bruit is — Hector's slain, and by Achilles.

Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be;
Great Hector was as good a man as he.

Agam. March patiently along : — Let one be sent
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. —
If in his death the gods have us befriended.
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.

[Exeunt, marching.

SCENE XI.

Another part of the Field.

Enter JSnbas and Trojans.

jEne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field :
Never go home; here starve we out the night.

Enter Troilus.

Tro. Hector is slain.

All. Hector? — The gods forbid!

Tro. He's dead ; and at the murderer's horse's tail.
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. —
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed !
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on!

./Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.

Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death;
But dare all imminence, that gods and men.
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd.
Go into Troy, and say there — Hector's dead:
There is a word will Priam turn to stone; ^
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away :
Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
Stay yet; — You vile abominable tents,
Thus proudly pight*') upon our Phrygian plains.
Let Titan rise as early as he dare.

BSVI.

602

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Act V.

I'll through and through you! — And thou, great

siz'd coward!
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;
I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts. —
Strike a free march to Troy ! — with comfort go :
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. ■* ^)

[^Exeunt JSneas and Trojans.

A$ Troilus it going out, enter, from the other
aide, Pandarus.

Pan. But, hear you, hear you!

Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy and shame
Pursue thy life, and live, aye, with thy name.

\Exit TaoiLVs.

Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aching bones! —
O world! world! world! thus is the poor agent
despis'd! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are
you set a' work, and how ill requited ! Why should
our endeavour be so loved, and the performance

so loathed? what verse for it? what instance for
it? — Let me see: —

Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting:
And being once subdued in armed tail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. —
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted
cloths.

As many as be here of pander's hall.
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall:
Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade.
Some two months hence my will shall here be made :
It should be now, but that my fear is this, —
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss;
Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases:
And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases.

[Exit.

KHVl.

XXVII.
TIMON OF ATHENS

PEBSONS BEPBESENTED.

TiHON, a noble Atbeman.

Lucius, i

LucoLt-Ds, > Lords, and Flatterers of Timon.

Sbmpronius, )

Ventidius, one of Timon'« false Friends.

Apbmantus, a churlish Philosopher.

Alcibiadbs, an Athenian GeneraL

Flavius, Steward to Timon.

Flaminius, ]

LuciLius, \ Timon'* Servants.

Sbrvilius, )

Caphis,

Philotos,

Titus,

Lucius,

hortbnsius,

Servants to Timon'* Creditors.

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isi-
dore; two of Timon'* Creditors.
Cupid and Maskers.
Three Strangers.

Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant.
An old Athenian.
A Page.
A Fool.

Phhtnia, *)

TlMANBRA

:m

Mistresses to Alcibiades.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves,
and Attendants.

ScBNB — Athens; and the Woods adjoining.

A€T I.

I SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in Timon'* House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant,
! and others, at several Doors.

Poet.

vJooD day, sir.

Pain. I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seten you long; How goes the

world ?
Pain. It we£irs, sir, as it grows.
Poet. Ay, that's well known:

j But what particular rarity? what strange,
j Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.
Pain. I know them both; t' other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!
Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it
were, -)
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
He passes. ^)
Jew. I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir?
Jew. If he will touch the estimate: *) But, for

that —
Poet. When we for recompense *) have prais'd
the vile.
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.
Mer. 'Tis a good form.

[Looking at the Jewel.
Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you.
Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi-
cation
To the great lord.

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me.

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint
Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. ^) What have you there?

Pain. A picture, sir. — And when ') comes your
book forth?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let's see your piece.

Pain. 'Tis a good piece.

Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.

Pain. Indifferent.

Poet. Admirable: How this grace

Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is't good?

Poet. rU say of it,

It tutors nature: artificial strife *)
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.

Pain. How this lord's follow'd!

Poet. The senators of Athens: — Happy men!

Pain. Look, more!

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of
visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man.
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: My free drift
Halts not particularly, ') but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: •") no levell'd malice »')
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on.
Leaving no tract behind.

KKVn.

604

TIM ON OF ATHENS.

Act I.

Pain. How shall I understand you?

Poet. I'll unbolt '^) to you.

You see how all conditions, how all minds,
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as
Of grave and austere quality,) tender down
Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer ' ^)
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.

Pain. I saw them speak together.

Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill,
Feign'd Fortune to bethron'd: The base o'the mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, ' *) all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states: *^) amongst them all,
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd.
One do I personate of lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain. 'Tis concelv'd to scope. ^^)

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks.
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
In our condition. ' ')

Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on:

All those which were his fellows but of late,
(Some better than his value,) on the moment
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance.
Rain sacrificial whisperings ' ^) in his ear.
Make sacred even his stirrop, and through him
'Drink the free air. ")

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of
mood,
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants.
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top.
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain. 'Tis common :
A thousand moral paintings I can show, -°)
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune ^ ' )
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well.
To show lord Timon, that mean eyes --) have seen
The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the
Servant of Ventidius talking with him.

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you ?

Ven. Sen). Ay, my good lord : five talents is his
debt;
His means most short, his creditors most strait:
Your honourable letter he desires
To those have shut him up; which failing to him, ^^}
Periods his comfort.

Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well;

I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him
A gentleman, that well deserves a help.
Which he shall have : I'll pay the debt, and free him.

Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his ransome ;
And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me; —
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up.
But to support him after. — Fare you well.

Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour! ^^)

Enter an old Athenian.

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.

Titn. Freely, good father.

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.

Tim. I have so: What of him?

Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.

Tim. Attends he here, or no? — Lucilius!

Enter Lucilius.

Luc. Here at your lordship's service.

Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy
creature.
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift;
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd,
Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim. Well; what further?

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost.
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord.
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honest.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: ^^)
His honesty rewards him in itself.
It must not bear my daughter.

Tim. Does she love him?

Old Ath. She is young, and apt :
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.

Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing,
I call the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.

Tim. How shall she be endow'd,

If she be mated with an equal husband?

Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all.

Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;
To build his fortune, I will strain a little.
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise.
And make him weigh with her.

Old Ath. Most noble lord,

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honour on my promise.

Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may
That state or fortune fall into my keeping.
Which is not ow'd to you! ^^)

[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian.

Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your
lordship !

Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
Go not away. — What have you there, my friend?

Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.

Ti?n. Painting is welcome.

The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: These pencil'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find, I like it: wait attendance
Till you hear further from me.
Pain. The gods preserve you!

Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : Give me your
hand ;
We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel
Hath suiTer'd under praise.

XKVII.

Act jr.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

005

Jew. What, my lord? dispraise?

Tim. A meer satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoU'd,
It would unclew me quite. ^'')

Jew. My lord, 'tis rated

As those, which sell, would give : But you well know,
Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Are prized by their masters: ^*) believe't, dear lord,
You mend the jewel by wearing it. 2')

Tim. Well mock'd.

Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common
tongue.
Which all men speak with him.

Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid?

Enter Apbmanttjs.

Jew. We will bear, with your lordship.

JHIer. He'll spare none.

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus !

Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good mon-ow ; ^ °)
When thou art Timon's dog, ^') and these knaves
honest.

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st
them not.

Apem. Are they not Athenians?

Tim. Yes.

Apem. Then I repent not.

Jew. You know me, Apemantus?

Apem. Thou knowest, I do; I call'd thee by thy
name.

Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like
Timon.

Tim. Whither art going?

Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.

Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.

Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.

Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus?

Apem. The best, for the innocence.

Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it?

Apem. He wrought better, that made the painter;
and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.

Pain. You are a dog.

Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; What's
she, if I be a dog?

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?

Apem. No ; I eat not lords.

Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies.

Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great
bellies.

Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.

Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thy
labour.

Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus ?

Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, ^^) which will
not cost a man a doit.

Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth?

Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet?

Poet. How now, philosopher?

Apem. Thou liest.

Poet. Art not one?

Apem. Yes.

Poet. Then I lie not.

Apem. Art not a poet?

Poet. Yes.

Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work,
■where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow.

Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so.

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay
thee for thy labour: He that loves to be flattered,
is worthy o'the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a
lord!

Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus?

Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord
with my heart.

Tim. What, thyself?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. Wherefore?

Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. — ._
Art not thou a merchant?

Mer. Ay, Apemantus.

Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods vdll not!

Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it.

Apem. Traffic's thy god,, and thy god confound
thee !

Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant.

Tim. What trumpet's that?

Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades, and

Some twenty horse, all of companionship. ^^)

Tim. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us. —

[^Exeunt tome Attendants.

You must needs dine with me: — Go not you hence.

Till I have thank'd you ; and, when dinner's done,

Show me this piece — I am joyful of your sights. —

Enter Alcibiadbs, with his Company.

Most welcome, sir! [^&«9 talute.

Apem. So, so ; there ! —

Aches contract and starve your supple joints! —
That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet

knaves.
And all this court'sy ! The strain of man's bred out
Into baboon and monkey. ^*)

Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed
Most hungrily on your sight.

Tim. Right welcome, sir;

Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.

l^ExeuTit all but Afrhantds.

Enter two Lords.

1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus?
Apem. Time to be honest.

1 Lord. That time serves still.

Apem. The most accursed thou, that still omit'st it.

2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast.
Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat

fools.
2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well.
Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice.
2 Lord. Why, Apemantus?

Apem. Should'st have kept one to thyself, for I
mean to give thee none.

1 Lord. Hang thyself.

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make
thy requests to thy friend.

2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee
hence.

Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels of the ass.

[Exit.

1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall

we in,
And taste lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes
The very heart of kindness.

2 Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold,
Is but his steward: no meed, ^*) but he repays
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him.

But breeds the giver a return exceeding
All use of quittance. '*)

1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries.
That ever govern'd man.

2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes 1 Shall we in ?
1 Lord. I'll keep you company. [Exeunt.

XUVIl.

606

TIMON OF ATHENS

Act I.

SCENE II.

The tame. A Room of State in Timon'* House.

Hautboys playing loud Music. A great Banquet
served in; Flavius and others attending; then
enter Timon, Alcibiades, Lucius, Lucullus, Sem-
PR0NIU8, and other Athenian Senators, with Ven-
TiDius, and Attendants. Then comes, dropping
after all, Apemantus, discontentedly.

Ven. Most honour'd Timon, 't hath pleas'd the
gods remember ^')
My father's age, and call him to long peace.
He is gone happy, and has left me rich :
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
To your free heart, I do return those talents.
Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose help
I deriv'd liberty.

Tim. O, by no means.

Honest Ventidius: you mistake my love;
I gave it freely ever; and there's none
Can truly say, he gives, if he receives:
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
To imitate them; Faults that are rich, are fair. ^^)
Ven. A noble spirit.

[They all stand ceremoniously looMng on Timon.
Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony

Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss
On faint deeds, hollow welcomes.
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;
But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes.
Than my fortunes to me. [They sit.

1 Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it.
Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it? hang'd it, have you

not?
Tim. O, Apemantus ! — you are welcome.
Apem. No,

You shall not make me welcome:
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
Tim. Fye, thou art a churl; you have got a hu-
mour there
Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame : —
They say, ray lords, that ir a furor brevis est, ^')
But yond' man's ever angry.
Go, let him have a table by himself;
For he does neither affect company.
Nor is he fit for it, indeed.

Apem. Let me stay at thine own peril, *'') Timon;
I come to observe ; I give thee warning on't.

Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athenian ;
therefore welcome: I myself would have no power:
pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent.
Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I
should
Ne'er flatter thee. — * ' ) O you gods ! what a number
Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not!
It grieves me, to see so many dip their meat
In one man's blood; ^*) and all the madness is,
He cheers them up too.

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men :
Methinks, they should invite them without knives;
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.
There's much example for't; the fellow, that
Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges
The breath of him in a divided draught.
Is the readiest man to kill him : it has been prov'd.
If I

Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals ;

Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes :

Great men should drink with harness on their throats.

Tim. My lord, in heart; '*^) and let the health

go round.

2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord.

Apem. Flow this way!

A brave fellow ! — he keeps his tides well.' Timon,
Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill.
Here's that, which is too weak to be sinner.
Honest water, which ne'er left man i'the mire:
This, and my food, are equals; there's no odds.
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.

Apemantus'« Grace.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man, but myself:
Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot, for her weeping ;
Or a dog, that seems a sleeping;
Or a keeper with my freedom;
Or my friends, if I should need "em.
Amen. So fall to't:
Rich men sin, and I eat root.

[Eats and drinks.

Much good dich *"*) thy good heart, Apemantus!

Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field
now.

Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.

Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies,
than a dinner of friends.

Alcib. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's
no meat like them; I could wish my best friend
at such a feast.

Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine enemies,
then; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and bid me
to 'em.

1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my
lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby
we might express some part of our zeals, we should
think ourselves for ever perfect. '*^)

Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods
themselves have provided that I shall have much
help from you: How had you been my friends else?
why have you that charitable title "•') from thou-
sands, did you not chiefly belong to ray heart? I
have told raore of you to myself than you can with
raodesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I
confirm you. '*') O, you gods, think I, what need
we have any friends, if we should never have need
of thera? they were the raost needless creatures
living, should we ne'er have use for them : and would
raost resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases,
that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have
often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer
to you. We are born to do benefits : and what better
or properer can we call our own, than the riches
of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to
have so many, like brothers, commanding one an-
other's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere it can
be born! ''^) Mine eyes cannot hold out water,
methinks; to forget their faults, I drink to you.

Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon.

2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes.
And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up.

Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.

3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me

much.
Apem. Much! [Tuclcet sounded.

Tim. What means that trump? — How now?

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies
most desirous of admittance.
Tim. Ladies? What are their wills?

XKVU.

Act J.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

607

Herv. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord,
■which bears that office, to signify their pleasures.
Tim. I pray, let them be admitted.

Enter Cupid.

CuT^. Hail to thee, worthy Timon; — and to all
That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses
Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: The ear.
Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise;
They only now come but to feast thine eyes.

5fYi». They are welcome all; let them have kind
admittance :
Music, make their welcome. \Ex'a Cupid.

1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you are
belov'd.

Mutic. Re-enter Cupdb, with a Masque of Ladies

as Amazons, with Lutes in their Hands, dancing,

and playing.

Apem. Heyday, what a sweep of vanity comes
this way!
They dance! they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life.
As this pomp shows to a little oil, and root. *')
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men.
Upon whose age we void it up again.
With poisonous spite, and envy. Who lives, that's not
Depraved, or depraves? who dies, that bears
Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift ? ***)
I should fear, those, that dance before me now,
Would one day stamp upon me : It has been done ;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

The Lords rise from Table, with much adoring

o/" Timon; and, to show their loves, each singles

out an Amazon, and all dance. Men with Women,

a lofly strain or two to the Hautboys,

and cease.

Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace,
fair ladies.
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment.
Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
You have added worth unto't, and lively lustre.
And entertain'd me with mine own device ; ^ ' )
I am to thank you for it.

1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best, ^^)

Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would
not hold taking, I doubt roe.

Tijn. Ladies, there is an idle banquet
Attends you: PleJise you to dispose yourselves.

All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord.

[Exeunt Cufid, and Ladies.

Tim. Flavins, —

Flav. My lord,

Tim. The little casket bring me hither.

Flav. Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet!
There is no crossing him in his humour; [Jside.
Else I should tell him, — Well, — i'faith, I should,
When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could. **)
'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind; ^'*)
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind, ^ *)
[Exit, and returns with the Casket.

1 Lord. Where be our men?
Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness.

2 Lord. Our horses.

Tim. O my friends, I have one word

To say to you: — Look you, my good lord, I must
Entreat you, honour me so much, as to
Advance this jewel; *')
Accept it, and wear it, kind my lord.

1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, —
All. So are we all.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate
Newly alighted, and come to visit you.

Tim. They are fairly welcome.

Flav. I beseech your honour.

Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near.

Tim. Near ; why then another time I'll hear thee :
I pr'ythee, let us be provided
To show them entertainment.

Flav. I scarce know how. [Aside.

Enter another Servant.

2 Serv. May it please your honour, the lord Lucius,
Out of his free love, hath presented to you

Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.
Tim. I shall accept them fairly : let the presents

Enter a third Servant.
Be worthily entertain'd. — How now, what news?

3 Serv. Please you , my lord , that honourable
gentleman, lord LucuUus, entreats your company
to-morrow to hunt with him; and has sent your
honour two brace of greyhounds.

Tim. I'll hunt with him ; and let them be receiv'd.
Not without fair reward.

Flav. [Jside.] What will this come to?

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts.
And all out of an empty coffer, —
Nor will he know his purse; or yield me this.
To shew him what a beggar his heart is.
Being of no power to make his wishes good ;
His promises fly so beyond his state.
That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes
For every word; he is so kind, that he now
Pays interest for't: his land's put to their books.
Well, 'would I were gently put out of office,
Before I were forc'd out!
Happier is he that has no friend to feed,
Than such as do even enemies exceed.
I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit.

Tim. You do yourselves

Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits ;
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.

2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will re-

ceive it.

3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty !

Tim. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave
Good words the other day of a bay courser
I rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it !

*■'} 2 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord,
in that.

IVm. You may take my word, my lord; I know
no man
Can justly praise, but what he does affect:
I weigh my friend's affection with mine own;
I'll tell you true. I'll call on you.

All Lords. None so welcome.

Tim. I take all and your several visitations
So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give;
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends,
And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades,
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.
It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living
Is 'mongst the dead: and all the lands thou hast
Lie in a pitch'd field.

Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord.

1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound,

Tim. And so

Am I to you.

2 Lord. So infinitely endear'd

KKVII.

608

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Act II.

Tim. All to you. — **) Lights, more lights.

1 Lord. The best of happiness,

Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon !

Tim. Ready for his friends.

[Ej-eunt ALCIIIIADE8, Lords, ^c.

Apem. What a coil's here!

Serving of becks, *') and jutting out of bums!
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums
That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs:
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs.
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies.

Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen,
I'd be good to thee.

Apem. No, I'll nothing: for,

If 1 should be brib'd too, there would be none left
To rail upon thee; and then thou would'st sin the

faster.
Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou
Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: ^°)
What need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories?

Tim. Nay,

An you begin to rail on society once,
I am sworn, not to give regard to you.
Farewell; and come with better music. [Exit.

Apem. So ; —

Thou'lt not hear me now, — thou shalt not then,

I'll lock
Thy heaven '*) from thee. O, that men's ears

should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. A Room in a Senator'«
House.

Enter a Senator, ivith Papers in his Hand.

Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro; and to Isidore
He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum.
Which makes it five and twenty. — Still in motion
Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog.
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold:
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight.
And able horses : No porter at his gate ;
But rather one that smiles, and still invites
All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason
Can found his state in safety. *) Caphis, ho!
Caphis, I say!

Enter Caphis.

Caph. Here, sir; What is your pleasure?

Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord
Timon ;
Importune him for ray monies; be not ceas'd ^)
With slight denial; nor then silenc'd, when —
Commend me to your master — and the cap
Plays in the right hand, thus : — but tell him, sirrah.
My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn
Out of mine own; his days and times are past.
And my reliances on his fracted dates
Have smit my credit: I love, and honour him;
But must not break my back, to heal his finger:
Immediate are my needs; and my relief
Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words.
But find supply immediate. Get you gone:
Put on a most importunate aspect,
A visage of demand; for, I do fear,
When every feather sticks in his own wing.

Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, ')
Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.

Caph. I go, sir.

Sen. I go, sir? — take the bonds along with you.
And have the dates in compt.

Caph. I will, sir.

Sen, Go.

[ExeuTtt.

SCENE U.

The same. A Hall in Timon'* House.

Enter Flavius, with many Bills in his Hand.

Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expence,
That he will neither know how to maintain it.
Nor cease his flow of riot: Takes no account
How things go from him; nor resumes no care
Of what is to continue; Never mind
Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. *)
What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel:
I must be round with him, now he comes from

hunting.
Fye, fye, fye, fye!

Enter Caphis, and the Servants o/^ Isidore and
Varro.

Caph. Good even, *) Varro : What,

You come for money?
Var. Serv. Is't not your business too?

Caph. It is ; — and yours too, Isidore ?
Isid. Serv. It is so.

Caph. 'Would we were all discharg'd !
Var. Serv. I fear it.

Caph. Here comes the lord.

Enter Timon, Alcibiadbs, and Lords, ^c.

Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, ^)
My Alcibiades. — With me? What's your will?

Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.

Tim. Dues? whence are you?

Caph. Of Athens here, my lord.

Tim. Go to my steward.

Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
To the succession of new days this month:
My master is awak'd by great occasion.
To call upon his own: and humbly prays you,
That with your other noble parts you'll suit, ')
In giving him his right.

Tim. Mine honest friend,

I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning.

Caph. Nay, good my lord,

Tim. Contain thyself, good friend.

Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord, —

Isid. Serv. From Isidore;

He humbly prays your speedy payment, —

Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's
wants,

Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six
weeks.
And past,

Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord;
And I am sent expressly to your lordship.

Tim. Give me breath: —
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;

[Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords.
I'll wait upon you instantly. — Come hither, pray you,

[To FtAViBs.
How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd
With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, ^}
And the detention of long- since-due debts.
Against my honour?

Flav. Please you, gentlemen,

Kxvn.

Act II.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

609

The time is unagreeable to this business:
Your importunacy cease, till after dinner;
That I may make his lordship undei'stand
Wherefore you are not paid.

Tim. Do 80, my friends:

See them well entertain'd. [Exit Timon.

Flav. I pray, draw near.

[Exit Flavius.

Enter Apbmantus and a Fool. ')

Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Ape-
mantus; let's have some sport with 'em.

Var. Serv. Hang hiin, he'll abuse us.

Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog!

Var. Serv. How dost, fool?

Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow?

Var. Serv. I speak not to thee.

Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself. — Come away.

[To the Fool.

Isid. Serv. [to Vab. Serv.] There's the fool hangs
on your back already.

Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not on
him yet.

Caph. Where's the fool now?

Apem. He last ask'd the question. — Poor rogues,
and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want!

All Serv. What are we, Aperaantus?

Apem. Asses.

All Serv. Why ?

Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do
not know yourselves. — Speak to 'em, fool.

Fool. How do you, gentlemen?

All Serv. Gramercies, good fool: How does your
mistress ?

Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such
chickens as you are. 'VVould we could see you at
Corinth.

Apem. Good! gramercy.

Enter Page.

Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page.

Page, [to the Fool.] Why, how now, captain? what
do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Ape-
mantus ?

Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I
might answer thee profitably.

Page. 'Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the super-
scription of these letters ; I know not which is which.

Apem. Canst not read?

Page. No.

Apem. There will little learning die then, that day
thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon; this to
Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and
thou'lt die a bawd.

Page. Thou wast whelped a dog; and thou shalt
famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone.

[Exit Page.

Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, I will
go with you to lord Timon's.

Fool. Will you leave me there?

Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve
three usurers?

All Serv. Ay ; 'would they served us !

Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever
hangman served thief.

Fool. Are you three usurers' men?

All Serv. Ay, fool.

Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his
servant: My mistress is one, and I am her fool.
When men come to borrow of your masters, they
approach sadly, and go away merry ; but they enter
my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly :
The reason of this?

Var. Serv. I could render one.

Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a
whoremaster, and a knave; which notwithstanding,
thou shalt be no less esteemed.

Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ?

Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like
thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime, it appears like a
lord; sometime, like a lawyer; sometime, like a
philosopher, with two stones more than his artificial
one : He is very often like a knight ; and, generally,
in all shapes, that man goes up and down in, from
fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in.

Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool.

Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much
foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest.

Apem. That answer might have become Apemantus.

All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes lord Timon.

Re-enter Timon and Flavius.

Apem. Come with me, fool, come.

Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother,
and woman; sometime, the philosopher.

[Exeunt Apemantus and Fool.

Flav. 'Pray you, walk near; I'll speak with you
anon. [Exit Servant,

Tim. You make me marvel: Wherefore, ere this
time.
Had you not fully laid my state before me;
That I might so have rated my expence.
As I had leave of means?

Flav. You would not hear me,

At many leisures I propos'd.

Tim. Go to:

Perchance, some single vantages you took.
When my indisposition put you back;
And that unaptness made your minister, *°)
Thus to excuse yourself.

Flav. O my good lord!

At many times I brought in my accounts.
Laid them before you; you would throw them off,
And say, you found them in mine honesty.
When, for some trifling present, you have bid me
Return so much, ") I have shook my head, and wept;
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you
To hold your hand more close: I did endure
Not seldom, nor no slight checks; when I have
Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate.
And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd lord, **)
Though you hear now, (too late!) yet now's a time, '^)
The greatest of your having lacks a half
To pay your present debts.

Tim. Let all my land be sold.

Flav. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone;
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
Of present dues: the future comes apace:
What shall defend the interim? and at length
How goes our reckoning? ^'*)

Tim. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.

Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word;
Were it all yours, to give it in a breath.
How quickly were it gone?

Tim. You tell me true.

Flav. If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood,
Call me before the exactest auditors.
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,
When all our offices ^^) have been oppress'd
With riotous feeders: when our vaults have Avept
With drunken spilth of wine; when every room
Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy ;
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, *')
And set mine eyes at flow.

Tim. 'Pr'ythee, no more.

Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord!
BXTU. 39

610

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Act III.

How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants,
This night englutted! Who is not Tiinon's?
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord

TJmon's?
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon?
Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made:
Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers.
These flies are couch'd.

!ZVm. Come, sermon me no further:

No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart;
Unwisely, not ignobly have I given. ")
Why dost thou weep ? Canst thou the conscience lack,
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart;
If I would broach the vessels of my love.
And try the argument '*) of hearts by borrowing,
Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use,
As I can bid thee speak.

Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts!

Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are
crown'd, ' ^)
That I account them blessings; for by these
Shall I try friends: You shall perceive, how you
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.
Within there, ho ! — - °) Flaminius ! Servilius !

Enter Flaminius, SKRvrtius, and other Servants.

Serv. My lord, my lord,

Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to
lord Lucius, —
To lord Lucullus you; I hunted with his
Honour to-day ; — You, to Sempronius ;
Commend me to their loves; and, I am proud, say.
That my occasions have found time to use them
Toward a supply of money: let the request
Be fifty talents.

Flam. As you have said, my lord.

Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus?-') humph!

[Aside.

Tim. Go you, sir, [to another Serv.] to the senators,
(Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have
Deserv'd this hearing,) bid 'em send o'the instant
A thousand talents to me.

Flav. I have been bold,

(For that I knew it the most general way,) *-)
To them to use their signet, and your name;
But they do shake their heads, and I am here
No richer in return.

Tim. Is't true? can it be?

Flav. They answer in a joint and corporate voice,
That now they are at fall, -^) want treasure, cannot
Do what they would ; are sorry — you are honour-
able, —
But yet they could have wish'd — they know not — but
Something hath been amiss — a noble nature
May catch a wrench — would all were well — 'tis

pity —
And so, intending ^*) other serious matters
After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, - *)
With certain half-caps, ^ 6) and cold-moving nods.
They froze me into silence.

Tim. You gods, reward them!

I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly; These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary:
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;
'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth.
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. —
Go to Ventidius, — [to a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, [to Fia-
vius] be not sad,

Thou art true, and honest; ingeniously-') I speak,
No blame belongs to thee: — [to Serv.] Ventidius
lately

Buried his father; by whose death, he's stepp'd

Into a great estate: when he was poor,

Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends,

I clear'd him with five talents; Greet him from me :

Bid him suppose, some good necessity

Touches his friend, which craves to be rcmember'd

With those five talents: — that had, — [to Flav.]

give it these fellows
To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think.
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.
Flav. 1 would, I could not think it; That thought
is bounty's foe;
Being free -^) itself, it thinks all others so.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

Scene I. The same. A Room in Lucullus'«
House.

Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him.

Serv. I have told my lord of you, he is coining
down to you.
Flam. I thank you, sir.

Enter Lucullus.

Serv. Here's my lord.

Lucul. [Jside.] One of lord Timon's men? a gift,
I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a
silver bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest
Flaminius; you are very respectively ') welcome,
sir. — Fill me some wine. — [Exit Servant.] And how
does that honourable complete, free-hearted gentle-
man of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and
master ?

Flam. His health is well, sir.

Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir :
And what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty
Flaminius ?

Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir;
which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your
honour to supply; who, having great and instant
occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord-
ship to furnish him; nothing doubting your present
assistance therein.

Lucul. La, la, la, la, — nothing doubting, says he?
alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis if he would
not keep so good a house. Many a time and often
I have dined with him, and told him on't; and come
again to supper to him, of purpose to have him
spend less: and yet he would embrace no counsel,
take no warning by my coming. Every man has
his fault, and honesty is his; -) I have told him
on't, but I could never get him from it.

Re-enter Servant, with Wine.

Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine.

Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise.
Here's to thee.

Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.

Lucul. I have observed thee always for a towardly
prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that
knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the
time well if the time use thee well: good parts in
thee. — Get you gone, sirrah, — [to the Servant, who
goes out.'] — Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy
lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise;
and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest
to me, that this is no time to lend money ; especially
upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three
solidares ^) for thee; good boy, wink at me, and
say, thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well.

uHvn.

Act III.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

611

Flam. Is't possible, the world should so much differ;
And we alive, that liv'd? •*) Fly, damned baseness.
To him that worships thee.

[Throwing the money away.

Lttcul. Ha! Now I see, thou art a fool, and fit
for thy master. [Exit Lucullus.

Flam. May these add to the number that may
scald thee!
Let molten coin be thy damnation.
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself!
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart.
It turns in less than two nights? *) O you gods,
I feel my master's passion! ') This slave
Unto his honour, '') has my lord's meat in him:
Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment,
When he is turn'd to poison?
O, may diseases only work upon't!
And when he is sick to death, let not that part of

nature
Which my lord paid for, be of any power
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! ^) [Exit.

SCENE n.

The game. A public Place.

Enter Lucius, with three Strangers.

l/uc. Who, the lord Timon? he is my very good
friend, and an honourable gentleman.

1 Stran. We know him for no less, ') though we
are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one
thing, my lord, and which I hear from common
rumours; now lord Timon's happy hours are done
and past, and his estate shrinks from him.

Luc. Fye no, do not believe it; he cannot want
for money.

2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that, not
long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lu-
cuUus, to borrow so many talents; nay, urged ex-
tremely for't, and showed what necessity belonged
to't, and yet was denied.

Luc. How?

2 Stran. I tell you denied, my lord.

Luc. What a strange case was that? now, before
the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that honour-
able man ? there was very little honour show'd in't.
For my own part, I must needs confess, I have re-
ceived some small kindnesses from him, as money,
plate, jewels, and such like trifles, nothing compar-
ing to his; yet, had he mistook him, and sent to
me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so
many talents.

Enter Servilius.

Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have
sweat to see his honour. — My honoured lord, —

[To Lucius.

Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir, Fare thee
well: — Commend me to thy honourable-virtuous
lord, my very exquisite friend.

Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent —

Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much en-
deared to that lord; he's ever sending: How shall
I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent
now?

Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now,
my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his
instant use with so many talents.

Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with me;
He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.
If his occasion were not virtuous, ' ")
I should not urge it half so faithfully. ^')

Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?

Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir.

Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfumish
myself against such a good time, when I might have
shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happen-
ed, that I should purchase the day before for a
little part, and undo a great deal of honour! —
Servilius, now before the gods, I am not able to
do't; the more beast, I say: — I was sending to
use lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness :
but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had
done it now. Commend me bountifully to his good
lordship; and I hope, his honour will conceive the
fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind :
— And tell him this from me, I count it one of
my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure
such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will
you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words
to him?

Ser. Yes, sir, I shall.

Luc. I will look you out a good turn, Servilius. —

[Exit Sbkviliuh.
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed;
And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed.

[Exit Lucius.

1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius?

2 Stran. Ay, too well.
1 Stran. Why this,

Is the world's soul; and just of the same piece
Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him
His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in
My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father,
And kept his credit with his purse;
Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money
Has paid his men their wages : He ne'er drinks,
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip;
And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man
When he looks out in an ingrateful shape!)
He does deny him, in respect of his, **)
What charitable men afford to beggars.

3 Stran. Religion groans at it.

1 Stran. For mine own part,

I never tasted Timon in my life,
Nor came any of his bounties over me,
To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest.
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue,
And honourable carriage.
Had his necessity made use of me,
I would have put my wealth into donation,
And the best half should have return'd to him, '')
So much I love his heart: But, I perceive.
Men must learn now with pity to dispense:
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt.

SCENE HI.

The same. A Room in Sempronius's House.

Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon'*.

Sem. Must he needs trouble me in't? Humph!
'Bove all others?
He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus;
And now Ventidius is wealthy too,
Whom he redeem'd from prison: All these three
Owe their estates unto him.

Serv. O my lord.

They have all been touch'd, '*) and found base

metal; for
They have all denied him!

Sem. How! have they denied him?

Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?
And does he send to me? Three? humph! —
It shows but little love or judgment in him.

KKVn.

39*

612

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Act III.

Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like phy-
sicians,
Thrive, give him over; '^.) Must I take the cure

upon me?
He has much disgrac'd me in't; I am angry at him,
That might have known my place : I see no sense for't,
But his occasions might have woo'd me first;
For, in my conscience, I was the first man
That e'er received gift from him:
And does he think so backwardly of me now,
That I'll requite it last? No; So it may prove
An argument of laughter to the rest,
And I amongst the lords be thought a fool.
I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum,
He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ;
I had such a courage *') to do him good. But

now return,
And with their faint reply this answer join;
Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin.

[Exit.
Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain.
The devil knew not what he did, when he made
man politic; be cross'd himself by't: and I cannot
think, but, in the end, the villainies of man will
set him clear. ^ ') How fairly this lord strives to
appear foul ? takes virtuous copies to be wicked ;
like those that, under hot ardent zeal, would set
whole realms on fire.
Of such a nature is his politic love.
This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,
Save the gods only: Now his friends are dead.
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd
Now to guard sure their master.
And this is all a liberal course allows ;
Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. •*)

[Exit.

The same.

SCENE IV.
A Hall in Timon'« House.

Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of

Lucius, meeting Titus, Ho-rtensius, and other

Servants to Timon'« Creditors, waiting his

coming out.

Var. Serv. Well met; good morrow, Titus and
Hortensius.

Tit. The like to you, kind Varro.

Hor. Lucius?

What, do we meet together?

Luc. Serv. Ay, and, I think.

One business does command us all; for mine
Is money.

Tit. So is theirs and ours.

Enter Philotus.

Luc. Serv. And sir

Philotus too!

Phi. Good day at once.

Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother.

What do you think the hour?

Phi. Labouring for nine.

Luc. Serv. So much?

Phi. Is not my lord seen yet?

Luc. Serv. Not yet.

Phi. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.

Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter
with him:
You must consider, that a prodigal course
Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable.
I fear,
'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse ;

That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet
Find little.

Phi. I am of your fear for that.

TVf. I'll show you how to observe a strange event.
Your lord sends now for money.

Hor. Most true, he does.

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift.
For which I wait for money.

Hor. It is against my heart.

Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows,

Tijuon in this should pay more than he owes:
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels.
And send for money for 'em.

Hor. Irweary of this charge, *') the gods can
witness :
I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth.
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.

1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns :
What's yours?

Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine,

1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should seem
by the sum,
Your master's confidence was above mine;
Else, surely, his had equall'd.

Enter Flaminius.

Tit. One of lord Timon's men.

Luc. Serv. Flaminius ! sir, a word : 'Pray, is my
loi'd ready to come forth?

Flam. No, indeed, he is not.

Tit. We attend his lordship ; 'pray, signify so much.

Flam. I need not tell him that; he knows, you
are too diligent. [Exit Fiaminius.

Enter Flavius, in a cloak muffled.

Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward muffled so ?
He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him.

Tit. Do you hear, sir?

1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir,

Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend?

Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir.

Flav. Ay,

If money were as certain as your waiting,
'Twere sure enough. Why then prefex'r'd you not
Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat
Of ray lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn
Upon his debts, and take down th' interest
Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but

wrong,
To stir me up ; let me pass quietly :
Believe't, my lord and 1 have made an end;
I have no more to reckon, he to spend.

Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve.

Flav. If 'twill not, -<>)

'Tis not so base as you; for you serve knaves. [Exit.

1 Var. Serv. How ! what does his cashier'd worship
mutter ?

2 Var. Serv. No matter what ; he's poor, and that's
revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he
that has no house to put his head in? such may
rail against great buildings.

Enter Sbrvilius. ^*)
Tit. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know
Some answer.

Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen.

To repair some other hour, I should much
^-) Derive from it: for, take it on my soul,
My lord leans wond'rously to discontent.
His comfortable temper has forsook him;
He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber.
Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are not
sick:

KKVII.

Act III.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

613

And, if it be so far beyond his tiealth,
Methlnks, he should the sooner pay his debts,
And make a clear way to the gods.

Ser. Good gods!

Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir.

Flam. [Within-I Serviiius, help! — my lord! my
lord!

Enter Timon, in a rage; FL.\iiiitiivs following.

Tim. What are my doors oppos'd against my pas-
sage?
Have I been ever free, and must my house
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?
The place, which I have feasted, does it now,
Like all mankind, show me an ii'on heart?

Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus.

Tit. My lord, here is my bill.

Luc. Serv. Here's mine.

Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord.

Both. Var. Serv. And ours, my lord.

Phi. All our bills.

Tit. Knock me down with 'em: ^^) cleave me to
the girdle.

Luc. Serv. Alas! my lord,

Tim. Cut ray heart in sums.

Tit. Mine, fifty talents.

Tim. Tell out my blood.

Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord.

Tim. Five thousand drops pay that. —
What yours? — and yours?

1 Var. Serv. My lord,

2 Var. Serv. My lord,

Tit. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon

you ! [Exit.

Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw

their caps at their money; these debts may well

be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.

[Exeuia.

Re-enter Timon and Flavius.

Tim. They have e'en put my breath ffom me, the
slaves :
Creditors ! — devils.

Flav. My dear lord,

Tim. What if it should be so?

Flav. My lord,

Tim. I'll have it so: — My steward!

Flav. Here, my lord.

Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again,
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius; all: -*}
I'll once more feast the rascals,

Flav. O my lord.

You only speak from your distracted soul;
There is not so much left, to furnish out
A moderate table.

Tim. Be't not in thy care; go,

I charge thee; invite them all: let in the tide
Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The tame. The Senate - House.

The Senate titting. Enter Alcibiadbs, attended.

1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it: the fault's
Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die:

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him.
Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the se-
nate!

1 Sen. Now, captain?

Alcib. I am aa humble suitor to your virtues ;

For pity is the virtue of the law.

And none but tyrants use it cruelly.

It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy

Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood.

Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth

To those that, without heed, do plunge into it.

He is a man, setting his fate aside, ' ^)

Of comely virtues:

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice:

(An honour in him, which buys out his fault,)

But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit.

Seeing his reputation touch'd to death.

He did oppose his foe:

And with such sober and unnoted passion

He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, ^')

As if he had but prov'd an argument.

1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, - ')
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair:
Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd
To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling
Upon the head of valour; which, indeed,
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world
When sects and factions were newly born :
He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer
The worst that man can breathe; -8) and make his

wrongs
His outsides; wear them like his raiment, carelessly;
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart.
To bring it into danger.
If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill^
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill?

Alcib. My lord,

1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear;
To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me.
If I speak like a captain. —
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle.
And not endure all threatening^? sleep upon it.
And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
Without repugnancy? but if there be
Such valour in the bearing, what make we
Abroad? ^') why then, women are more valiant.
That stay at home, if bearing carry it;
And th' ass, more captain than the lion; the felon, '*>)
Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge.
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords.
As you are great, be pitifully good:
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremes! gust; ^')
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. *^)
To be in anger is impiety;
But who is man, that is not angry?
Weigh but the crime with this.

2 Sen. You breathe ia vain.

Alcib. In vain? his serviee done

At Lacedaemon, and Byzantium,
Were a sufficient briber for his life.

1 Sen. What's that?

Alcib. Why, I say, my lord, h!as done fair service.
And slain in tight many of your enemies:
How full of valour did he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds?

2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em, he
Is a sworn rioter: h'as a sin that often
Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner:

If there were no foes, that were enough alone
To overcome him: in that beastly tury
He has been known to commit outrages.
And cherish factions: 'Tis inferred to us.
His days are foul, and his drink dangerous.

1 Sen. He dies.

Alcib. Hard fate! be might have died in war.
IVIy lords, if not for any parts in hiffl»

xxvn.

614

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Act III.

(Though his right arm might purchase his own time,

And be in debt to none,) yet, more to move you,

Take my deserts to his, and join them both:

And, for I know, your reverend ages love

Security, I'll pawn my victories, all

My honour to you, upon his good returns.

If by this crime he owes the law his life.

Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore;

For law is strict, and war is nothing more.
1 Sen. We are for law, he dies; urge it no more.

On height of our displeasure: Friend, or brother.

He forfeits his own blood, that spills another.
Alcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords,

I do beseech you, know me.

2. Sen. How?

Alcib. Call me to your remembrances.

3 Sen. What?

Alcib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me ;

It could not else be, I should prove so base, ^^)

To sue, and be denied such common grace:

My wounds ache at you.

1 Sen. Do you dare our anger?
'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect;
We banish thee for ever.

Alcib. Banish me?

Banish your dotage; banish usury.
That makes the senate ugly.

1 Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, i
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell

our spirit, ^*)
He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senators.

Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough; that
you may live
Only in bone, that none may look on you!
I am worse than mad : I hi;ve kept back their foes,
While they have told their money, and let out
Their coin upon large interest; I myself,
Rich only in large hurts; — All those, for this?
Is this the balsam that the usuring senate
Pours into captains' wounds? ha! banishment? ^^]
It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd;
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury.
That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts.
'Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds;
, Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

A magnificent Room in Timon's House.

Music. Tables set out; Servants attending. Enter
divers Lords, at several doors.

1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir.

2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this honoyr-
able lord did but try us this other day.

1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring, ^^)
■when we encountered ; I hope it is not so low witli
him, as he made it seem in the trial of his several
friends.

2 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of his
new feasting.

1 Lord. I should think so : He hath sent me an
earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did
urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond
them, and I must needs appear.

2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my im-
portunate business, but he would not hear my ex-
cuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me,
that my provision was out.

1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I under-
stand how all things go.

2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would he have
borrowed of you?

1 Lord. A thousand pieces.

2 Lord. A thousand pieces!
1 Lord. What of you?

3 Lord. He sent to me, sir, — Here he comes.

Enter Timom , and Attendants.

Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And
how fare you?

1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your
lordship.

2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more
willing, than we your lordship.

Titn. [Aside.l Nor more willingly leaves winter;
such summer-birds are men, — Gentlemen, our dinner
will not recompense this long stay ; feast your ears
with the music awhile : if they will fare so harshly
on the trumpet's sound: we shall to't presently.

1 Lord. I hope, it remains not unkindly with your
lordship, that I returned you an empty messenger.

Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you.

2 Lord. My noble lord,

Tim. Ah, my good friend! what cheer?

\The Banquet brought in.

2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick
of shame, that, when your lordship this other day
sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar.

Tim. Think not on't, sir.

2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, —

Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. ^')
— Come, bring in all together.

2 Lord. All covered dishes !

1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you.

3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the season
can yield it.

1 Lord. How do you? What's the news?

S Lord. Alcibiades is banished: Hear you of it?

1^2 Lord. Alcibiades banished !

3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it.

1 Lord. How ? how ?

2 Lord. I pray you upon what?

Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near?

3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble
feast toward. ^^)

2 Lord. This is the old man still.

SLord. Will't hold, will't hold?

2 Lord. It does : but time will — and so

S Lord. I do conceive.

Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he
would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be
in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to
let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first
place: Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks.

You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with
thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves
•praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities
be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one
need not lend to another: for were your godheads
to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods.
Make the meat be beloved, more than the man
that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be with-
out a score of villains: If there sit twelve women
at the table, let a dozen of them be — as they
are. — The rest of your fees, O gods, — the se-
nators of Athens, together with the common lag^^)
of people, — what is amiss in them, you gods,
make suitable for destruction. For these my present
friends, — as they are to me nothing, so in nothing
bless them, and to nothing they are welcome.
Uncover, dogs, and lap.

[y/te Dishes uncovere:!, arc full of warm Water.

XKVU.

Act IV.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

615

Some gpeak. What does his lordship mean ?

Some other. I know not.

Tim. May you a better feast never behold,
You knot of mouth-friends! smoke, and luke-warra

water
Is your peirfection. ^^) This is Timon's last;
Wiio stuck and spangled you with flatteries.
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces

[Throwing water in their faces.
Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd, and long.
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears.
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, * ')
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks, * -)
Of man, and beast, the infinite malady '^^)
Crust you quite o'er! — What, dost thou go?
Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou ; —
[Throws the Dishes at them, and drives them out.
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. —
What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast,
Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.
Burn, house; sink, Athens! henceforth hated be
Of TImon, man, and all humanity. [Exit.

Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and
Senators.

1 Lord. How now, my lords ?

2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's fury?

3 Lord. Pish! did you see my cap?

4 Lord. I have lost my gown.

3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but hu-
mour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other
day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: —
Did you see my jewel?

4 Lord. Did you see my cap?
2 Lord. Here 'tis.

4 Lord. Here lies my gown.

1 Lord. Let's make no stay.

2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad.

8 Lord. I feel't upon my bones.

4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day

stones. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE L Without the Walls o/ Athens.

Enter Timon.

Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall.
That girdlest in those wolves! Dive in the earth.
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent;
Obedience fail in children! slaves, and fools.
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench.
And miiuster in their steads! to general filths ')
Convert o'the instant, green virginity!
Do't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast;
Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, steal !
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
And pill by law! maid, to thy master's bed;
Thy mistress is o'the brothel! son of sixteen,
Piuck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire,
With it beat out his brains! piety, and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neigbourhood,
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades.
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contreiries, -)
And yet confusion ^) live — Plagues, incident to men,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap
On Athens, ripe for stroke! thou cold sciatica.

Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners! lust and liberty *)
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth:
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive.
And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains.
Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop
Be general leprosy! breath infect breath;
That their society/ as theii' friendship, may
Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!
Take thou that too, with multiplying banns! *)
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all,)
The Athenians both within and out that wall!
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
To the whole race of mankind, liigh, and low!
Amen. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Athens. A Room in Timon's House.

Enter Flwivs, ^) wit7t two or three Servants.

1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our
master ?
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaming?

Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you ?
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
I am as poor as you.

1 Serv. Such a house broke!
So noble a master fallen! all gone! and not
One friend, to take his fortune by the arm,
And go along with him!

2 Serv. As we do turn our backs
From our companion, thrown into his grave;

So his familiars to his buried fortunes

Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,

Like empty purses pick'd: and his poor self,

A dedicated beggar to the air.

With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty.

Walks, like contempt, alone. — More of our fellows.

Enter other Servants.

Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.

3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery,
That see I by our faces; we arc fellows still.
Serving alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our bark;
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck.
Hearing the surges threat: we must all part
Into this sea of air.

Flav. Good fellows all.

The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake.
Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say,
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes.
We have seen better days. Let each take some;

[Giving them money.
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more:
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

[Exeunt Scrvanta.
O, the fierce wretchedness ') that glory brings us!
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt.
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who'd be so mock'd with glory ? 05 to live
But in a dream of friendship ?
To have his pomp, and all what state compounds.
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart;
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, ^)
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good!
Who then dares to be half so kind again?
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.

uuvu.

616

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Act IV.

My dearest lord, — bless'd, to be most accurs'd,
Rich, only to be wretched ; — thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat
Of monstrous friends : nor has he with him to
Supply his life, or that which can command it.
I'll follow, and enquire him out:
I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;
Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [Exit.

SCENE III.

The Woods.

Enter Timon.

Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb ')
Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, —
Whose procreation, residence, and birth,
Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several

fortunes ;
The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature.
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune.
But by contempt of nature. '°)
Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord; *^)
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary.
The beggar native honour.
It is the pasture lards the brother's sides.
The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,
In purity of manhood stand upright,
And say, This man's a flatterer ? if one be.
So are they all; for every grize of fortune '^)
Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: All is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind! — ^^) Earth, yield me
roots ! [Digging.

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison! What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
I am no idle votarist. ' **) Roots, you clear heavens ! ■ ^)
Thus much of this, will make black, white ; foul, fair ;
Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, va-
liant.
Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods?

Why this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides;
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads:
This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves.
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench; this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To the April day again. ") Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature. — ^') [March afar off.] — Ha!

a drum? — Thou'rt quick, '")
But yet I'll bt^ry thee: Thou'lt go, strong thief.
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand: —
Nay, stay tliou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold.

Enter Alcibiadbs, with Drum and Fife, in warlike
manner: Phrynia and Timandra.

What art thou there?

Alcib.
Speak.

Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy
heart.
For showing me again the eyes of man!

Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee,
That art thyself a man?

Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.

Alcib. I know thee well ;

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.

Tim. I know thee too; and more, than that I
know thee,
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules:
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;
Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.

Pkry. Thy lips rot off!

Tim. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns
To thine own lips again.

Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change?

Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give :
But then renew I could not, like the moon;
There were no suns to borrow of.

Alcib. Noble Timon,

What friendship may I do thee?

Tim. None, but to

Maintain my opinion.

Alcib. What is it, Timon?

Tijn. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If
Thou wilt not promise, * 9) the gods plague thee, for
Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee.
For thou'rt a man!

Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.

Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity.

Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time,

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.

Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world
Voic'd so regardfully?

Tim. Art thou Timandra?

Timan. Yes.

Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that
use thee;
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.
Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves
For tubs, and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked youth
To the tub-fast, and the diet.

Timan. Hang thee, monster!

Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. —
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band ; I have heard, and griev'd,
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy woi'th,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states.
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, —

Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.

Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.

Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost
trouble?
I had rather be alone.

Alcib. Why, fare thee well:

Here's some gold for thee.

Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it.

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, —

Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?

Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause.

Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest; and
Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!

Alcib. Why me, Timon?

Tim. That,
By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer

KKVII.

Act IV.

TIM ON OF ATHENS.

617

My country.

Put up thy gold ; Go on, — here's gold, — go on ;

Be as a planetary plague, when Jove

Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison

In the sick air: Let not thy sword skip one:

Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,

He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron;

It is her habit only that is honest,

Herself's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek

Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps,

That through the Avindow-bars bore at men's eyes.

Are not within the leaf of pity writ,

*"} Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not

the babe.
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
Think it a bastard, ^*) whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut.
And mince it sans remorse: Swear against objects; -^)
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes.
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding.
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers:
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent.
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold then

giv'st me,
Not all thy counsel.
Tim. Dost thou, or dost tbou not, beaven^s corse

upon thee!
Phr. ^ Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon:

Hast thou more?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts.
Your aprons mountant : You are not oathable, —
Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear,
Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues,
I'he immortal gods that hear you, — spare yoor

oaths,
I'll trust to your conditions: -^) Be whores still;
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you.
Be strong in whore, allure hiin, burn him up;
Let your close fire predominate his smoke.
And be no turncoats: Yet may your pains, six

months.
Be quite contrary : And thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd.
No matter : — wear them, betray with them : whore

still ;
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face:
A pox of wrinkles!
Phr. ^ Timan. Well, more gold; — What then? —
Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Consumptions sow
In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins.
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more false title plead,
Nor sound his quillets shrilly : - *) hoar the flamen, » *)
That scolds against the quality of flesh.
And not believes hiinself: down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to foresee, -')
Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate

ruffians bald;
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you: Plague all;
That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection. — There's more gold : —
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all! ^")
Phr. ^ Timan. More counsel with more money,

bounteous Timon.
Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given

you earnest

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Fare-
well, Timon;
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.

Alcib. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.

Alcib. Call'st thou that harm?

Tun. Men daily find it such. Get thee away,
And take thy beagles with thee.

Alcib. We but offend him —

Strike.

\prum beat*. Exeunt Alcibudem, Phbynu,
and TiHAKDRA.

Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,
Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother thou,

[Digging.
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, *")
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle.
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is pufi'd.
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue.
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, *')
With all the abhorred births below crisp ^ *) heaven
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate.
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Ensear thy fertile and conceptions womb.
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled mansion all above
Never presented! — O, a root, — Dear thanks!
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; ^ ')
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts.
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind.
That from it all consideration slips!

Enter Apemantds.
More man? Plague! plague!

Apem. I was directed hither: Men report.
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.

Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog
Whom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee!

Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected;
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?
This slave-like habit? and these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
Hug their disejis'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper. *^)
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee.
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe.
Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus;
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid wel-
come.
To knaves, and all approachers: 'Tis most just.
That thou turn rascal; had'st thou wealth again.
Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.

Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.

Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like
thyself;
A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain.
Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moss'd trees,
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste.
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? call the creatures, —
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks.
To the conflicting elements expos'd,

KXVll.

618

TIMON OF ATHENS

Act IV.

Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee;
O ! thou shalt find

Tim. A fool of thee: Depart.

Apein. I love thee better now than e'er I did.

IV'wi. I hate thee worse.

Apem. Why?

Tim. Thou flatter'st misery.

Apem. I flatter not; but say, thou art a caitiff.

Tim. Why dost thou seek me out?

Apem. To vex thee.

Ti?n. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Dost please thyself in't?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. What! a knave too! ^^)

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou
Dost it enforcedly; thou'dst courtier be again,
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before: ^*)
The one is filling still, never complete;
The other, at high wish : Best state, contentless,
Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content. ^^)
Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.

Tivi. Not by his breath, ^^) that is more miserable.
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm
With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, ^') from our first swath, ^^)

proceeded
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugs of it ^ ^)
Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself
In general riot; melted down thy youth
In different beds of lust; and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, ^°) but foUow'd
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionai^y ;
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men
At duty, more than I could frame employment ; "* ' )
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows! — I, to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burden:
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st thou hate

men?
They never flatter'd thee: What hast thou given?
If thou wilt curse, — thy father, that poor rag.
Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff
To some she-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone! —
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. '*^)

Apem. Art thou proud yet?

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.

Apem. I, that I was

No prodigal.

Tim. I, that I am one now;

Were all the wealth I have, shut up in thee,
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. —
That the whole life of Athens were in this!
Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root.

Apem. Here; I will mend thy feast.

[Offering him something.

Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself.

Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of
thine.

Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ;
If not, I would it were.

Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens?

Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,
Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have.

Apem. Here is no use for gold.

Tim. The best, and truest:

For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. ^

Apem. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon?

Tim. Under that's above me.

Where feed'st thou o'days, Apeniantus?

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather,
where I eat it.

Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my
mind !

Apem. Where would'st thou send it?

Tim. To sauce thy dishes.

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest,
but the extremity of both ends: When thou wast
in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for
too much curiosity; '^^) in thy rags thou knewest
none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a
medlar for thee, eat it.

Tim. On what I hate, I feed not

Apem. Dost hate a medlar?

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee.

Apem. An thou hadst hated medlars sooner, thou
should'st have loved thyself better now. What man
didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved
after his means?

Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of,
didst thou ever know beloved?

Apem. Myself.

Tim. 1 understand thee; thou hadst some means
to keep a dog.

Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest
compare to thy flatterers?

Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things
themselves. What would'st thou do with the world,
Apemantus, if it lay in thy power?

Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.

Tt7«. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the con-
fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts ?

Apem. Ay, Timon.

Tiin, A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee
to attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would
beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox would
eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect
thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the
ass : if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment
thee; and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to
the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness
would afflict thee, and oft thou should'st hazard thy
life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, * *) pride
and wrath would confound thee, and make thine
own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a
bear, thou would'st be killed by the horse: wert
thou a horse, thou would'st be seized by the leo-
pard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to
the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors
on thy life: all thy safety were remotion; **) and
thy defence, absence. What beast could'st thou be,
that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast
art thou already, that seest not thy loss in trans-
formation ?

Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to
me, thou might'st have hit upon it here : The common-
wealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou
art out of the city?

Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter: The
plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to
catch it, and give way: when I know not what
else to do, I'll see thee again.

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou
shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog,
than Apemantus.

Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. '*^)

KXVII.

Act IV.

TIM ON OF ATHENS.

619

Tim. 'Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon.
^ Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse.
Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure.
' Apem. There is no leprosy, but what thou speak'st.
TViR. If 1 name thee, —
I'll beat thee, — but I should infect my hands.
Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off!
Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!
Choler does kill me, that thou art hUtc;
I swoon to see thee.
Apem. 'Would thou would'st burst!

Tim. Away,

Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry, I shall lose
A stone by thee. [ThrDwt a *tone at kim.

Apem. Beast!

Tim. Slave!

Apem Toad!

Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue !

[Ape3<aktU8 retreatt backward, as going.
I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought
But even the mere necessities upon it.
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;
Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat
Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph.
That death in me at others' lives may laugh.
O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce

^Looking on the goU.
'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
That solder'st close impossibilities.
And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue.
To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! *'')
Think thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
May have the world in empire!
Apem. 'Would 'twere so ; —

But not till I am dead! — I'll say, thou hast gold;
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.
Tim. Throng'd to?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee.

Apem. Live, and love thy misery!

Tim. Long live so, and so die ! — I am quit.

[Exit APEXAirrus.
More things like men? — Eat, Timon, and abhor them.

Enter Thieves.

1 Thief. Where should he have this gold ? It b
some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder :
The mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his
friends, drove him into this melancholy.

2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure.

3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him; if he
care not for't, he will supply us easily; If he covet-
ously reserve it, how shall's get it

2 Thief. True ; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid.

1 Thief. Is not this he?
Thieves. Where?

2 Thief. 'TIS his description.
S Thief He; I know him.
Thieves. Save thee, Timon.
Tim. Now, thieves.
Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves.
Tim. Both too; and women's sons.

Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much

do want.
Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of
meat.
Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;
Within this mile break forth a hundred springs:

The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;
The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush
Lays her full mess before you. Want? why want?

1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,
As boosts, and birds, and fishes.

Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and
fishes;
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con.
That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not
In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft
In limited professions. ■* ^) Rascal thieves.
Here's gold : Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape.
Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth.
And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
More than you rob: take wealth and lives together;
Do villainy, do, since you profess to do't.
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery:
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief.
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun:
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief^
That feeds and breeds by a composture *') stolen
From general excrement: each thing's a thief;
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves ; aw ay ;
Rob one another. There's more gold: Cut throats;
All that you meet are thieves: To Athens, go,
Break open shops; nothing can you steal.
But thieves do lose it: Steal not less, for this
I give you ; and gold confound you howsoever !
Amen. [Timon retires to bis Cave.

3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my pro-
fession, by persuading me to it.

1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus
advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.

2 Thief I'll believe him as an enemy, and give
over my trade.

1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: There
is no time so miserable, but a man may be true.

[Exeunt Tliicres.

Blttter Flavius.

Flav. O you gods!
Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord?
Full of decay and fjuling? O monument
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!
What an alteration of honour has
Desperate want made! ***)
What viler thing upon the earth, than friends.
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
How rarely does it meet *•) with this time's guise.
When man was wish'd ^-) to love his enemies:
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo
Those that would mischief me, than those that do ! ^ ^)
He has caught me in his eye: I will present
My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord.
Still serve him with my life. — My dearest master!

Timon comes forward from his Cave.

Tim. Away! what art thou?

Flav. Have you forgot me, sir?

!IV»». Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;
Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt man, **> I have for-
got thee.

Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.

Tim. Then

I know thee not: I ne'er had honest man
About me, I; all that I kept were knaves.
To serve in meat to villsuns.

Flav. The gods are witness

KXVJI.

620

TIMON OF ATHENS

Act V.

Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you.

Tim. What, dost thou weep? — Come nearer; —
then I love thee,
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give,
But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping:
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with
weeping !

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord.
To accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts.
To entertain me as your steward still.

Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now
So comfortable? It almost "turns
My dangerous nature wild. * ^) Let me behold
Thy face. — Surely, this man was born of woman. —
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual-sober gods! *'') I do proclaim
One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one :
No more, I pray, — and he is a steward. —
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee,
I fell with curses.

Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise;
For by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou might'st have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous.
If not a usuring kindness ; and as rich men deal gifts.
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late;
You should have fear'd false times, when you did

feast :
Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind.
Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
My most honour'd lord.
For any benefit that points to me.
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange
For this one wish, That you had power and wealth
To requite me, by making rich yourself.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so ! — Thou singly honest man.
Here, take : — the gods out of my misery
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy:
But thus conditioned ; Thou slialt build from men ; ^ ')
Hate all, curse all: show charity to none;
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them,
Debts wither them: *^) Be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
And so, farewell, and thrive.

Flav. O, let me stay,

And comfort you, my master.

Tim. If thou hat'st

Curses, stay not ; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free :
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.

[£xeunt severally.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same. Before Timon'« Cave.
Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen.

Paiti. As I took note of the place, it cannot be
far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the ru-
mour hold for true, that he is so full of gold?

Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and
Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched
poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'Tis
said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a
try for his friends.

Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in
Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There-
fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in
this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly
in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes with
what they travel for, if it be a just and true report
that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : only
I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent
that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very
air o'the time; it opens the eyes of expectation:
performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but
in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed
of saying is quite out of use. ') To promise is most
courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of
will, or testament, which argues a great sickness
in his judgment that makes it.

Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a
man so bad as is thyself.

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have pro-
vided for him : It must be a personating of himself :
a satire against the softness of prosperity ; with a
discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth
and opulency.

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine
own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in
other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him:
Then do we sin against our own estate,
When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Pain. True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night.
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple,
Than where swine feed!
'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the

foam;
Settlest admired reverence in a slave:
To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
'Fit I do meet them. [Advancing.

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon!

Pain. Our late noble master.

Tim, Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?

Poet. Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n ofi".
Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits !
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough —
What! to you!

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I'm rapt, and cannot cover
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any size of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better :
You, that are honest, by being what you are.
Make them best seen, and known.

Pain. He, and myself,

Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts.
And sweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you are honest men.

Pain. We are hither come to off"er you our service.

KKVIX.

Act V.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

621

TVjb. Most honest men! Why, how shall I re-
quite you?
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.

Tim. You are honest men: You have heard that
I have gold;
I am sure, you have: speak truth: you are honest
men.

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore
Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honest men: — Thou draw'st a coun-
terfeit -)
Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain. So, so, my lord.

Tim. Even so, sir, as I say : — And, for thy fiction,

[To the Poet.
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth.
That thou art even natural in thine art. —
But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends,
I must needs say, you have a little fault:
Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I,
You take much pains to mend.

Both. Beseech your honour,

To make it known to us.

Tim. You'll take it ill.

Both. Most thankfully, my lord.

Tim. Will you, indeed?

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.

Both. Do we, my lord?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him.
Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd,
That he's a made-up villain. ^)

Pain. I know none such, my lord.

Poet. Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well ; I'll give you gold.
Rid me these villains from your companies:
Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught, *)
Confound them by some course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them.

Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in com-
pany:—
Each man apart, all single and alone.
Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.
If where thou art, two villains shall not be,

[To the Painter.
Come not near him. — If thou would'st not reside

[To the Poet.
But where one villain is, then him abandon. —
Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye

slaves :
You have done work for me, there's payment: Hence!
You are an alchymist, make gold of that: —
Out, rascal dogs! [Exit, beating and driving them out.

SCENE II.

The tame.

Enter Flavius, and two Senators.

Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with
Timon ;
For he is set so only to himself,
That nothing but himself, which looks like man,
Is friendly with hun.

1 Sen. Bring us to his cave:
It is our part, and promise to the Athenians,
To speak with Timon.

2 Sen. At all times alike

Men are not still the same : 'Twas time, and griefs,
That fram'd him thus : time, with his fairer hand,
Offering the fortunes of his former days,
The former man may make him: Bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.
Flav. Here is his cave. —

Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!
Look out and speak to friends: The Athenians,
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee:
Speak to them, noble Timon.

Enter Timor.

Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! — Speak,
and be hang'd:
For each true word, a blister! and each false
Be as a caut'rizing to the root o'the tongue,
Consuming it with speaking!

1 Sen. Worthy Timon,

Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.

2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.
Tifn. I thank them; and would send them back

the plague.
Could I but catch it for them.

1 Sen. O, forget
What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.
The senators, with one consent of love, *)
Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought
On special dignities, which vacant lie

For thy best use and wearing.

2 Sen. They confess,
Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross:
Which now the public body, — which doth seldom
Play the recanter, — feeling in itself

A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal

Of its own fall, restraining aid to' Timon;

And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render, *)

Together with a recompense more fruitful

Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; ')

Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth.

As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs,

And write in thee the figures of their love,

Ever to read them thine.

Tim. You witch me in it;

Surprize me to the very brink of tears:
Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes.
And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.

1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us.
And of our Athens (thine, and ours,) to take
The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,
AUow'd with absolute power, ^) and thy good name
Live with authority : — so soon we shall drive back
Of Alcibiades the approaches wild;

Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
His country's peace.

2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword
Against the walls of Athens.

1 Sen. Therefore, Timon, —

Tim. Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, sir ; Thus, —
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen.
Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,
That — Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,
And take our goodly aged men by the beards.
Giving our holy virgins to the stain
Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war;
Then, let him know, — and tell him, Timon speaks it,
I pity of our aged, and our youth,
I cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not.
And let him tak't at worst; for their knives care not,
While you have throats to answer: for myself.
There's not a whittle ') in the unruly camp.
But I do prize it at my love, befoje
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you

XHVU.

622

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Act V.

To the protection of the prosperous gods,
As thieves to keepers.

Flav. Stay not, all's in vain.

Tirn. Why, I was writing of my epitaph,
It will be seen to-morrow; My long sickness '")
Of health, and living, now begins to mend.
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,
And last so long enough!

1 Sen. We speak in vain.

Tim. But yet I love my country, and am not
One that rejoices in the common wreck.
As common bruit ") doth put it.

1 Sen. That's well spoke.

Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, —

1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass

through them.

2 Sen. And enter in our ears, like great triiimphers
In their applauding gates.

Tim. Commend me to them;

And tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs.
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do

them :
I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.

2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again,

Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close.
That mine own use invites me to cut down,
And shortly must I fell it; Tell my friends.
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, *-)
From high to low throughout, that whoso pleases
To stop affliction, let him take his haste.
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
And hang himself: — I pray you, do my greeting.

Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall
find him.

Tim. Come not to me again: but say to Athens,
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood;
*3]) Which once a day with his embossed froth'*)
The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come.
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. —
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end:
What is amiss, plague and infection mend!
Graves only be men's works; and death, their gain!
Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.

[Exit Timon.

1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably
Coupled to nature.

2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead: let us return.
And strain what other means is left unto us

In our dear peril. *^)
1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Walls o/ Athens.

Enter two Senators, and a Messenger.

1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd ; are his files
As full as thy report?

Mess. I have spoke the least:

Besides, his expedition promises
Present approach.

2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not

Timon.
Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; —
Whom, though in general part wc were oppos'd,
Yet our old love made a particular force,
And made us speak like friends: — this man was

riding

From Alcibiades to Timon's cave.
With letters of entreaty, which imported
His fellowship i'the cause against your city.
In part for his sake mov'd.

Enter Senators /ro?/* Timon.

1 Sen. Here come our brothers.

3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. —
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring
Doth choke the air with dust: In, and prepare;
Ours is the fall, I fear, our foes the snare.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Woods. T i mo n'« Ca»e, and a Tombstone seen.

Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon.

Sold. By all description this should be the place.
Who's here? speak, ho! — No answer? — What

is this?
Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span:
Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man.
Dead, sure; and this his grave. —
What's on this tomb I cannot read ; ' ^) the character
I'll take with wax:

Our captain hath in every figure skill;
An ag'd interpreter, though young in days :
Before proud Athens he's set down by this.
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit.

SCENE V.

Before the Walls o/" A t h e n s .

Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades, and Forces.

Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town
Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded.

Enter Senators on the Walls.

Till now you have gone on, and fiU'd the time
With all licentious measure, making your wills
The scope of justice ; till now, myself, and such
As slept within the shadow of your power.
Have Avander'd with our travers'd arms, *') and

breath'd
Our sufferance vainly: Now the time is flush, *^)
When crouching marrow, in the bearer sti'ong,
Cries, of itself, No more : now breathless wrong
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of fease;
And pursy insolence shall bi'eak his wind,
With fear, and horrid flight.

1 Sen. Noble, and young.
When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear.
We sent to thee; to give thy rages balm.

To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
Above their quantity.

2 Sen. So did we woo
Transformed Timon to our city's love.

By humble message, and by promis'd means;
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
The common stroke of war.

1 Sen. These walls of ours
Were not erected by their hands, from whom
You have receiv'd your griefs: nor are they such
That these great towers, trophies, and schools

should fall
For private faults in them.

2 Sen. Nor are they living.
Who were the motives that you first went out;
Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess
Hath broke their hearts. '^) March, noble lord,

Hxvn.

Act V.

TIM ON OF ATHENS.

623

Into our city with thy banners spread:

By decimation, and a tithed death,

(If thy revenges hunger for that food.

Which nature loaths,) take thou the destin'd tenth;

And by the hazard of the spotted die.

Let die the spotted.

1 Sen. All have not offended ;

For those that were, it is not square, ^°) to take.
On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands.
Arc not inherited. Then, dear countryman,
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage :
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin,
Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall
With those that have offended: like a shepherd,
Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth,
But kill not all together. -']

2 Sen. What thou wilt,
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile,
Than hew to't with thy sword.

1 Sen. Set but thy foot
Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope;
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,

To say, thoul't enter friendly.

2 Sen. Throw thy glove.
Or any token of thine honour else.

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redi'ess.
And not as our confusion, all thy powers
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.

Alcib. Then there's my glove;

Descend, and open your uncharged ports; --)
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own,
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
Fall, and no more: and, — to atone your fears
With my more noble meaning, — -^) not a man
Shall pass his quarter, ^*) or offend the stream

Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be remedied, to your public laws
At heaviest answer.

Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken.

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.

The Senators descend, and open tJte Gate$.

Enter a Soldier.

Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead;
Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea:
And, on his grave-stone, this insculpture; which
With wax I brought away, whose soft impressioa
Interprets for my poor ignorance.
Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of
wretched soul bereft:
Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked

caitiffs left!
Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did

hate :
Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay

not here thy gait.
These well express in thee thy latter spirits:
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, -*) and those our drop-
lets which
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead
Is noble Timon; of whose memory
Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city,
And I will use the olive with my sword :
Make war breed peace; make peace stint war;

make each
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. ^^)
Let our drums strike. [Exeaat.

KHVUL

XXVIII.
CORIOLANUS.

PEBSONS REPRESENTED.

Caius Marcius Cobiolanus, a noble Roman.
CoMiNius ' 4 ^*"^*'"'* against the Volscians.

Menenius Agrippa, Friend to Coriolanus.

SiCINIUS VeluTUS, 1 rri •!. ^ *7 r» »

Junius Brutus, } Tribunes of the People.

Young Marcius, Son to Coriolanus.

A Roman Herald.

TuLLus AuFiDius, General of the Volscians.

Lieutenant to Aufidius.

Conspirators with Aufidius.

Scene — ■partly in Rome; and partly in

A Citizen of Antium.
Two Volscian Guards.

VoLUMNiA, Mother to Coriolanus.
ViRGiLiA, Wife to Coriolanus.
Valeria, Friend to Virgilia.
Gentlewoman attending Virgilia.

Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, ^diles,
Lictt)rs, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Ser-
vants to Aufidius, and other Attendants.

the Territories of the Volscians and Antiates.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Rome. A Street.

Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, witJt
staves, clubs, and other weapons.

1 Citizen.
Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.

Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once.

1 Cit. You are all resolved rather to die, than to
famish ?

Cit. Resolved, resolved.

1 Cit. First you know, Caius Marcius is chief
enemy to the people.

Cit. We know't, we know't.

1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our
own price. Is't a verdict?

Cit. No more talking on't; let it be done: away,
away.

2 Cit. One word, good citizens.

1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens; the patri-
cians, good: ') What authority surfeits on, would
relieve us; If they would yield us but the super-
fluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess,
they relieved us humanely; but they think, we are
too dear: ^) the leanness that afflicts us, the object
of our misery, is as an inventory to particularize
their abundance ; our sufferance is a gain to them. —
Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become
rakes :^) for the gods know, I speak this in hunger
for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius
Marcius?

Cit. Against him first; he's a very dog to the com-
monalty.

2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done for
his country?

1 Cit. Very well ; and could be content to give him
good report for't, but that he pays himself with
being proud.

2. Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously.

1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously,
he did it to that end ; though soft conscienc'd men
can be content to say, it was for his country, he
did it to please his mother, and to be partly proud;
which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue.

2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you ac-
count a vice in him: You must in no way say, he
is covetous.

1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of ac-
cusations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in
repetition. [Shouts within.] What shouts are these?
The other side o'the city is risen : Why stay we
prating here? to the Capitol.

Cit. Come, come.

1 Cit. Soft; who comes here?

Enter Menenius Agrippa.

2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath
always loved the people.

1 Cit. He's one honest enough ; 'Would, all the
rest were so !

Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand?
Where go you
With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray
you.

1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate ;
they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we in-
tend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds.
They say, poor suitors have strong breaths; they
shall know, we have strong arms too.

Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest

neighbours,
Will you undo yourselves?

1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already.

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care
Have the patricians of you. For your wants.
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them
Against the Roman state; whose course will on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
Of more strong link asunder, than can ever

BKVXn.

Act I.

CORIOLANUS.

625

Appear in your impediment: For the dearth.

The gods, not the patricians, make it; and

Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,

You are transported by calamity

Thither where more attends you; and you slander

The helms o'the state, who care for you like fathers.

When you curse them as enemies.

1 Cit. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They ne'er

cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their
store-houses crammed with grain; make edicts for
usury, to support usurers: repeal daily any whole-
some act established against the rich; and provide
more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain
the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will;
and there's all the love they bear us.

Men. Either you must
Confess yourselves wond'rous malicious.
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you
A pretty tale; it may be, you have heard it;
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To scale't a little more. ■*)

1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not
think to fob off our disgrace with a tale: *) but,
an't please you, deliver.

Men. There was a time, when all the body's members
Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it: —
That only like a gulph it did remain
I'the midst o'the body, idle and inactive,
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
Like labour with the rest; where the other instru-
ments '')
Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
And, mutually participate, ') did minister
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answered, — .

1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly?

Men. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile,
Which ne'er came from the lungs, ^) but even thus,
(For, look you, I may make the belly smile.
As well as speak,) it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts
That envied his receipt; even so most fitly ')
As you malign our senators, for that
They are not such as you.

1 Cit. Your belly's answer: What!
The kingly-cTOwned head, the vigilant eye,
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
With other muniments and petty helps
In this our fabric, if that they

Men. What then? —

'Fore me, this fellow speaks ! — what then? what then?

1 Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,
Who is the sink o'the body,

Men. Well, what then?

1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain.
What could the belly answer?

Men. I will tell you;

If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little,)
Patience, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer.

1 Cit. You are long about it.

Men. Note me this, good friend ;

Your most grave belly was deliberate,
Not r£ish like his accusers, and thus answer'd.
True is it, my incorporate friends, quoth he.
That I receive the general food at first,
Which you do live upon: and fit it is;
Because J am the store-house, and the shop
Of the whole body: But if you do remember,
I tend it through the rivers of your blood.
Even to the court, the heart, — ■ to the seat o'the

brain ;
And, through the cranks and offices of man, ' °)

The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins.
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live: And though that all at once.
You, my good friends, (this says the belly), mark
me, —

1 Cit. Ay, sir ; well, w cU.

Men. Though all at once cannot

See what I do deliver out to each;
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From me do back receive the flower of all.
And leave me but the bran. What say you to't?

1 Cit. It was an answer: How apply you this?

Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly,
And you the mutinous members: For examine
Their counsels, and their cares; digest things rightly,
Touching the weal o'the common; you shall find.
No public benefit, which you receive,
But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you.
And no way from yourselves. — What do you think?
You, the great toe of this assembly ? —

1 Cit. I the great toe? Why the great toe?

Men. For that being one o'the lowest, basest, poorest,
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost:
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood, to run
Lead'st first, to win some vantage. —
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs;
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle.
The one side must have bale. — ") Hail, noble
Marcius !

Enter Caius Marcids.

Mar. Thanks. — What's the matter, you dissentious
rogues.
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
Make yourselves scabs?

1 Cit. We have ever your good word.

Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will
flatter
Beneath abhorring. — What would you have, you curs.
That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts you.
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no.
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice.
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is.
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him.
And curse that justice did it. '-) Who deserves

greatness.
Deserves your hate: and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead.
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?
With every minute you do change a mind;
And call him noble, that was now your hate.
Him vile, that was your garland. What's the matter,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who.
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another? — What's their seeking?

Men.Yox corn at their own rates; whereof, they say.
The city is well stor'd. ^~

Mar. Hang 'em! They say?

They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know
What's done i'the Capitol: who's like to rise,
Who thrives, and who declines: side factions, and

give out
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong.
And feebling such as stand not in their liking.
Below their cobbled shoes. They say, there's grain

enough ?
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, * ^)
And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry •*)

Hxvm.

40

626

CORIOLANUS.

Act I.

With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
As I could pick my lance, ' *)

Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded ;
For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
What says the other troop?

Mar. They are dissolved : Hang 'em!

They said, they v^ere an hungry; sigh'd forth pro-
verbs; —
That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat ;
That, meat was made for mouths; that, the gods

sent not
Corn for the rich men only: — With these shreds
They vented their complainings; which being an-

swer'd.
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
(To break the heart of generosity, '*)
And make bold power look pale,) they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon.
Shouting their emulation. ' ')

Men. What is granted them?

Mar. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms.
Of their own choice: One's Junius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath!
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city,
Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
For insurrection's arguing. **)

Men. This is strange.

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments!

Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where's Caius Marclus ?
Mar. Here: What's the matter?

Mess. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms.
Mar. I am glad on't; then we shall have means
to vent
Our musty superfluity: — See, our best elders.

Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, awrf other Sena-
tors; Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Velutls.

1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately told us ;
The Voices are in arms.

Mar. They have a leader,

Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying his nobility:
And were I any thing but what I am,
I would wish me only he.

Com. You have fought together.

Mar. Were half to half the w orld by the ears, and he
Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make
Only my wars with him: he is a lion
That I am proud to hunt.

1 *«»• Then, worthy Marcius,

Attend upon Cominius to these wars.

Co7n. It is your former promise.

^ar. Sir, it is,

And I am constant. — Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face:
What, art thou stiff? stand'st out?

r*'- No, Caius Marcius ;

I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other.
Ere stay behind this business.

Men. O, true bred!

1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol; where, I know.
Our greatest friends attend us.

Tit. Lead you on:

Follow, Cominius; we must follow you;
Right worthy you priority. ' ')

Com. Noble Lartius!

1 Sen. Hence ! To your homes, be gone.

[To the Citizens.

Mar. Nay, let them follow :

The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither,
To gnaw their garners: — Worshipful mutineers.
Your valour puts well forth: -") pray, follow.

[Exeunt Senators, Com. Mar. Tit. and
Menen. Citizens steal away.

Sic. Was ever roan so proud as is this Marcius?

Hru. He has no etjual.

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the people, —

Brii. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes?

*»'C' Nay, but his taunts.

Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird ^')
the gods.

Sic. Be-mock the modest moon.

Bru. The present wars devour him: he is grown
Too proud to be so valiant. --)

Sic. Such a nature,

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow
Which he treads on at noon: But I do wonder.
His insolence can brook to be commanded
Under Cominius.

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims, —

In whom already he is well grac'd, — cannot
Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by
A place below the first: for what miscarries
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he
Had borne the business!

Sic. Besides, if things go well.

Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall
Of his demerits rob Cominius. ^^)

Bru. Come :

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius,
Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed,
In aught he merit not.

Sic. Let's hence, and hear

How the despatch is made; and in what fashion.
More than in singularity,-'*) he goes
Upon his present action.

Bru. Let's along. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Corioli. The Senate-House.
Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators.

1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius,
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels,
And know how we proceed.

AuJ\ Is it not yours?

What ever hath ^*) been thought on in this state,
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome
Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone.
Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think,
I have the letter here; yes, here it is: [Reads.

They have press'd a power, but it is not known
Whether for east, or west: The dearth is great;
The people mutinous: and it is rumour'd,
Cominius, Marcius, your old enemy,
(Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,)
And, Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,
These three lead on this preparation
Whither 'tis bent: most likely, 'tis for you:
Consider of it.

1 Sen. Our army's in the field :

We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready
To answer us.

Auf. Nor did you think it folly,

To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when
They needs must show themselves; which in the

hatching.
It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery,

XKVIU.

Act I.

CORIOLANUS.

627

We shall be shorten'd in our aim; which was.
To take in many towns, ^') ere, almost, Rome
Should know we were afoot,

2 Sen. Noble Aufidius,

Take your commission; hie you to your bands:
Let us alone to guard Corioli:
If they set down before us, for the remove
Bring up your army; but, I think, you'll find
They have not prepar'd for us.

Auf. O, doubt not that;

I speak from certainties. Nay, more.
Some parcels of their powers are forth already.
And only hitherward. I leave your honours.
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,
'Tis sworn between us, we shall never strike
Till one can do no more.

All. The gods assist you!

Auf. And keep your honours safe!

1 Sen. Farewell.

2 Sen. Farewell.
All. Farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Rome. An Apartment in Marcius' Home.

Enter Volumnu, and Virgilia: They sit down
on two low stools, and sew.

Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express your-
self in a more comfortable sort: If my son were my
husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence
wherein he won honour, than in the embracements
of his bed, where he would show most love. When j
yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of
my womb; when youth with comeliness plucked all
gaze his way; -') when, for a day of kings' en-
treaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from
her beholding; I, — considering how honour would
become such a person; that it was no better than
picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made
it not stir, — was pleased to let him seek danger
where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war
I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows
bound with oak. ^8) I tell thee, daughter, — I
sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a
man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved
himself a man.

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam?
how then?

Vol. Then his good report should have been my
son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me
profess sincerely: — Had I a dozen sons, — each
in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and
my good Marcius, — I had rather had eleven die
nobly for their country, than one voluptuously sur-
feit out of action.

Enter a Gentlewoman.

Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you.

Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

Vol. Indeed, you shall not.
Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum;
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair;
As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him:
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, —
Come on, you cowards, you were got in fear.
Though you were born in Rome : His bloody brow
With his mail'd hand then wiping,^') forth he goes;
Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.

Vir. His bloody brow! O, Jupiter, no blood!

Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man.
Than gilt his trophy: The breasts of Hecuba,

When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria,
We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent.

Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee.
And tread upon his neck.

Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valbkia and
her Usher.

Val. My ladies both, good day to you.

Vol. Sweet madam,

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship.

Val. How do you both? you are manifest house-
keepers. What, are you sewing here? A fine spot,***)
in good faith. — How does your little son?

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.

Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a
drum, than look upon his school-master.

Val. O'my word, the father's son : I'll swear, 'tis
a very pretty boy. O'my troth, I looked upon him
©'Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a
confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded
butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again;
and after it again : and over and over he comes,
and up again; catched it again: or whether his fall
enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth,
and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mammocked it ! * ')

Vol. One of his father's moods.

Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.

Vir. A crack, madam. *^)

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have
you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon.

Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors.

Val. Not out of doors!

Vol. She shall, she shall.

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience : I will not over
the threshold, till ray lord return from the wars.

Val. Fye, you confine yourself most unreasonably;
Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in,

Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her
with my prayers; but I cannot go thither.

Vol. Why, I pray you?

Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.

Val. You would be another Penelope: yet, they
say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did
but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would, your
cambric were sensible as your finger, that you
might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall
go with us.

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will
not forth.

Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you
excellent news of your husband.

Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet.

Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came
news from him last night.

Vir. Indeed, madam?

Val. In earnest, it's true ; I heard a senator speak
it. Thus it is : — The Voices have an army forth ;
against whom Cominius the general is gone, with
one part of our Roman power : your lord, and Titus
Lartius, are set down before their city Corioli;
they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief
wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray,
go with us.

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey
you in every thing hereafter.

Vol. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will
but disease our better mirth.

Val. In troth, I think, she would: — Fare you
well then. — Come, good sweet lady. — 'Pr'ythee,

40*

BXVIU^

628

CORIOLANUS.

Act 1.

Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'door, and go along
with us.

Vir. No: at a word, madam; indeed, I must not.
I wish you much mirth.

Val. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Before Corioli.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, Marcius, Titus

Lartius, Officers and Soldiers. To them a

Messenger.

Mar. Yonder comes news : — A wager they have met.

Lart. My horse to yours, no.

Mar. 'Tis done.

Lart. Agreed.

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy?

Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as yet.

Lart. So, the good horse is mine.

Mar. I'll buy him of you.

Lart. No, I'll nor sell, nor give him: lend you
him, I will.
For half a hundred years. — Summon the town.

Mar. How far off lie these armies ?

Mess. Within this mile and half.

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work;
That we with smoking swords may march from hence,
To help our fielded friends ! — ^ ^) Come, blow thy
blast.

They sound a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, some
Senators, and others.

TuUus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he,
That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums

[Alarums afar off.
Are bringing forth our youth : We'll break our walls.
Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates.
Which yet seem shut,we have but pinn'd with rushes ;
They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off;

[Other Alarums.
There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes
Amongst your cloven army.

Mar. O, they are at it!

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, ho!

The Voices enter and pass over the Stage.

Mar. They fear us not, hnt issue forth their city.

Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight

With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance,

brave Titus:
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts.
Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on,

my fellows;
He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice,
And he shall feel mine edge.

Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Voices, fighting.
The Romans are beaten back to their trenches.

Re-enter Marcius.
All the contagion of the south light on you.
You shames of Rome! — you herd of — Boils and

plagues
Plaster you o'er; that you may be abhorr'd
Further than seen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese.
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell!
All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agued fear ! Mend, and charge home.
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe.

And make my wars on you: look to't: Come on;
If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.

Another Alarum. The Voices and Romans re-enter,
and the fight is renewed. The Voices retire into

Corioli, and Marcius follows them to the Gates.
So, now the gates are ope : Now prove good seconds :
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

[He enters the Gates, and is shut in.

1 Sol. Fool-hardiness; not I.

2 Sol. Nor I.

3 Sol. See, they
Have shut him in. [Alarum continues.

All. To the pot, I warrant him.

Enter Titus Lartius.

Lart. What is become of Marcius ?

All. Slain, sir, doubtless.

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels.
With them he enters: who, upon the sudden,
Clapp'd-to their gates; he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.

Lart. O noble fellow !

Who, sensible, ^*) outdares his senseless sword.
And, when it bows, stands up! — Thou art left,

Marcius :
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art.
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds.
Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous, and did tremble.

Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the

Enemy.
1 Sol. Look, sir.

Lart. 'Tis Marcius : ^ *)

Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.

[They fight, and all enter the City.

SCENE V.

Within the Town. A Street.

Enter certain Romans, with Spoils.

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome.

2 Rom. And I this.

3 Rom. A murrain on't! I took this for silver.

[Alarum continues still afar off.

Enter Marcius, and Titus Lartius, with a
Trumpet.

Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their hours
At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons.
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves.
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : — Down with

them. —
And hark, what noise the general makes ! — To him : —
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.

Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;

Thy exercise hath been too violent for
A second course of fight.

Mar. Sir, praise me not;

My work hath yet not warm'd me : Fare you well.
The blood I drop is rather physical

xxvin.

Act I.

CORIOLANUS.

629

Than dangerous to ine: To Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight

Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
Prosperity be thy page!

Mar. Thy friend no less

Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! — [Exit Miscms.
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
Call thither all the officers of the town,
Where they shall know our mind: Away. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Near the Camp o/Cominius.

Enter Comlnius and Forces, retreating.

Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought: we
are come off
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,
Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs,
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck.
By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard
The charges of our friends: — The Roman gods.
Lead their successes as we wish our own;
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun-
tering,

Enter a Messenger.
May give you thankful sacrifice! — Thy news?

Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued.
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:
I saw our party to their trenches driven.
And then I came away.

Com. Though thou speak'st truth,

Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't since ?

Mess. Above an hour, my lord.

Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:
How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour, ^')
And bring thy news so late?

Mess. Spies of the Voices

Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir.
Half an hour since brought my report.

Enter Marcius.

Com. Who's yonder.

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!
He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have
Before-time seen him thus.

Mar. Come I too late?

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor.
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
From every meaner man's. ^')

Mar. Come I too late?

Com. .\y, if you come not in the blood of others.
But mantled in your own.

Mar. O! let me clip you

In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done,
And tapers bum'd to bedward.

Com. Flower of warriors.

How is't with Titus Lartius?

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees:
Condemning some to death, and some to exile;
Ransoming him, or pitying, ^8) threat'ning the other;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
Even Uke a fawning greyhound in the leash.
To let him slip at will.

Com. Where is that slave.

Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
Where is he? Call him hither.

Mar. Let him alone.

He did inform the truth: But for our gentlemen.
The common file, (A plague ! — Tribunes for them !)
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge
From rascals worse than they.

Com. But how prevail'd you?

Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not think

Where is the enemy? Are you lords o'the field?
If not, why cease you till you are so?

Com. Marciofl,

We have at disadvantage fought, and did .
Retire, to win our purpose.

Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which side
They have plac'd their men of trust?

Com. As I guess, Marcius,

Their hands in the vaward are the Antiates,
Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.

Mar. I do beseech you.

By all the battles wherein we have fought.
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows
We have made to endure friends, that you directly
Set me sigainst Aufidius, and his Antiates:
And that you not delay the present; ^') but.
Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts,
We prove this very hour.

Com. Though I could wish

You were conducted to a gentle bath.
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
Deny your asking ; take your choice of those
That best can aid your action.

Mar. Those are they

That most are willing: — If any such be here,
(As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report;
If any think, brave death outweighs bad life.
And that his country's dearer than himself;
Let him, alone, or so many, so minded.
Wave thus, [waving his hand] to express his disposition,
And follow Marcius.

[They all shout, and wave their Swords; take
him up in their Arms, and cast up their Caps.
O me, alone! Make you a sword of me?
If these shows be not outward, which of you
But is four Voices? None of you, but is
Abie to bear against the great Aufidius
A sfiield as hard as his. A certain number.
Though thanks to all, must I select: "*") the rest
Shall bear the business in some other fight.
As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;
And four shall quickly draw out my command.
Which men are best inclin'd.

Com. March on, my fellows :

Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in all with us. [^jrainrt.

SCENE VII.

The Gates 0/ Corioli.

Titos Lartius, having set a Guard upon Corioli,

going with a Drum and Trumpet toward CoMUvnrs

and Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant,

a Party of Soldiers, and a Scout.

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded : keep your duties.
As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch
Those centuries *') to our aid; the rest will serve
For a short holding: If we lose the field.
We cannot keep the town.

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir.

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. —
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.

[Exeunt.

HHVIU.

630

CORIOLANUS.

Act 1.

SCENE VIII.

A Field of Battle between the Roman and the
Volscian Camps.

Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufidius.

Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.

Auf. We hate alike;

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot.

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after!

Auf. If I fly, Marcius,

Halloo me like a hare.

Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls.
And made what work I pleas'd ; 'Tis not my blood,
Wherein thou seest me mask'd: for thy revenge.
Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Auf. Wert thou the Hector,

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,"*-)
Thou should'st not 'scape me here. —

[Tfeey fight, and certain Voices come to the
aid of Aufidius.
Officious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds. **)

[Exeunt fighting, driven in by Mabcius.

SCENE IX.

The Roman Camp.

Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter

at one side, Cowinius, and Romans; at the other

side, Marciui§, with his Arm in a Scarf, and

other Romans.

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it.
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
I' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted,
And, gladly quak'd, '*'*) hear more; where the dull

tribunes.
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts, — We thanh the gods,
Our Rome hath such a soldier! —
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.

Enter Titus Lartius, with the Power, from the
pursuit.

Lart. O general.

Here is the steed, we the caparison: **)
Hadst thou beheld

Mar, Pray now, no more : my mother.

Who has a charter to extol '*'^) her blood,
When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done,
As you have done: that's what I can; induc'd
As you have been ; that's for my country :
He, that has but effected his good will,
Hath overta'en mine act. '*^)

Com. You shall not be

The grave of your deserving: Rome must know
The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement.
To hide your doings; and to silence that.
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd.
Would seem but modest: I'herefore, I beseech you,
(In sign of what you are, not to reward
What you have done,) before our army hear me.

Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
To hear themselves remember'd.

Com. Should they not, ''s)

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all
The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city.
We render j^ou the tenth; to be ta'en forth,
Before the common distribution, at
Your only choice.

Mar. I thank you, general;

But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;
And stand upon my common part with those
That have belield the doing.

[A long Flourish. They all cry, Marcius!
Marcius ! ca«t up their Caps and Lances:
CoMiNius and Labtius stand bare.

Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane.
Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall
Fthe field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing! When steel grows
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
An overture for the wars! No more, I say;
For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled.
Or foil'd some debile wretch, — which without note.
Here's many else have done, — you shout me forth
In acclamations hyperbolical;
As if I lov'd my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.

Com. Too modest are you;

More cruel to your good report, than grateful
To us that give you truly: by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you
(Like one that means his proper harm,) in manacles.
Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it

known.
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
My noble steed known to the camp, I give him.
With all his trim belonging; and, from this time.
For what he did before Corioli, call him.
With all the applause and clamour of the host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus. —
Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

Cor. I will go wash.
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no: Howbeit, I thank you:
I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times,
To undercrest your good addition.
To the fairness of my power. '^')

Co7n. So, to our tent :

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
The best, •^'') with whom we may articulate,*')
For their own good, and ours.

Lart. I shall, my lord.

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.

Com. Take it: 'tis yours. — What is't?

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,
At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view.
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you
To give my poor host freedom.

Com. O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

Lart. Martius, his name?

Cor. By Jupiter, forgot: —

Kxvni.

Act II.

COlilOLANUS

631

I am weary; yea, my memory ist tir'd. —
Have we no wiue here?

Com. Go we to our tent:

The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come. [Exeunt.

SCENE X,

The Camp of the Voices.

A Flourish. Cornets. Enter Tuli-us Aufidius,
bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.

Auf. Condition? —
I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot.
Being a Voice, be that I am. — Condition!
What good condition can a treaty find
I'lhe part that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius,
I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat me ;
And would'st do so, I think, should we encounter
As often as we eat. — By the elements.
If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
He is mine, or I am his; Mine emulation
Hath not that honour in't, it had: for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
(True sword to sword,) I'll poich at hiiu some way ;* -)
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

1 Sol. He's the devil.

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour's
poison'd,
With only suffering stain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself; *•*) nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick: nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, ^•*) shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard,**) even there
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city ;
Learn, how 'tis held ; and what they are, that must
Be hostages for Rome.

1 Sol. Will not you go ?

Auf. I am attended *') at the cypress grove:
I pray you,

("i'is south the city mills,)*') bring me word thither
How the world goes; that to the pace of it
I may spur on my journey.

1 Sol. I shall, sir. [£xeiifU.

ACT U.

SCENE I. Rome. A public Place.
Enter Menbnius, Sicinius, and Brutus.

Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news
to-night.

Bru. Good, or bad?

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people,
for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ?

Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry plebeians
would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.

Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb.
You two are old men ; tell me one thing that I shall
ask you.

Both Tnb. WeU, sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, ') that
you two have not in abundance?

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all.

Sic. Especially, in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

Men. This is strange now : Do you two know how
you are censured here in the city, I mean of as
o'the right hand file? Do you?

Both Trib. Why, how are we censured?

Men. Because you talk of pride now, — Will yoo
not be angry ?

Both Trib. Well, well, sir, weU.

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little
thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of
patience: give your disposition the reins, and be
angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take
it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame
Marcius for being proud?

Bru. We do it not alone, sir.

Men. I know you can do very little alone; for
your helps are many; or else your actions would
grow wondrous single : your abilities are too infant-
like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O,
that you could turn your eyes towards the napes
of your necks, ^) and make but an interior survey
of jour good selves! O, that you could!

Bru. What then, sir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of
unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias
fools,) as any in Rome.

Sic. INIenenius, you are known well enough too.

Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and
one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop
of allaying Tjber in't; said to be something imper-
fect, in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and
tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one that con-
verses more with the buttock of the night, ^) than
with the forehead of the morning. What I think,
I utter; and spend my malice in my breath : Meeting
two such weals-men as you are (I cannot call you
Lycurguses,) if the drink you give me, touch my
palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I
cannot say, your worships have delivered the matter
well, when 1 find the ass in compound with the
major part of your syllables: and though I must be
content to bear with those that say you are re-
verend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell,
you have good faces. If you see this in the map
of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known well
enough too. What harm can your bisson conspec-
tuities ■*) glean out of this character, if I be kuowa
well enough too?

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps
and legs; *) you wear out a good wholesome fore-
noon, '') in hearing a cause between an orange-wife
and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy
of three-pence to a second day of audience. — When
you are hearing a matter between party and party,
if you chance to be pinched with the cholic, you
make faces like mummers ; set up the bloody flag
against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-
pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more en-
tangled by your hearing: all the peace you make
in their cause, is, calling both the parties knaves:
You are a pair of strange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be
a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary
bencher in the Capitol.
Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if
they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you
are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is

KXVUI.

632

CORIOLANUS.

Act II.

not worth the wagging of your beards; and your
beards deserve not so hoiwurable a grave, as to
stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an
ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Mar-
cius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth
all your predecessors, since Deucalion; though, per-
adventure, some of the best of them were here-
ditary hangmen. Good e'en to your worships; more
of your conversation would infect my brain, being
the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be
bold to take my leave of you.

[BauTVs and SiciNius retire to the back of
the Scene.

Enter Volumnia, Vibgilia, and Valeria, ^c.

How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the
moon, were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you
follow your eyes so fast?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap-
proaches; for the love of Juno, let's go.

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pros-
perous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee : —
Hoo! Marcius coming home!

Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true.

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath
another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one
at home for you.

Men, I will make my very house reel to-night : —
A letter for me?

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you : I saw it.

Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate of
seven years' health; in which time I will make a
lip at the physician : the most sovereign prescription
in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative,
of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not
wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.

Vir. O, no, no, no.

Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't.

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Brings
'a victory in his pocket? — The wounds become him.

Vol. On's brows, Menenius: he comes the third
time home with the oaken garland.

Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly?

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, — they fought together,
but Aufidius got off.

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him
that: an he had staid by him, I would not have
been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and
the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed of
this? ')

Vol. Good ladies, let's go: — Yes, yes, yes: the
senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives
my son the whole name of the war : he hath in this
action outdone his former deeds doubly.

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.

Men. Wondrous? ay, I warrant you, and not
without his true purchasing.

Vir. The gods grant them true!

Vol. True? pow, wow.

Men. True ; I'll be sworn they are true : — Where
is he wounded? — God save your good worships!
[To the Tribunes, who come forward.] Marcius is coming
home : he has more cause to be proud. — Where is
he wounded?

Vol. I'the shoulder, and i'the left arm : There will
be large cicatrices to show the people, when he
shall stand for his place. He received in the re-
pulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i'the body.

Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, —
there's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-
five wounds upon him.

Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an
enemy's grave: [A Shout and Flourish.] Hark! the
trumpets.

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before him
He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears;
Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie;
Which being advanc'd, declines; *) and then men die.

A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and

Titus Lartius; between them, Coriolanus, crowned

with an oaken Garland; with Captains,

Soldiers, and a Herald.

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
Within Corioli' gates: where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
In honour follows, Coriolanus: —
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish,

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart;
Pray now, no more.

Com. Look, sir, your mother,

Cor. OI

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods
For my prosperity. [Kneeh,

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd,
What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But O, thy wife

Cor. My gracious silence, hail! ')

Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffiii'd home.
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear.
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,
And mothers that lack sons.

Men. Now the gods crown thee!

Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, pardon.

[To Valeria.

Vol. I know not where to turn: — O welcome home;
And, welcome, general ; — And you are welcome all.

Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep.
And I could laugh ; I am light, and heavy : Welcome :
A curse begin at very root of his heart.
That is not glad to see thee! — You are three
That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith of men.
We have some old crab-trees, here at home, that

will not
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors:
We call a nettle, but a nettle; and
The faults of fools, but folly.

Com. Ever right.

Cor. Menenius, ever, ever.

Her. Give way there, and go on.

Cor. Your hand, and yours :

[To his Wife and Mother,
Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
The good patricians must be visited;
From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings.
But with them change of honours.

Vol. I have lived

To see inherited my very wishes.
And the buildings of my fancy: only there
Is one thing wanting, which, I doubt not, but
Our Rome will cast upon thee.

Cor. Kiww, good mother,

I had rather be their servant in my way.
Than sway with them in theirs.

Com, On, to the Capitol.

[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before.
The TribuiicB remain.

Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him; Your prattling nurse

xBvm.

Act 11,

COBIOLANUS.

633

Into a rapture *°) lets her baby cry.

While she chats him; the kitchen malkiii '') pins

Her richest lockrain '-) 'bout her reechy neck, '^)

Clambering the walls to eye him; Stalls, bulks,

windows.
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens '"*)
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station: '*) our veil'd damea
Commit the war of white and damask, in
Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother,
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human powers.
And gave him graceful posture.

8%c. On the sudden,

I warrant him consul.

Bru. Then our office may,

During his power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours
From where he should begin, and end; ") but will
Lose those that he hath won.

Bru. In that there's comfort.

8ic. Doubt not, the commoners, for whom we stand.
But they, upon their ancient malice, will
Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours;
Which that he'll give them, make as little question
As he is proud to do't. *')

Bru. I heard him swear,

Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i'the market-place, nor on him put
The napless '^) vesture of humility;
Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.

Sic. 'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it, rather
Than carry it, but by the suit o'the gentry to him.
And the desire of the nobles.

Stc. I wish no better.

Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it
In execution.

Bru. 'Tis most like, he will.

Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; ")
A sure destruction.

Bru. So it must fall out

To him, or our authorities. For an end.
We must suggest the people, 2") in what hatred
He still hath held them; that, to his power, *') he

would
Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and
Dispropertied their freedoms: holding them.
In human action and capacity.
Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world.
Than camels in their war; who have their provand^*)
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
For sinking under them.

Sw. _ This, as you say, suggested

At some time when his soaring insolence
Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want.
If he be put upon't; and that's as easy.
As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire
To kindle their dry stubble; and t-heir blaze
Shall darken him for ever.

Enter a Messenger.

•P''"- What's the matter?

Men. You are sent for to the Capitol, 'Tis thought,
That Marcius shall be consul: I have seen
The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind
To hear him speak : The matrons flung their gloves,
Ladies and maids their scarfs -3) and handkerchiefs.
Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended,

As to Jove's statue; and the commons made

A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts:

I never saw the like.

Bru. Let's to the Capitol;

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time.
But hearts for the event.

Sic. Have with you. \Exeuvt.

SCENE II.

The tame. The Capitol.

Enter two Officers, to lay Cushiont.

1 O^. Come, come, they are almost here: How
many stand for consulships?

2 O^. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of every
one, Coriolanus will carry it.

1 Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance
proud, and loves not the common people.

2 Off. 'Faith, there have been many great men
that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them;
and there be many that they have loved, they know
not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not
why, they hate upon no better a ground: There-
fore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they
love, or hate him, manifests the true knowledge he
has in their disposition; and, out of his noble care-
lessness, let's them plainly see't.

1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their
love, or no, he waved ^*) indifferently 'twixt doing
them neither good, nor harm; but he seeks their
hate with greater devotion than they can render it
him; and leaves nothing undone, that may fully
discover him their opposite. ^^) Now, to seem to
affect the malice and displeasure of the people, is
as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them
for their love.

2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country:
And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as
those ^') who, having been supple and courteous to
the people, bonnetted, ^') without any further deed
to heave ^^) them at all into their estimation and
report: but he hath so planted his honours in their
eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their
tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were
a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise,
were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck
reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.

1 Off. No more of him : he is a wouthy man : Make
way, they are coming.

A Sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them, Co-
MiNius the Consul, Mbnknius, Coriolanus, many
oMer Senators, Sicinius, anrf Brutus. TAc Sena-
tors take their places; the Tribunes take theirs

also by themselves.
Men. Having determin'd of the Voices, and
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains.
As the main point of this our after-meeting.
To gratify his noble service, that
Hath thus stood for his country : Therefore, please you,
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
The present consul, and last general
In our well-found successes, to report
A little of that worthy work perform'd
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom
We meet here, both to thank, and to remember
With honours like himself.

1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius.

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think
Rather our state's defective for requital.
Than we to stretch it out. - ') Masters o'the people,
We do request your kindest ears; and, after,

XUVill.

634

CORIOLANUS

Act II.

Your loving motion toward the common body, *")
To yield what passes here.

Sic. We are convented

Upon a pleasing treaty; and have hearts
Inclinable to honour and advance
The theme of our assembly.

Bru. Which the rather

We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people, thaa
He hath hereto priz'd them at.

Men. That's off, that's off ; ^ ' )

I would you rather had been silent: Please you
To hear Cominliis speak?

Bru. Most willingly:

But yet my caution was more pertinent,
Than the rebuke you give it.

Men. He loves your people ;

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. —
Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place.
[CoRioLANua rises, and offers to go away.

1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame to hear
What you have nobly done.

Cor. Your honours' pardon;

I had rather have my wounds to heal again,
Than hear say how I got them.

Bru. Sir, I hope.

My words dis-bench'd you not.

Cor. No, sir: yet oft.

When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not : But, your people,
I love them as they weigh.

Men. Pray now, sit down.

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i'the sun,
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monster'd. \_Exit Coriolanus,

Men. Masters o'the people,

Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, ^-)
(That's thousand to one good one,) when you now see,
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour.
Than one of his ears to hear it? — Proceed, Cominius.

Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held,
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver: if it be.
The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years.
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, ^^) he fought
Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator.
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight.
When with his Amazonian chin ^'*) he drove
The bristled lips before him: he bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman, and i'the consul's view
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met.
And struck him on his knee: ^^) in that day's feats,
When he might act the woman in the scene, ^'')
He prov'd best man i'the field, and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea;
And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since.
He lurch'd all swords o'the garland. ^') For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home: He stopp'd the fliers;
And, by his rare example, made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as waves before ^^)
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd.
And fell below his stem : his sword (death's stamp)
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries : ^ ') alone he enter'd
The mortal gate*") o'the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came off.
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli, like a planet: Now all's his:

When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense: then straight his doubled spirit
Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil: and, till we call'd
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.

Men. Worthy man!

1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours '* *)
Which we devise him.

Com. Our spoils he kick'd at;

And look'd upon things precious, as they were
The common muck o'the world; he covets less
Than misery '*-) itself would give; rewards
His deeds with doing them; and is content
To spend the time, to end it.

Men. He's right noble;

Let him be call'd for.

1 Sen. Call for Coriolanus. * 5)

Off. He doth appear.

Re-enter Coriolanus.

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd
To make thee consul.

Cor. I do owe them still

My life, and services.

Men. It then remains,

That you do speak to the people.

Cor. I do beseech you

Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them.
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: please

you.
That I may pass this doing.

Sic. Sir, the people

Must have their voices; neither will they bate
One jot of ceremony.

Men. Put them not to't: —

Pray you, go fit you to the custom; and
Take to you, as your predecessors have.
Your honour with your form. ^'*)

Cor. It is a part

That I shall blush in acting, and might well
Be taken from the people.

Bru. Mark you that?

Cor. To brag unto them, — Thus I did, and thus; —
Show them the unaking scars which I should hide.
As if I had receiv'd them for the hire
Of their breath only:

Men. Do not stand upon't. —

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people,
Our purpose to them; — •"**) and to our noble consul
Wish we all joy and honour.

Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour!

\Flourish, Then exeunt Senators.

Bru. You see how he intends to use the people.

Sic. May they perceive his intent ! He will require
them.
As if he did contemn what he requested
Should be in them to give.

Bru. Come, we'll inform them

Of our proceedings here: on the market-place,
I know, they do attend us. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. The Forum.

Enter several Citizens.

1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voice, we ought
not to deny him.

2 Cit, We may, sir, if we will.

KKVIII.

Act II.

CORIOLANUS.

635

3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, but
it is a power that we have no power to do ; for if
he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we
are to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak
for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must
also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingra-
titude is monstrous: and for the multitude to be
ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude ;
of the which, we being members, should bring our-
selves to be monstrous members.

1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a little
help will serve: for once, when we stood up '*'')
about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the
many-headed multitude.

3 Cit. We have been called so of many; not that
our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn,
some bald, but that our wits are so diversely co-
loured ; and truly I think, if all our wits were to
issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west,
north, south; and their consent of one direct way
should be at once to all points o'the compass.

2 Cit. Think you so ? Which way, do you judge,
my wit would fly?

3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as an-
other man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a block-
head : but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, south-
ward.

2 Cit. Why that way ?

3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog; where being three
parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth
would return for conscience sake, to help to get
thee a wife.

2 Cit. Your are never without your tricks : — You
may, you may.

3 cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices?
But that's no matter, the greater part carries it.
I say, if he would incline to the people, there was
never a worthier man.

Enter Coriolanus and Menenics.
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility; mark
his behaviour. We are not to stay altogether, but
to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos,
and by threes. He's to make his requests by par-
ticulars: wherein every one of us has a single
honour, in giving him our own voices with our
own tongues: therefore follow me, and I'll direct
you how you shall go by him.

All. Content, content. [Exeunt.

Men. O sir, you are not right: have you not known
The worthiest men have done't?

Cor. What must I say ? —

I pray, sir, — Plague upon't! 1 cannot bring

My tongue to such a pace: Look, sir;

my wounds; —
I got them in my country's service, when
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of our own drums.

^««- O me, the gods !

You must not speak of that; you must desire them
To think upon you.

^or. Think upon me? Hang 'em I ,

I would they would forget me, like the virtues
Which our divines lose by them.*')

^««- You'll mar all;

I'll leave you : Pray you, speak to them, I pray you.
In wholesome manner. [Exit.

Enter two Citizens.

^'>^' Bid them wash their faces.

And keep their teeth clean. — So, here comes a brace.
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.

ICit. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't.

Cor. Mine own desert.

2 Cit. Your own desert?

Cor. Ay, not

Mine own desire.

1 Cit. How! not your own desire?

Cor. No, sir:
'Twas never my desire yet.
To trouble the poor with begging.

1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing,
We hope to gain by you.

Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o'the consulship?

1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly.

Cor. Kindly !

Sir, I pray, let me ha't : I have wounds to show you.
Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice,

sir:
What say you?

2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir.
Cor. A match, sir: —

There is in all two worthy voices begg'd: —
I have your alms; adieu.

1 Cit. But this is something odd.

2 Cit. An 'twere to give again, — But 'tis no matter.

[Exeunt two Citizens.

Enter two other Citizens.
Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune
of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here
the customary gown.

3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country,
and you have not deserved nobly.

Cor. Your enigma?

3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies,
you have been a rod to her friends; you have not,
indeed, loved the common people.

Cor. You should account me the more virtuous,
that I have not been common in my love. I will,
sir, flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a
dearer estimation of them; 'tis a condition they ac-
count gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice
is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will
practise the insinuating nod, and be off to them
most counterfeitly : that is, sir, I will counterfeit
the bewitchment of some popular man, and give it
bountifully to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you,
I may be consul.

4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend; and there-
fore give you our voices heartily.

3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your
country.

Cor. I will not seal your knowledge"*^) with
showing them. I will make much of your voices,
and so trouble you no further.

Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily !

[Exeunt.

Cor. Most sweet voices! —
Better it is to die, better to starve,
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
Why in this wolvish gown should I stand here.
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear.
Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't: —
What custom wills, in all things should we do't,
The dust on antique time would lie unswept.
And mountainous error be too highly heap'd
For truth to over-peer, — Rather than fool it so,
Let the high office and the honour go
To one that would do thus. — I am half through ;
The one part suffer'd, the other will I do.

Enter three other Citizens.
Here come more voices, —
Your voices: for your voices I have fought;
Watch'd for your voices; for your voices, bear

XHVIII.

636

CORIOLANUS

Act II.

Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six
I have seen, and heard of; for your voices, have
Done many things, some less, some more : your voices :
Indeed, I would be consul.

5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go without
any honest man's voice.

6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul : The gods give
him joy, and make him good friend to the people!

All. Amen, amen.

God save thee, noble consul I [Exeunt Citizens.

Cor. Worthy voices!

Re-enter Menenius, with Brutus, and Sicinius.

Mew. You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes
Endue you with the people's voice: Remains,
That, in the official marks invested, you
Anon do meet the senate.

Cor. Is this done?

Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd:
The people do admit you ; and are summon'd
To meet anon, upon your approbation.

Cor. Where ? at the senate-house ?

Sic. There, Coriolanus.

Cor. May I then change these garments? *')

Sic. You may, sir.

Cor. That I'll straight do ; and, knowing myself again.
Repair to the senate-house.

Men. I'll keep you company. — Will you along?

Bru. We stay here for the people.

Sic. Fare you well.

[Exeunt Coriol, and Menen.
He has it now; and by his looks, methinks.
'Tis warm at his heart.

Bru. With a proud heart he wore

His humble weeds: Will you dismiss the people?

Re-enter Citizens.
Sic. How now, my masters ? have you chose this man?

1 Cit. He has our voices, sir.

Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves.

2 Cit. Amen, sir : To my poor unvvorthy notice,
He mock'd us, when he begg'd our voices.

3 Cit. Certainly,
He flouted us down -right.

1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not mock us.

2 Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says.
He us'd us scornfully : he should have show'd us
His marks of merit, wounds received for his country.

Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure.

Cit. No ; no man saw 'em. [Several speak.

3 Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could

show in private;
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,
/ would be consul, says he: aged custom.
But by your voices, will not so permit me;
Your voices therefore: When we granted that.
Here was, — / thank you for your voices, — thank

you, —
Your most sweet voices: — now you have left your

voices,
I have no further with you : — Was not this mockery ?
Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to see't? *°)
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness
To yield your voices ?

Bru. Could you not have told him.

As you were lesson'd, — When he had no power,
But was a petty servant to the state.
He was your enemy: ever spake against
Your liberties, and the charters that you bear
I'the body of the weal : and now, arriving
A place of potency, and sway o'the state,
If he should still malignantly remain
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might

Be curses to yourselves? You should have said.
That, as his worthy deeds did claim no less
Than what he stood for; so his gracious nature
Would think upon you *') for your voices, and
Translate his malice towards you into love,
Standing your friendly lord.

Sic. Thus to have said,

As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit,
And try'd his inclination; from him pluck'd
Either his gracious promise, which you might.
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to;
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature,
Which easily endures not article
Tying him to aught; so, putting him to rage.
You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler,
And pass'd him unelected.

Bru. Did you perceive,

He did solicit you in free contempt, *-)
When he did need your loves; and do you think,
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you,
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your bodies
No heart among you? Or had you tongues, to cry
Against the rectorship of judgment?

Sic. Have you,

Ere now, deny'd the asker? and, now again.
On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow
Your su'd-for tongues?

3 Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet.

2 Cit. And will deny him:
I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.

1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends to
piece 'em.

Bru. Get you hence instantly ; and tell those friends —
They have chose a consul, that will from them take
Their liberties; make them of no more voice
Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking.
As therefore kept to do so.

Sic. Let them assemble;

And, on a safer judgment, all revoke
Your ignorant election: Enforce his pride. ^^)
And his old hate unto you: Besides, forget not
With what contempt he wore the humble weed:
How in his suit he scorn'd you: but your loves,
Thinking upon his services, took from you
The apprehension of his present portance, *'*)
Which gibingly, ^5) ungravely, he did fashion
After the inveterate hate he bears you.

Bru. . Lay

A fault on us, your tribunes; that we labour'd
(No impediment between) but that you must
Cast your election on him.

Sic. Say, you chose him

More after our commandment, than as guided
By your own true affections: and that, your minds
Pre-occupy'd with what you rather must do
Than what you should, made you against the grain
To voice him consul: Lay the fault on us.

Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to you,
How youngly he began to serve his country,
How long continued : and what stock he springs of.
The noble house o'the Marcians; from whence came
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son.
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king:
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were.
That our best water brought by conduits hither;
And Censorinus, darling of the people,
And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice, ^')
Was his great ancestor.

Sic. One thus descended.

That hath beside well in his person wrought
To be set high in place, we did commend
To your remembrances: but you have found.
Scaling his present bearing with his past, ^^)

KKVin.

Act JIL

CORIOLANUS

637

That he's your fixed enemy, and rcToke
Your sudden approbation.

Bru. Say, you ne'er had done't,

(Harp on that still,) but by our putting on: **)
And presently, when you have drawn your number.
Repair to the Capitol.

Cit. We will so : almost all [Several gpeak.

Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizenn.

Bru. Let them go on;

This munity were better put in hazard,
Than stay, past doubt, for greater:
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage
With their refusal, both observe and answer
The vantage of his anger. *')

Sie. To the Capitol:

Come ; we'll be there before the stream o'the people :
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own.
Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The tame. A Street.

Comets. Enter Coriolakds, Menbnids, Cohinius,
Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians.

Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head?

Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which caus'd
Our swifter composition.

Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first;
Ready, when time shedl prompt them, to make road
Upon us again.

Com. They are worn, lord consul, so.

That we shall hardly in our ages see
Their banners wave again.

Cor. Saw you Aufidius?

Lart. On safe- guard he came to me; ^) and did curse
Against the Voices, for they had so vilely
Yielded the town: he is retir'd to Antium.

Cor. Spoke he of me?

Lart. He did, my lord.

Cor. How? what?

Lart. How often he had met you, sword to sword :
That, of all things upon the earth, he hated
Your person most : that he would pawn his fortunes
To hopeless restitution, so he might
Be call'd your vanquisher.

Cor. At Antium lives he?

Lart. At Antium.

Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there.
To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome home.

[To Lartius.

Enter Sicikids and Brutos.
Behold! these are the tribunes of the people.
The tongues o'the common mouth. I do despise them ;
For they do prank them in authority, -)
Against all noble sufferance.

^^^- Pass no further.

Cor. Ha! what is that?

Bru. It will be dangerous to

Go on : no further.

e'er. W hat makes this change ?

^*«- „ ^ ^ The matter?

Com. Hath he not paas'd the nobles, and the com-
mons?

Bru. Cominius, no.

^®»'- . Have I had children's voices?

1 Sen. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-
place.

Bru. The people are incens'd against him.

Or all vrill fall in broU. ^*^'^^'

Cor. Are these your herd? —

Must these have voices, that can yield them now,
And straight disclaim their tongues? — What are

your offices?
You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth?
Have you not set them on?

Men. Be calm, be calm.

Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot.
To curb the will of the nobility:
Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule.
Nor ever will be rul'd.

Bru. Call't not a plot:

The people cry, you mock'd them; and, of late.
When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd;
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people; call'd them
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.

Cor. Why, this was known before.

Bru. Not to them all.

Cor. Have you inform'd them since?

Bru. How ! I inform them !

Cor. You axe like to do such business.

Bru. Not unlike.

Each way, to better yours.

Cor. Why then should I be consul? By yon clouds.
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me
Your fellow-tribune.

Sic. You show too much of that.

For which the people stir: If you will pass
To where you are bound, you must inquire your

way,
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit;
Or never be so noble as a consul.
Nor yoke with him for tribune.

Men. Let's be calm.

Com. The people are abus'd: — Set on. — This
palt'ring
Becomes not Rome; *) nor has Coriolanus
Deserv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely *)
I'the plain way of his merit.

Cor. Tell me of com!

This was my speech, and I will speak't again; —

Men. Not now, not now.

1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now.

Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends,
I crave their pardons : —

For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them
Regard me as I do not flatter, and
Therein behold themselves: *) I say again.
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate
The cockle of rebellion, '') insolence, sedition.
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and

scatter'd,
By mingling them with us, the honour'd number;
Who lack not -virtue, no, nor power, but that
Which they have given to beggars.

Men. Well, no more.

1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you.

Cor. How! no more?

As for my country I have shed my blood.
Not fearing outward force, so shall iny lungs
Coin words till their decay, against those meazels, ')
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought
The very way to catch them.

Bru. You speak o'the people.

As if you were a god to punish, not
A man of their infirmity.

Sic. 'Twere well.

We let the people know't.

Men. What, what? his choler?

Cor. Choler!
Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
By Jove, 'twould be my mind.

Sic. It is a nund,

xxvm.

638

CORIOLANUS.

Act hi.

That shall remain a poison where it is,

Not poison any further.
Cor. Shall remain! —

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? 8) mark you

His absolute shall ?
Com. 'Twas from the canon. ')

Cor. Shall!

0 good, but most unwise patricians, why.

You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus

Given Hydra here to choose an officer,

That with his peremptory shall, being but

The horn and noise o'the monsters, wants not spirit

To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch,

And make your channel his? If he have power,

Then vail your ignorance: '**) if none, awake

Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned,

Be not as common fools; if you are not.

Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians,

If they be senators: and they are no less,

When, both your voices blended, the greatest taste

Most palates theirs. ' ') They choose their magistrate;

And such a one as he, who puts his shall,

His popular shall, against a graver bench

Than ever frown'd in Greece! Cy Jove himself,

It makes the consuls base: and my soul akes.

To know, when two authorities are up,

Neither supreme, how soon confusion

May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take

The one by the other.

Com. Well — on to the market-place.

Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth
The corn o'the store-house gratis, as 'twas us'd
Sometime in Greece,

Men. Well, well, no more of that.

Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute
power,)

1 say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed
The ruin of the state.

Bru. Why, shall the people give

One, that speaks thus, their voice?

Cor. I'll give my reasons.

More worthier than their voices. They know, the corn
Was not our recompense; resting well assur'd
They ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to the war.
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd.
They would not thread the gates: '-) this kind of

service
Did not deserve corn gratis: being i'the war,
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd
Most valour, spoke not for them: The accusation
Which they have often made against the senate.
All cause unborn, could never be the native * ')
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then?
How shall this bosom multiplied '*) digest
The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express
What's like to be their words: — iVe did request it;
We are the greater poll, and in true fear
They gave us our demands: — Thus we debase
The nature of our seats, and make the rabble
Call our cares, fears: which will in time break ope
The locks o'the senate, and bring in the crows
To peck the eagles. —

Men. Come, enough.

Bru. Enough, with over-measure.

Cor. No, take more:

What may be sworn by, both divine and human,
Seal what I end withal! — This double worship, —
Where one part does disdain with cause, the other
Insult without all reason ; where gentry, title, wisdom
Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no
Of general ignorance, — it must omit
Real necessities, and give way the while
To unstable slightness : purpose so barr'd, it follows,

Nothing is done to purpose: Therefore, beseech you, —

You that will be less fearful than discreet;

That love the fundamental part of state.

More than you doubt the change oft; ' ^) that prefer

A noble life before a long, and wish

To jump a body "') with a dangerous physic

That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out

The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick

The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour

Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state

Of that integrity which should become it;

Not having the power to do the good it would.

For the ill which doth control it.

Bru. He has said enough.

Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer
As traitors do.

Cor. Thou wretch ! despite o'erwhelm thee ! —
What should the people do with these bald tribunes?
On whom depending, their obedience fails
To the greater bench ; In a rebellion,
When what's not meet, but what must be, was law,
Then were they chosen; in a better hour,
Let what is meet, be said, it must be meet,
And throw their power i'the dust.

Bru. Manifest treason.

Sic. This a consul? no.

Bru. The JSdiles, ho! — Let him be apprehended.

Sic. Go, call the people; [exit Brdtus] in whose
name, myself
Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator,
A foe to the public weal: Obey, I charge thee,
And follow to thine answer.

Cor. Hence, old goat!

Sen. ^ Pat. We'll surety him.

Com. Aged sir, hands off.

Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones
Out of thy garments.

Sic. Help, ye citizens.

Re-enter Brutus, with the Miiles, and a
rabble 0/ Citizens.

Men. On both sides more respect.

Sic. Here's he, that would

Take from you all your power.

Bru. Seize him, JSdiles.

Cit. Down with him, down with him ! [Several speak.

2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons !

[They all bustle about Cobiolanbs.
Tribunes, patricians, citizens! — what ho! —
Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens!

Cit. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace!

Men. What is about to be? — I am out of breath;
Confusion's near: I cannot speak: — You, tribunes
To the people, — Coriolanus, patience: —
Speak, good Sicinius.

Sic. Hear me, people; — Peace.

Cit. Let's hear our tribune: — Peace. Speak,
speak, speak.

Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties:
Marcius would have all from you; Marcius,
Whom late you have named for consul.

Men. Fye, fye, fye!

This is the way to kindle, not to quench.

1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.

Sic. What is the city, but the people?

Cit. True,

The people are the city.

Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd
The people's magistrates.

Cit. You so remain.

Men. And so are like to do.

Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat;
To bring the roof to the foundation;

KKVin.

Act III.

CORIOLANUS.

639

And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges,
In heaps and piles of ruin.

Sic. This deserves death.

Bru. Or let us stand to our authority,
Or let us lose it: — We do here pronounce,
Upon the part o'the people, in whose power
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy
Of present death.

Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him;

Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence
Into destruction cast him.

Bru. i£diles, seize him.

Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield.

Men. Hear me one word.

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word.

^di. Peace, peace.

Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend.
And temperately proceed to what you would
Thus violently redress.

Bru. Sir, those cold ways.

That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
Where the disease is violent: — Lay hands upon him.
And bear him to the rock.

Cor. No; I'll die here.

[Drawing bit Smord.
There's some among you have beheld me fighting;
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.

Men. Down with that sword; — Tribunes, with-
draw a while.

Bru. Lay hands upon him.

Men. Help, help Marcius! help,

You that be noble: help him, young, and old!

Cit. Down with him, down with him!

[In this Mutiny, the Tribunes, the JCdiles, and
the People, are all beat in.

Men. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away.
All will be naught else.

2 Sen. Get you gone.

Cor. Stand fast;

We have as many friends as enemies.

Men. Shall it be put to that?

1 Sen. The gods forbid !

I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house;
Leave us to cure this cause.

Men. For 'tis a sore upon us.

You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you.

Com. Come, sir, along with us.

Cor. I would they were barbarians, (as they are,
Though in Rome litter'd,) not Romans, (as they are not.
Though car>'d i'the porch o'the Capitol,) —

Men. Be gone ;

Put not your worthy rage into your tongue;
One time will owe another. ")

Cor. On fair ground,

I could beat forty of them.

M«?«- I could myself

Take up a brace of the best of them; yea, the two
tribunes.

Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic;
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands
Against a falling fabric. — Will you hence.
Before the tag return? 'S) v\hose rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear
What they are used to bear.

"Itn. Pray you, begone;

I'll try whether my old wit be in request
With those that have but little; this must be patch'd
With cloth of any colour.

Com. Nay, come away.

[Exeunt Corioiamjs, Cohimus, and others.

1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune.

Men. His nature is too noble for the world:
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,

Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his

mouth :
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;
And, being angry, does forget that ever
He heard the name of death. [A noise within.

Here's goodly work!

2 Pat. I would they were a-bed !

Men. 1 would they were in Tyber! — What, the
vengeance.
Could he not speak them fair?

Re-enter Bbdtus and Sicikids, with the Rabble.

Sic. Where is this viper,

That would depopulate the city, and
Be every man himself?

Men. You worthy tribunes,

Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock
With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law.
And therefore law shall scorn him further trial
Than the severity of the public power.
Which he so sets at nought.

1 Cit. He shall well know,

The noble tribunes are the people's mouths.
And we their hands.

Cit. He shall, sure on't.

[Several speak together.

Men. Sir, — ■ '')

Sic. Peace.

Men. Do not cry, havoc, where you should but hunt
With modest warrant.

Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you

Have holp to make this rescue ?

Men. Hear me speak: —

As I do know the consul's worthiness,
So can I name his faults :

Sic. Consul ! — what consul ?

Men. The consul Coriolanus.

Bru. He a consul!

Cit. No, no, no, no, no.

Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good
people,
I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two;
The which shall turn you to no further harm.
Than so much loss of time.

Sic, Speak briefly then;

For we are peremptory, to despatch
This viperous traitor: to eject him hence.
Were but one danger; and, to keep him here.
Our certain death ; therefore it is decreed.
He dies to-night.

Men. Now the good gods forbid.

That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
Towards her deserved children ^") is enroll'd
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own!

Sjc. He's a disease, that must be cut away.

Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease;
Mortal, to cut it off"; to cure it easy.
What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death?
Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost,
(Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath.
By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country:
And, what is left, to lose it by his country:
Were to us all, that do't, and suffer it,
A brand to the end o'the world.

Sic. This is clean kam. - ')

Bru. Merely awry; ^ *) When he did love his country,
It honour'd him.

Men. The ser\'ice of the foot

Being once gangren'd, is not then respected
For what before it was? ^^)

Bru. We'll hear no more : —

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence;

KXVIII.

640

CORIOLANUS.

Act III.

Lest his infection, being of catching nature,
Spread further.

Men. One word more, one word.

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find
The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late,
Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process;
Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out,
And sack great Rome with Romans.

Bru. If it were so, —

Sic. What do ye talk?
Have we not had a taste of his obedience?
Our iEdiles smote? ourselves resisted? — Come: —

Men. Consider this ; — He has been bred i'the wars
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd
In boulted language; meal and bran together
He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form,
(In peace) to bis utmost peril.

1 Sen. Noble tribunes.

It is the humane way: the other course
Will prove too bloody; and the end of it
Unknown to the beginning.

Sic. Noble Menenius,

Be you then as the people's officer: —
Masters, lay down your weapons.

Bru. Go not home.

Sic. Meet on the market-place; — We'll attend
you there:
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed
In our first way.

Men. I'll bring him to you: —

Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.] He

must come.
Or what is worst will follow.

1 Sen. Pray you, let's to him. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in Coriolanus'« House.

Enter Coriolanus, and Patricians.

Cor, Let them pull all about mine ears; present me
Death on the wheel, or at wild houses' heels;
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,
That the precipitation might down stretch
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still
Be thus to them.

£nfer VoLUMNiA.

1 Pat. You do the nobler.

Cor. I muse, *'*) my mother
Does not approve me further, who was wont
To call them woollen vassals, things created
To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads
In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder,
When one but of my ordinance -^) stood up
To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you;

[To VOLUMNIA.

Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me
False to my nature? Rather say, I play
The man I am.

Vol. O, sir, sir, sir,

I would have had you put your power well on,
Before you had worn it out.

Cor. Let go.

Vol. You might have been enough the man you are,
With striving less to be so: Lesser had been
The thwartings of your dispositions, if
You had not show'd them how you were dispos'd
Ere they lack'd power to cross you.

Cor. Let them hang.

Vol. Ay, and bum too.

Enter Mknenius, and Senators.

Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, some-
thing too rough;
You must return andr mend it.

1 Sen. There's no remedy;

Unless, by not so doing, our good city
Cleave in the midst, and perish.

Vol. Pray? be counsel'd :

I have a heart as little apt as yours.
But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger.
To better vantage.

Men. Well said, noble woman :

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that
The violent fit o'the time craves it as physic
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on.
Which I can scarcely bear.

Cor. What must I do?

Men, Return to the tribunes.

Cor. Well,

What then? what then?

Men. Repent what you have spoke.

Cor. For them? — I cannot do it to the gods;
Must I then do't to them?

Vol. You are too absolute;

Though therein you can never be too noble,
But when extremities speak. ^<') I have heard you say.
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
I'the war do grow together: Grant that, and tell me,
In peace, what each of them by th' other lose,
That they combine not there.

Cor. Tush, tush !

Men. A good demand.

Vol. If it be honour, in your wars, to seem
The same you are not, (which, for your best ends,
You adopt your policy,) how is it less, or worse.
That it shall hold companionship in peace
With honour, as in war; since that to both
It stands in like request?

Cor. Why force you-') this?

Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak
To the people; not by your own instruction,
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you to,^ ^)
But with such words that are but roted in
Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables
Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. -')
Now, this no more dishonours you at all.
Than to take in a town ^°) with gentle words.
Which else would put you to your fortune, and
The hazard of much blood. —
I would dissemble with my nature, where
My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd,
I should do so in honour: I am in this.
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles;
And you will rather show our general lowts ^')
How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them.
For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard
Of what that want ^-) might ruin.

Men. Noble lady ! —

Come, go with us; speak fair; you may salve so.
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss
Of what is past.

Vol. I pr'ythee now, my son.

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand;
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,)
Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant
More learned than the ears,) waving thy head.
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart.
Now humble, as the ripest mulberry,
That will not hold the handling: Or, say to them.
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils,
Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess,

XXVIII.

Act hi.

CORIOLANUS.

641

Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim,
In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
As thou bast power, and person.

Men. This but done.

Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were

yours: ^^)
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
As words to little purpose.

Vol. 'Pr'ythee now,

Go, and be rul'd : although, I know, thou hadst rather
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf.
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominias.

Enter Cominius.

Com. I have been i'the market-place : and, sir, 'tis fit
You make strong party, or defend yourself
By calmness, or by absence; all's in anger.

Men. Only fair speech.

Com. I think 'twill serve, if he

Can thereto frame his spirit.

Vol. He must, and will:

'Pr'ythee, now, say, you will, and go about it.

Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce ? ^ *)
Must I
With my base tongue, give to my noble heart
A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't:
Yet were there but this single plot^*) to lose,
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it.
And throw it against the wind. — To the market-
place; —
You have put me now to such a part, which never
I shall discharge to the life.

Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you.

Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son: as thou hast said.
My praises made thee first a soldier, so.
To have my praise for this, perform a part
Thou hast not done before.

Cor. Well, I must do't:

Away my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be tum'd.
Which quired with my drum, ^') into a pipe
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves
Tent in my cheeks; * ') and school-boys' tears take up
The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue
Make motion through my lips; and my arm'd knees,
Who bow'd but in my stirrop, bend like his
That hath receiv'd an alms! — I will not do't:
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth.
And, by my body's action, teach my mind
A most inherent baseness.

Vol. At thy choice then:

To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour.
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let
Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear
Thy dangerous stoutness; ^s) for I mock at death
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
Thy valiantness was mine, t|iou suck'dst it from me :
But owe ^ ') thy pride thyself.

C'o*'. Pray be content;

Mother, I am going to the market-place;
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves.
Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd
Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going:
Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul;
Or never trust to what my tongue can do
I'the way of flattery, further.

^ol. Do your will. [Exit.

Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you : arm yourself
To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd
With accusations, as I hear, more strong
Than are upon you yet.

Cor. The word is, mildly : — Pray you, let us go :
Let them accuse me by invention, I
Will answer in mine honour.

Men. Ay, but mildly.

Cor. Well, mildly be it then; mildly. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. The Forum.

Enter Siciniijs and Brutus.

Bru. In this point charge him home, that he afl'ects
Tyrannical power: If he evade us there.
Enforce him with his envy *") to the people;
And that the spoil, got on the Antiates,
Was ne'er distributed. —

Enter an ^Edile.
What, will he come ?

yEd. He's coming.

Uru. How accompanied?

jEd. With old Menenius, and those senators
That always favour'd him.

Sic. Have you a catalogue

Of all the voices that we have procur'd,
Set down by the poll?

^d. I have; 'tis ready, here.

Sic. Have you collected them by tribes?

jEd. I have.

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither:
And when they hear me say. It ihall be go
I'the right and strength o'the commons, be it either
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them
If I say, fine, cry fine ; if death, cry death ;
Insisting on the old prerogative
And power i'the truth o'the cause.

jEd. I shall inform them.

Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry,
Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd
Enforce the present execution
Of what' we chance to sentence.

jtEd. Very well.

Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint.
When we shall hap to give't them.

Bru. Go about it. —

[Exit jEdile.
Put him to choler straight: He hath been us'd
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth
Of contradiction:*') Being once chafd, he cannot
Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks
What's in his heart : and that is there, which looks
With us to break his neck. *^)

Enter Cohiolanus, Mbnbnius, Cominius,
Senators, and Patricians.

Sic. Well, here he comes.

Men. Calmly, I do beseech you.

Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece
Will bear the knave by the vohune. — '*^) The

honour'd gods
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice
Supplied with worthy men! plant love among us!
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace.
And not our streets with wair!

1 Sen. Amen, amen!

Men. A noble wish.

Be-enter Mdile, with Citizens.

Sic. Draw near, ye people.

^d. List to your tribunes ; audience : Peace, I say.

Cor. First, hear me speak.

Both Tri. Well, say. — Peace, ho.

Kxvin. 41

612

CORIOLANUS.

Act IV.

Cor. Shall I be charg'd no further than this present?

Must all determine here?

Sic. I do demand,

If you submit you to the people's voices,

Allow their officers, and are content

To suffer lawful censure for such faults
As shall be prov'd upon you?

Cor. I am content.

Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content:
The warlike service he has done, consider;
Think on the wounds his body bears, which show
Like graves i'the holy churchyard.

Cor. Scratches with briars,

Scars to move laughter only.

Men. Consider further,

That when he speaks not like a citizen.
You find him like a soldier: Do not take
His rougher accents for malicious sounds,
But, as I say, such as become a soldier,
Rather than envy you. '*^)

Com. Well, well, no more.

Cor. What is the matter.
That being pass'd for consul with full voice,
I am so dishonour'd, that the very hour
You take it off again?

Sic. Answer to us.

Cor. Say then: 'tis true, I ought so.

Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to take
From Rome all season'd office,"^*) and to wind
Yourself into a power tyrannical;
For which, you are a traitor to the people.

Cor. How! Traitor?

Men. Nay; temperately: Your promise.

Cor. The fires i'the lowest hell fold in the people !
Call me their traitor! — Thou injurious tribune!
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths.
In thy hands clutch'd ^^) as many millions, in
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say.
Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free
As I do pray the gods.

Sic. Mark you this, people?

Cit. To the rock with him; to the rock with him ! * ')

Sic. Peace.
We need, not put new matter to his charge:
What you have seen him do, and heard him speak.
Beating your officers, cursing yourselves,
Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying
Those whose great power must try him; even this.
So criminal, and in such capital kind.
Deserves the extremest death.

Bru. But since he hath

Serv'd well for Rome,

Cor. What do you prate of service?

Bru. I talk of that, that know it.

Cor. You?

Men. Is this

The promise that you made your mother?

Com. Know,

I pray you,

Cor. I'll know no further:

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
Vagabond exile, flaying; Pent to linger
But with a grain a day, I would not buy
Their mercy at the price of one fair word;
Nor check my courage for what they can give.
To have't with saying. Good morrow.

Sic. For that he has

(As much as in h'm lies) from time to time
Envied against the people, **) seeking means
To pluck away their power; has now at last
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers
That do distribute it: In the name o'the people,

And in the power of us the tribunes, we,

Even from this instant, banish liim our cityj

In peril of precipitation

From off the rock Tarpeian, never more

To enter our Rome gates: I'the people's name,

I say, it shall be so.

Cit. It shall be so.

It shall be so; let him away: he's banish'd,
And so it shall be. '»')

Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common
friends ;

Sic. He's sentenc'd ; no more hearing.

Com. Let me speak:

I have been consul, and can show from Rome,
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love
My country's good, with a respect more tender.
More holy and profound, than mine own life.
My dear wife's estimate, ^'*) her womb's increase.
And treasure of my loins; then if I would
Speak that

Sic. We know your drift: Speak what?

Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd,
As enemy to the people, and his country:
It shall be so.

Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so.

Cor. You common cry of curs ! * ' ) whose breath
I hate
As reek o'the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcases of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you;
And here remain with your uncertainty !
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes.
Fan you into despair! Have the power still
To banish your defenders; till, at length.
Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) *-)
Making not reservation of yourselves,
(Still your own foes,) deliver you, as most
Abated captives, *^) to some nation
That won you without blows! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back :
There is a world elsewhere.

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenids,
Senators, and Patricians.

j^d. The people's enemy is gone, is gone!

Cit. Our enemy's banish'd ! he is gone ! Hoo ! hoo !
[The People shout, and throw vp their Caps.

Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him,
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite;
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard
Attend us through the city.

Cit. Come, come, let us see him out at gates; come ; —
The gods preserve our noble tribunes! — Come.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same* Before a Gate of the City.

£«fer CoRioLANUs, VoT,tJMNiA, Virginia, Mknenius,
Cominius, and several young Patricians.

Cor. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell : —
the beast
With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother,
Where is your ancient courage? you were us'd
To say, extremity was ') the trier of spirits;
That common chances common men could bear;
That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Show'd mastership in floating: fortune's blows.
When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves
A noble cunning; ^) you were us'd to load me

KKVIII.

Act IV.

CORIOLANUS.

643

With precepts, that would make invincible
The heart that conn'd them.
Vir. O heavens ! O heavens!

Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, —

Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,
And occupations perish!

Cor. What, what, what!

I shall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, mother.
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say.
If you had been the wife of Hercules,
Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd
Your husband so much sweat. — Cominius,
Droop not; adieu: — Farewell, my wife! my mother!
I'll do well yet. — Thou old and true Menenius,
Thy tears are salter than a younger man's,
And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime general,
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld
Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women,
'Tis fond 3) to wail inevitable strokes.
As 'tis to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot well,
My hazards still have been your solace: and
Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone,
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen
Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) your son
Will, or exceed the common, or be caught
With cautelous **) baits and practice.

Vol. My first son, ^)

Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius
With thee a while: Determine on some course.
More than a wild exposture ') to each chance
That starts i'the way before thee.
Cor. O the gods!

Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee
Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us,
And we of thee: so, if the time thrust forth
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send
O'er the vast world, to seek a single man;
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool
I'the absence of the needer.

Cor. Fare ye well: —

Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full
Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one
That's yet unbruis'd: bring me but out at gate. —
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and
My friends of noble touch, ') when I am forth,
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come.
While I remain above the ground, you shall
Hear from me still; and never of me aught
But what is like me formerly.

^en. That's worthily

As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. —
If I could shake off but one seven years
From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,
I'd with thee every foot.

Cor. Give me thy hand:

Come. {Exeunt.

Enter Volcmnia, Virgilia, and Menbnius.

Let's not meet her.

Why?

SCENE II.

The same. A Street near the Gate.

Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an Jjldile.

-Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no
further. —
The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided
In his behalf.

Bru. Now we have shown our power.

Let us seem humbler after it is done.
Than when it was a doing.

^^'^- Bid them home:

Say, their great enemy is gone, and they
Stand in their ancient strength.

■^'■"- Dismiss them home. [Exit ^dile.

XKVIII.

Here comes his mother.
Sic.
Bru.

Sic. They say, she's mad
^'■«- They have ta'en note of us;

Keep on your way.
Vol. O, you're well met: The hoarded plague
o'the gods
Requite your love !
^*»- Peace, peace; be not so load.

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should
hear, —
Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone?

[To Bhutus.
Vtr. You shall stay too : [to Sicik.] I would, I had
the power
To say so to my husband.
^*'^- Are you man-kind?

Vol. Ay, fool; Is that a shame? — Note but this
fool. —
Was not a man my father? Had'st thou foxship »)
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome,
Than thou hast spoken words?
^*<^- O blessed heavens!

Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words;
And for Rome's good. — I'll tell thee what ; — Yet

go: —
Nay, but thou shalt stay too : — I would my son
VVere in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good swoi'd in his hand.
Sic. What then?

Vir. What then !

He'd make an end of thy posterity.

Vol. Bastards, and all. —
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!
Men. Come, come, peace.

Sic. I would he had continued to his country,
As he began; and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.
Bru. I would he had.

Vol. I would he had! 'Twas you incens'd the
rabble :
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth,
As I can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have earth to know.
Bru. Pray, let us go.

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone:
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear

this;
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome: so far, my son,
(This lady's husband here, this, do you see,)
VVhom you have banlsh'd, does exceed you all.
Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you.
Sic. Why stay we to be baited

With one that wants her wits ?

Vol. Take my prayers with you. —

I would the gods had nothing else to do,

[Exeunt Tribunes.
But to confirm my curses! Could I meet them
But once a day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lies heavy to't.
Men. You have told them home.

And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup
with me?
Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself.
And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let's go :
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do.
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.
Men. Fye, fye, fye! [Exeunt.

41

644

CORIOLANUS.

Act IV.

SCENE III.

A Highway between Rome and Antium.

Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting.

Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me:
your name, I think, is Adrian.

Vol. It is so, sir: truly, I have forgot you.

Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, as you
are, against them: Know you me yet?

Vol. Nicanor? No.

Rom. The same, sir.

Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you;
but your favour is well appeared by your tongue. ')
What's the news in Rome? I have a note from the
Volscian state, to find you out there : You have well
saved me a day's journey.

Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insurrec-
tion: the people against the senators, patricians,
and nobles.

Vol. Hath been! Is it ended then? Our state
thinks not so ; They are in a most warlike prepara-
tion, and hope to come upon them in the heat of
their division.

Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small
thing would make it flame again. For the nobles
receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy
Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take
all power from the people, and to pluck from them
their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can
tell you, and is almost mature for the violent break-
ing out.

Vol. Coriolanus banished?

Rom. Banished, sir.

Vol. You will be welcome with this intelligence,
Nicanor.

Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have
heard it said. The fittest time to corrupt a man's
wife, is when she's fallen out with her husband.
Your noble TuUus Aufidius will appear well in
these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being
now in no request of his country.

Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, thus
accidentally to encounter you: You have ended my
business, and I will merrily accompany you home.

Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you
most strange things from Rome; all tending to the
good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready,
say you?

Vol. A most royal one: the centurions, and their
charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertain-
ment, ' <*) and to be on foot at an hour's warning.

Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and
am the man, I think, that shall set them in present
action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad
of your company.

Vol. You take my part from me, sir; I have the
most cause to be glad of yours.

Rom. Well, let us go together. \Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Antium. Refore Aufidius'* House.

Enter Cokiolanus, in mean Apparel, disguised
and muffled.

Cor. A goodly city is this Antium: City,
'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars
Have I heard groan, and drop: then know me not;
Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones,

Enter a Citizen.
In puny battle slay me. — Save you,

sir.

Cit. And you.

Cor. Direct me, if it be your will.

Where great Aufidius lies: Is he in Antium?

Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state,
At his house this night.

Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you ?

Cit. This, here, before you.

Cor. Thank you, sir; farewell.

[Exit Citizen.
O, world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn.
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart.
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise.
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour.
On a dissention of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity: So, fellest foes.
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep
To take the one the other, by some chance.
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends.
And interjoin their issues. So with me: —
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon
This enemy town. — I'll enter: if he slay me,
He does fair justice; if he give me way,
I'll do his country service. [Exit.

SCENE V.

The same. A Hall in Aufidius'* House.

Music within. Enter a Servant.

1 Sero. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here!
I think our fellows are asleep. [Exit.

Enter another Servant.

2 8erv. Where's Cotus ! my master calls for him.
Cotus ! [Exit.

Enter Coriolanus.

Cor. A goodly house : The feast smells well : but I
Appear not like a guest.

Re-enter the first Servant.

1 Serv. What would you have, friend? Whence are
you ? Here's no place for you : Pray, go to the door.

Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment,
In being Coriolanus. ^*)

Re-enter second Servant.

2Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his
eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such
companions? i^) Pray, get you out.

Cor. Away!

2 Serv. Away ? Get you away.
Cor. Now thou art troublesome.

2<Ser». Are you so brave? I'll have you talked
with anon.

Enter a third Servant. The first meets him.

3 Serv. What fellow's this?

1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: I
cannot get him out o'the house: 'Pr'ythee, call my
master to him.

3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray
you, avoid the house.

Cor. Let me but stand : I will not hurt your hearth.

3 Serv. What are you?

Cor. A gentleman.

3 Serv. A marvellous poor one.

Cor. True, so I am.

3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some
other station; here's no place for you; pray you,
avoid: come.

BKVm.

Act IV.

CORIOLANUS,

645

Cor. Follow your function, go !
And batten on cold bits. \Pwshe» him away.

3 Serv. What, will you not? 'Pr'ythee, tell my
master what a strange guest he has here.

2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit.

3 Serv. Where dwellest thou?
Cor. Under the canopy.

3 Serv. Under the canopy?

Cor. Ay.

3 Serv. Where's that?

Cor. r the city of kites and crows.

3 Serv. V the city of kites and crows? — What an
ass it is! — Then thou dwellest with daws too?

Cor. No, I serve not thy master.

3 Serv. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master?

Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service, than to meddle
with thy mistress:

Thou prat'st, and prat'st: serve with thy trencher,
hence ! [Beats him away.

Enter Aufidius and the second Servant.

Auf. Where is this fellow?

2 Serv. Here, sir ; I'd have beaten him like a dog,
but for disturbing the lords within.

Auf. Whence comest thou? what wouldest thou?
Thy name?
Why speak'st not? Speak, man : What's thy name?

Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmuffling.

Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not
Think me for the man I am, necessity
Commands me name myself.

Auf. What is thy name? [Senants refire.

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears.
And harsh in sound to thine.

Auf. Say, what's thy name?

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face
Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn.
Thou show'st a noble vessel: What's thy name?

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: Know'st thou
me yet?

Auf. I know thee not: — Thy name?

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Voices,
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may
My surname, Coriolanus: The painful service,
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood
Shed for my thankless country, are requited
But with that surname; a good memory, ^^)
And witness of the malice and displeasure
Which thou should'st bear me : only that name remains ;
The cruelty and envy of the people.
Permitted by our dastard nobles, who
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest;
And suffered me by the voice of slaves to be
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth; Not out of hope,
Mistake me not, to save my life; for if
I had fear'd death, of all the men i'the world
I would have 'voided thee: but in mere spite.
To be full quit of those my- banishers.
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast
A heart of wreak in thee, *^) that will revenge
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims
Of shame '*) seen through thy country, speed thee

straight.
And make my misery serve thy turn; so use it,
That my revengeful services may prove
As benefits to thee; for I will fight
Against my canker'd country with the spleen
Of all the under fiends. ^^^ But if so be
Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes
Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am
Longer to live most weary, and present

My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice:
Which not to cut, would show thee but a fool;
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
It be to do thee service.

Auf. O Marcius, Marcius,

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from aiy heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say,
'Tis true; I'd not believe them more than thee,
All noble Marcius. — O, let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke.
And scar'd the moon ' ') with splinters ! Here I clip ' ')
The anvil of my sword; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
I loved the maid I married; never man
Sighed truer breath; but that I see thee here.
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart.
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I tell thee,
We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn.
Or lose mine arm for't: Thou hast beat me out
Twelve several times, *') and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me;
We have been down together in my sleep,
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,
Had we no quarrel - <») else to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy; and, pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in.
And take our friendly senators by the hands;
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepar'd against your territories,
Though not for Rome itself.

Cor. You bless me, gods!

Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have
The leading of thine own revenges, take
The one half of my commission ; and set down, —
As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st
Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine own

ways:
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,
Or rudely visit them in parts remote.
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in:
Let me commend thee first to those, that shall
Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes!
And more a friend than e'er an enemy ;
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand! Most
welcome! [Exeunt Cobiolanus and Aufidius.

1 Serv. [Jdvancing.] Here's a strange alteration!

2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken
him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me, his
clothes made a false report of him.

1 Serv. What an arm he has ! He turned me about
with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up
a top.

2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was
something in him : He had, sir, a kind of face, me-
thought, — I cannot tell how to term it.

1 Serv. He had so ; looking as it were, 'Would

I were hanged, but I thought there was more in
him than I could think.

2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn : He is simply the
rarest man i'the world.

1 Serv. I think, he is: but a greater soldier than
he, you wot one.

XKVIil.

646

CORIOLANUS.

Act IV.

2 Serv. Who? my master?

1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that.

2 Serv. Worth six of hiin.

1 Serv. Nay, not so neither ; but I take him to be
the greater soldier.

2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to
say that: for the defence of a town, our general
is excellent.

1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too.

Re-enter third Servant.

3 Serv. O, slaves, I can tell you news; news, you
rascals.

1.2. Serv. What, what, what? let's partake.

8 Serv. I would not be a Roman of all nations ; I
had as lieve be a condemned man.

1.2. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore?

3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack
our general, — Caius Marcius.

1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general?

3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general ; but he
was always good enough for him.

2 Serv. Come, we are fellows, and friends : he
was ever too har-d for him; I have heard him say
so himself.

1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say
the truth on't: before Corioli, he scotched him and
notched him like a carbonado.

2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he might
have broiled and eaten him too.

1 Serv. But, more of thy news?

3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as if
he were son and heir to Mars: set at upper end
o'the table: no question asked him by any of the
senators, but they stand bald before him: Our ge-
neral himself makes a mistress of him; sanctifies
himself with's hand, ^ ^ ) and turns up the white
o'the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the
news is, our general is cut i'the middle, and but
one half of what he was yesterday; for the other
has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole
table. He'll go, he says, and sowle the porter of
Rome gates by the ears: ^-) He will mow down
all before him, and leave his passage polled. ^^)

2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can
imagine.

3 Serv. Do't? he will do't: For, look you, sir, he
has as many friends as enemies: which friends, sir,
(as it wei-e,) durst not (look you, sir,) show them-
selves (as we term it,) his friends, whilst he's in
directitude.

1 Serv. Directitude! what's that?

3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up
again, and the man in blood, they will out of their
burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with him.

1 Serv. But when goes this forward?

3 Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently. You shall
have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it
were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed
ere they wipe their lips.

2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world
again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in-
crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers.

1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace,
as far as day does night; it's sprightly, waking,
audible, and full of vent. * *) Peace is a very apo-
plexy, lethargy; mulled,^*) deaf, sleepy, insensible;
a getter of more bastard children, than war's a
destroyer of men.

2 Serv. 'Tis so: and as wars, in some sort, may
be said to be a ravisher; so it cannot be denied,
but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.

1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another.

3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need one
another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see
Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising,
they are rising.

All. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Rome. A public Place.

Enter Sicikius and Brutus.

Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him ;
His remedies are tame i'the present peace ^^)
And quietness o'the people, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends
Blush, that the world goes well; who rather had,
Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold
Dissentious numbers pestering the streets, than see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendly.

Enter Menenius.

Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius?

Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O, he is grown most kind
Of late. — Hail, sir!

Men. Hail to you both!

Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not^') much miss'd,
But with his friends; the common-wealth doth stand;
And so would do, were he more angry at it.

Men. All's well; and might have been much better, if
He could have tempoiiz'd.

Sic. Where is he, hear you?

Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife
Hear nothing from him.

Enter three or four Citizens.

Cit. The gods preserve you both !

Sic. Good e'en, out neighbours.

Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all.

1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our
knees.
Are bound to pray for you both.

Sic. Live, and thrive!

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours: We wish'd Co-
riolanus
Had lov'd you as we did.

Cit. Now the gods keep you!

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens.

Sic. This is a happier and more comely time,
Then when these fellows ran about the streets,
Crying, Confusion.

Bru. Caius Marcius was

A worthy officer i'the war; but insolent,
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking.
Self-loving,

Sic. And affecting one sole throne,

Without assistance. ^^)

Men. I think not so.

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation,
If he had gone forth consul, found it so.

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome
Sits safe and still without him.

Enter iEdile.

./Ed. Worthy tribunes,

There is a slave, whom we have put in prison.
Reports, — the Voices with two several powers
Are enter'd in the Roman territories;
And with the deepest malice of the war
Destroy what lies before them.

Men. 'Tis Aufidius,

Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment.
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;

HBVni.

Act IV.

CORIOLANUS.

647

Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stood foi: Rome,- ')
And durst not once peep out.

Sic. Come, what talk you

Of Marcius?

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. — It cannot be,
The Voices dare break with us.

Men. Cannot be!

We have record, that very well it can;
And three examples of the like have been
Within my age. But reason with the fellow, ^°)
Before you punish him, where he heard this:
Lest you shall chance to whip your information.
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.

Sic. Tell not me:

I know, this cannot be.

Bru. Not possible.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are gouig
All to the senate-house: some news is come, ^')
That turns their countenances. ^ ^)

iSic. 'Tis this slave ; —

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — his raising !
Nothing but his report!

Mess. Yes, worthy sir.

The slave's report is seconded; and more.
More fearful, is deliver'd.

Sic. What more fearful?

Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths,
(How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius,
Joiri'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome;
And vows revenge as spacious, as between
The young'st and oldest thing.

Sic. This is most likely!

Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish
Good Marcius home again.

Sic. The very trick on't.

Men. This is unlikely :
He and Aufidius can no more atone, ^^)
Than violentest contrariety.

Enter another Messenger.
Mess. You are sent for to the senate;
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius,
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our territories; and have already,
O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took
What lay before them.

Enter CoMiNius.

Com. O, you have made good work !

Men. What news? what news?

Com. You have holp to ravish your own daughters, and
To melt the city leads upon your pates ;
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses;

Men. What's the news? what's the news?

Com. Your temples burned in their cement; and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, coufin'd
Into an augre's bore.

Men. Pray now, your news? —

You have made fair work, I fear me : — Pray, your

news ?
If INIarcius should be join'd with Volscians,

Com. IP!

He is their god; he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than nature.
That shapes man better: and they follow him.
Against us brats, with no less confidence.
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
Or butchers killing flies.

Men. You have made good work.

You, and your apron men; you that stood so much

Upon the voice of occupation, ^*) and
The breath of garlick-eaters !

Com. He will shake

Your Rome about your ears.

Men. As Hercules

Did shake down mellow fruit: ^^) You have made
fair work!

Bru. But is this true, sir?

Com. Ay ; and you'll look pale

Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt;^'') and, who resist.
Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance.
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him?
Your enemies, and his, find something in him.

Men. We are all undone, unless
The noble man have mercy.

Com. Who shall ask it?

The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people
Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf
Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they
Should say. Be good to Rome, they charg'd him even
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,
And therein show'd like enemies.

Men. 'Tis true:

If he were putting to my house the brand
That should consume it, I have not the face
To say, 'Beseech you, cease. — You have made

fair hands.
You, and your crafts ! you have crafted fair !

Com. You have brought

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
So incapable of help.

Tri. Say not, we brought it.

Men. How! Was it we? We lov'd him; but, like
beasts.
And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters.
Who did hoot him oat o'the city.

Com. But, I fear

They'll roar him in again. TuUus Aufidius,
The second name of men, obeys his points
As if he were his officer: — Desperation
Is all the policy, strength, and defence,
That Rome can make against them.

Enter a Troop o/' Citizens.

Men. Here comes the clusters. —

And is Aufidius w ith him ? — You are they
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast
Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming;
And not a hair upon a soldier's head.
Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs,
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down.
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter;
If he could burn us all into one coal.
We have deserv'd it.

Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news.

1 Cit. For mine own part,
When I said, banish him, I sadd, 'twas pity.

2 Cit. And so did I.

3 Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did
very many of us: That we did, we did for the best:
and though we willingly consented to his banishment,
yet it was against our will.

Com. You are goodly things, you voices !
Men. You have made

Good work, you and your cry! — ^') Shall us to
the Capitol?
Com. O, aye; what else?

[Exeunt Cominids and Mbhekius.
Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'dj
These are a side, that would be glad to have

xxvm.

648

CORIOLANUS.

Act V.

This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home,
And show no sign of fear.

1 Cit. The gods be good to us! Come, masters,
let's home. I ever said, we were i'the wrong, when
we banished him.

2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home.

[Exeunt Citizens.
Bru. I do not like this news.
Sic. Nor I.

Bru. Let's to the Capitol: — 'Would, half my wealth
Would buy this for a lie!
iSi'c. Prayj let us go. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

A Camp; at a small distance from Rome.

Enter Aofidics, and his Lieutenant.

Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman?

Ldeu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him; but
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat,
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;
And you are darken'd in this action, sir,
Even by your own.

Auf. I cannot help it now;

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier
Even to my person, than I thought he would.
When first I did embrace him: Yet his nature
In that's no changeling; and I must excuse
What cannot be amended.
- Lieu. Yet I wish, sir,

(I mean, for your particular,) you had not
Join'd in commission with him: but either
Had borne the action of yourself, or else
To him had left it solely.

Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou sure,
When he shall come to his account, he knows not
What I can urge against him. Although it seems.
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent
To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly.
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state;
Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
As draw his sword: yet he hath left undone
That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine.
Whene'er we come to our account.

Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry
Rome?

Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down;
And the nobility of Rome are his:
The senators, and patricians, love him too:
The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty
To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome,
As is the osprey ^^) to the fish, who takes it
By sovereignty of nature. First he was
A noble servant to them; but he coukl not
Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride,
Which out of daily fortune ever taints
The happy man ; whether ^ 9) defect of judgment,
To fail in the disposing of those chances
Which he was lord of; or whether nature,
Not to be other than one thing, not moving
From the casque to the cushion, but commanding

peace
Even with the same austerity and garb
As he controll'd the war; but, one of these,
(As he hath spices of them all, not all, *")
For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd.
So hated, and so banish'd: But he has a merit,
To choke it in the utterance. *') So our virtues
Lie in the interpretation of the time:
And power, unto itself most commendable.

Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair

To extol what it hath done.

One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;

Rights by rights fouler, *-) strengths by strengths

do fail.
Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine.
Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou mine.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Rome. A public Place.

Enter Mbnenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus,
and others.

Men. No, I'll not go : you hear, what he hath said,
Which was sometime his general; who lov'd him
In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father:
But what o'that? Go, you that banish'd him,
A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel
The way into his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd *)
To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. ,

Com. He would not seem to know me.

Men. Do you hear?

Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name:
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops
That we have bled together. Coriolanus
He would not answer to: forbad all names;
He was a king of nothing, titleless.
Till he had forg'd himself a name i'the fire
Of burning Rome.

Men. Why, so; you have made good work :

A pair of tribunes that have rack'd ^) for Rome,
To make coals cheap: A noble memory! ^)

Com. I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon
When it was less expected: He replied.
It was a bare petition of a state
To one whom they had punish'd.

Men. Very well:

Could he say less?

Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard
For his private friends: His answer to me was,
He could not stay to pick them In a pile
Of noisome, musty chaff: He said, 'twas folly.
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt.
And still to nose the offence.

Men. For one poor grain

Or two? I am one of those; his mother, wife,
His child, and this brave fellow too, we are the grains :
You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt
Above the moon: We must be burnt for you.

Sic. Nay, pray, be patient : If you refuse your aid
In this so never-heeded help, yet do not
Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,
More than the instant army we can make,
Might stop our countryman.

Men. No: I'll not meddle.

Sic. I pray you, go to him. *)

Men. What should I do ?

Bru. Only make trial what your love can do
B^r Rome, towards Marcius.

Men. Well, and say that Marcius

Return me, as Cominius is return'd.
Unheard; what then? —
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
With his unkindness? Say't be so?

jStf. Yet your good will

Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure
As you intended well.

Men. I'll undertake it:

I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip,

BKVm.

Act V.

CORIOLANUS.

649

And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.
He was not taken well; he had not din'd: *)
The veins unfiil'd, our blood is cold, and then
We pout upon the morning, are unapt
To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuffd
These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I'll watch him
Till he be dieted to my request.
And then I'll set upon hiin.

Bru. You know the very road into his kindness.
And cannot lose your way.

Men. Good faith, I'll prove him.

Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
Of my success. [Exit.

Com. He'll never hear him.

Sic. Not?

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold : ') his eye
Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him;
'Twas very faintly he said. Rise; dismiss'd me
Thus, with his speechless hand: What he would do.
He sent in writing after me; what he would not,
Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions; '')
So, that all hope is vain.
Unless his noble mother, and his wife;
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him
For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence.
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An advanced Post of the Volscian Camp before
Rome. TUe Guard at their Stations.

Enter to them Mbnbnics.

1 G. Stay: Whence are you?

2 G. Stand, and go back.
Men. You guard like men; 'tis well: But, by your

leave,
I am an officer of state, and come
To speak with Coriolanus.

1 G. From whence?

Men. From Rome.

1 G. You may not pass, you must return: our

general
Will no more hear from thence.

2 Cr. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire, before
You'll speak with Coriolanus.

Men. Good my friends,

If you have heard your general talk of Rome,
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, *)
My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius.

1 G. Be it so; go back: the virtue of your uame
Is not here passable.

Men. I tell thee, fellow.

Thy general is my lover: I have been
The book of his good acts, whence men have read
His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified;
For I have ever verified my friends,
(Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity')
Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes.
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, ' ")
I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise
Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing: i') therefore,

fellow,
I must have leave to pass.

1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in
his behalf, as you have uttered words in your own,
you should not pass here: no, though it were as vir-
tuous to lie, as to live chastly. Therefore, go back.

Men. 'Pr'jthee, fellow, remember my name is Mene-
nius, always factionary on the party of your general.

2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, (as yon say,
you have,) I am one that, telling true under him,
must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back.

Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would
not speak with him till after dinner.

1 G. You are a Roman, are you?

Men. I am as thy general is.

1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can
you, when you have pushed out your gates the
very defender of them, and, in a violent popular
ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to
front his revenges with the easy groans '^) of old
women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or
with the palsied intercession of such a decayed do-
tant '3) as you seem to be? Can you think to blow
out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in,
with such weak breath as this? No, you are de-
ceived: therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for
your execution: you are condemned, our general has
sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.

Men. Sirrah, If thy captain knew I were here, he
would use me with estimation.

2 G. Come, my captain knows you not.
Men. I mean, thy general.

1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say,
go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood ; — back, —
that's the utmost of your ha>ing: — back.

Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow, —

Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius.

Cor. What's the matter?

Men. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for
you; you shall know now, that I am in estimation;
you shall perceive that a Jack guardant '^) cannot
office me from my son Coriolanus: guess, but by
my entertainment with him, if thou stand'st not i'the
state of hanging, or of some death more long in
spectatorship, and crueller in sufl"ering; behold now
presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. —
The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy
particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than
thy old father Menenius does! O, my son! my son!
thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's
water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come
to thee; but being assured, none but myself could
move thee, I have been blown out of your gates
with sighs: and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and
thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage
thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet
here; this, who, like a block, hath denied my ac-
cess to thee.

Cor. Away !

Men. How! away?

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs
Are servanted to others: Though I owe
My revenge properly, '*) my remission lies
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,
In great forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Than pity note how much. — Therefore, be gone.
Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, ' ')
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, [Givet a Letter.
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius,
Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou behold'st

Auf. You keep a costant temper.

[ExeufU CoKioLANVS and AOFIPIUS.

1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius.

2G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You
know the way home again.

1 G. Do you hear how we are shent *') for keep-
ing your greatness back?

2 Cr. Wkit cause, do you think, I hare to swoon?

XKVllI.

650

CORIOLANUS.

Act V.

Men. I neither care for the world, nor your ge-
neral: for such things as you, I can scarce think
there's any, you are so slight. He that hath a will
to die by himself, * ^) fears it not from another.
Let your general do his worst. For you, be that
you arc, long; and your misery increase with your
age! I say to you, as I was said to. Away! [Exit.

1 6r, A noble fellow, I warrant him.

2 G, The worthy fellow is our general : He is the
rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

TJie Tent o/ Coriolanus.
Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others.

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
Set down our host. — My partner in this action,
You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly
I have borne this business. '■ ')

Auf. Only their ends

You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
The general suit of Rome; never admitted
A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.

Cor. This last old man.

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Loved me above the measure of a father;
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him: for whose old love, I have
(Though I show'd sourly to him) once more offer'd
The first conditions, which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept, to grace him only.
That thought he could do more; a very little
I have yielded too: Fresh embassies, and suits.
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to. — Ha! what shout is this?

[Shout within.
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made? I will not. —

Enter, in Mourning Habits, Virgilia, Volumnia,

leading young Marcius, Valeria, and Attendants.
My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature, break!
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. —
What is that curt'sy worth ? or those doves' eyes.
Which can make gods forsworn? — I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows;
As if Olympus to a molehill should
In supplication nod : and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries. Deny not. — Let the Voices
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand,
As if a man were author of himself.
And knew no other kin.

Vir. My lord and husband!

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd.
Makes you think so. *'*)

Cor. Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot ray part, and I am out.
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
Forgive ray tyranny; but do not say,
For that. Forgive our Romans. — O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now by the jealous queen of heaven, -') that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world

Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee, i'the earth; [Kneeh.
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.

Vol. ^ O, stand up bless'd!

Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,
I kneel before thee; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all the while
Between the child and parent. [Kneels.

Cor. What is this?

Your knees to me? to your corrected son?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach ^^)
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun;
Murd'ring impossibility, to make
What cannot be, slight work.

Vol. Thou art my warrior;

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle.
That's curded ^^) by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria!

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours.
Which by the interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.

Cor. The god of soldiers.

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prove
To shame unvulnerable and stick i' the wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, ^'*)
And saving those that eye thee!

Vol. Your knee, sirrah.

Cor. That's my brave boy.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself.
Are suitors to you.

Cor. I beseech you, peace:

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before;
The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanics: — Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: Desire not
To allay ray rages and revenges, with
Your colder reasons.

Vol. O, no more, no more!

You have said, you will not grant us any thing;
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already: Yet we will ask;
That, if you fail in our request, **) the blame
May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us.

Cor. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private. — Your lequest?

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment,
And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself.
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with

comforts,
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow ;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we.
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy: For how can we,
Alas! how can we for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound; together with thy victory,
Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win: for either thou
Must, aa a foreign recreant, be led

KKVUI.

Act V.

CORIOLANUS.

651

With manacles through our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, till
These wars determine: -') if I cannot persuade thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts.
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.

Vir. Ay, and on mine.

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name
Living to time.

Boy. He shall not tread on me;

I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.

Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be.
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
I have sat too long. [Biting.

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus.

If it were so, that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poisonous of your honour: No; our suit
Is, that you reconcile them: while the Voices
May say. This mercy we have thow'd; the Romans,
This we receiv'd; and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry. Be bless'd
For making up this peace ! Thou know'st, great son.
The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ, — The man was 7ioble,
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out;
Destroy'd his country; and his name remains
To the ensuing age abhorr'd. Speak to me, son:
Thou hast affected the fine strains-') of honour,
To imitate the graces of the gods;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'the air.
And yet to charge thy sulphur - ^) with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs? • — Daughter, speak you:
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy:
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the world
More bound to his mother ; yet here he lets me prate,
Like one i'the stocks. * ') Thou hast never in thy life
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy;
When she, (poor hen!) fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust,
And spurn me back: But, if it be not so.
Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee.
That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away :
Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride.
Than pity to our prayers. Down; An end:
This is the last; — So we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours. — Nay, behold us:
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship,
Does reason our petition^") with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go:
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch :
I am hush'd until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.

C-'or. O mother, mother!

[Holding VoLVMMA by the Hand*, tilent.

I What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
I The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
I They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O I
You have won a happy victoiy to Rome:
j But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it.
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd.
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come: —
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, say, ^ ^} would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf. I was moved withal.

Cor. I dare be sworn, you were :

And, sir, it is no little thing, to make
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir.
What peace you'll make, advise me : for my part,
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you,
Stand to me in this cause. — O mother! wife!
Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy
honour
At difference in thee: out of that I'll work
Myself a former fortune. ^*) [Atide.

[The Ladles make signs to Coriolakvs.
Cor. Ay, by and by;

[To VOLUUMA, VlBGILIA, ^rC

But We will drink together; and you shall bear

A better witness back than words, which we.

On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.

Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve

To have a temple built you: ^^) all the swords

In Italy, and her confederate arms,

Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Rome. A public Place.

Enter Menenius and Sicinius.

Men. See you yond' coign o'the Capitol; yond'
corner-stone ?

Sic. Why, what of that?

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with
your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of
Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him.
But 1 say, there is no hope in't; our throats are
sentenced, and stay upon execution. ^■*)

Sic. Is't possible, that so shoit a time can alter
the condition of a man?

Men. There is differency between a grub and a
butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This
Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings;
he's more than a creeping thing.

Sic. He loved his mother dearly.

Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers
his mother now, than au eight-year old horse. The
tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. W^hen he
walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground
shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce
a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his
hum is a battery. He sits in his state, ^*) as a
thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done,
is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of
a god, but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what
mercy his mother shall bring from him: There is
no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male
tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is
'long of you.

Sic. The gods be good unto us!

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good
unto us. When we banished him, we respected not
them: and, he returning to break our necks, they
respect not us.

KXVIil.

652

CORIOLANUS

Act V.

Enter a Messenger.
Mes». Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house;
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune,
And hale him up and down; all swearing, if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home.
They'll give him death by inches.

Enter another Messenger.

Sic. What's the news?

Mess. Good news, good news ; — The ladies have
prevail'd.
The Voices are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone:
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquius.

Sic. Friend,

Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain?

Mess. As certain, as I know the sun is fire:
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide.
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you;
[Trumpets and Hautboys sounded, and Brums
beaten, all together. Shouting also within.
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes.
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,
Make the sun dance. Hark you! [Shouting again.

Men. This is good news :

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full; of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land full : You have pray'd well to-day ;
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats
I'd not had given a doit. Hark, how they joy !

[Shouting and Music.

Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings : next,
Accept my thankfulness.

Mess. Sir, we have all

Great cause to give great thanks.

Sic. They are near the city?

Mess. Almost at point to enter.

Sic. We will meet them.

And help the joy. [Going.

Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators,
Patricians, and People. They pass over
the Stage.
1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome:
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods.
And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them:
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;
Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! -r~

All. Welcome, ladies!

Welcome! [A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Antium. A public Place.

Enter Tullus Abfidius, with Attendants.

Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here:
Deliver them this paper: having read it,
Bid them repair to the market-place; where I,
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse.
The city ports by this hath enter'd, and
Intends to appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words: Despatch.

[Exeunt Attendants.

Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius'

Faction.
Most welcome!

1 Con. How is it with our general?

Auf. Even so,

As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
And with his charity slain.

2 Con. Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell;

We must proceed, as we do find the people.

3 Con, The people will remain uncertain, whilst
'Twixt you there's difference ; but the fall of either
Makes the survivor heir of all.

Auf I know it;

And my pretext to strike at him admits
A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine honour for his truth : Who being so heighten'd,
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery,
Seducing so my friends: and, to this end.
He bow'd his nature, never known before
But to be rough, unswayable, and free.

3 Con. Sir, his stoutness,
When he did stand for consul, which he lost
By lack of stooping,

Auf That I would have spoke of:

Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth ;
Presented to my knife his throat: I took him;
Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way
In all his own desires; nay, let him choose
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments
In mine own person; holp to reap the fame,
Which he did end all his; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong: till, at the last,
I seera'd his follower, not partner; and
He wag'd me with his countenance,^'') as if
I had been mercenary.

1 Con. So he did, my lord:
The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last.
When he had cari'ied Rome; and that we look'd
P^or n6 less spoil, than glory,

Auf. There was it ; —

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd ^ ') upon him.
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
Of our great action; Therefore shall he die.
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

[Drums and Trumpets sound, with great Shouts
of the People.

1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post,
And had no welcomes home; but he returns,
Splitting the air with noise.

2 Con. And patient fools.
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear,
With giving him glory.

3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage
Ere he express himself, or move the people

With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. When he lies along.
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury
His reasons with his body.
Auf. Say no more;

Here come the lords.

Enter the Lords of the City.

Lords. You are most welcome home.

Auf. I have not deserv'd it.

But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd
What I have written to you?

Lords. We have.

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it.

What faults he made before the last, I think.
Might have found easy fines: but there to end.

xxvm.

Act V.

CORIOLANUS.

653

Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our levies, answering us
With our own charge; ^'*) making a treaty, where
There was a yielding; This admits no excuse.
Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him.

Enter Corioi-anus, with Drums and Colourt; a
Crowd ojfCitizens with him.

Cor. Hail, lords! I am returned your soldier;
No more infected with my country's love.
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know,
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody passage, led your wars, even to
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home.
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part.
The charges of the action. We have made peace,
VVith no less honour to the Antiates,
Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver,
Subscrib'd by the consuls and patricians.
Together with the seal o'the senate, what
We have compounded on.

Auf. Read it not, noble lords;

But tell the traitor, in the highest degree
He hath abus'd your powers.

Cor. Traitor ! — How now ? —

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Cor. aiarcius !

Auf Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; Dost thou think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus in Corioli?

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray 'd your business, and given up.
For certain drops of salt, ^') your city Rome
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother:
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o'the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory ;
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.

Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars ?

Auf Name not the god, thou boy of tears, —

Cor. Ha!

Auf No more. *")

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave ! —
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords.
Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion
(Who wears my stripes impress'd on him; that must

bear
My beating to his grave;) shall join to thmst
The lie unto him.

1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak.

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Voices; men and lads.
Stain all your edges on me. — Boy! False hound!

If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
Flutter'd your voices in Corioli:
Alone I did it. — Boy !

Auf Why, noble lords.

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune.
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
'Fore your own eyes and ears?

Con. Let him die for't. [Several upeak at once.

Cit. [Speaking promistuoutly.] Tear him to pieces,
do it presently. He killed my son; — my daugh-
ter; — He killed my cousin Marcus; — He killed
my father. —

2 Lord. Peace, ho; — no outrage; — peace.
The man is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o'the earth. *') His last oifence to us
Shall have judicious hearing. — ^^) Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor. O, that I had him,

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe.
To use my lawful sword !

Auf Insolent villun!

Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.

[Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, atid
kill CoBioLANUs, irAo falh, and Aufidius
stands on him.

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.

1 Lord. O TuUus, —

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour

will weep.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him. — Masters all, be quiet;
Put up your swords.

Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage,
Provok'd by him you cannot,) the great danger
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice,
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body.
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded

As the most noble corse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn. '*^)

2 Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.

Auf My rage is gone.

And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up:
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. —
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory. — ^^)
Assist.

• [Exeunt, bearing the Body of Gokiolahiis.
A Dead March sounded.

KKVm.

XXIX.

JULIUS CJSSAR.

PEBSONS REPRESENTED.

Julius C^sar.

OCTAVIUS CjESAR,

Marcus Antonius,

M. iEMiL. Lepidus,

Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena, Senators

Marcus Brutus,

Cassius,

Casca,

Trbbonius,

LiGARIUS,

Decius Brutus,
Mktbllus Cimber,

Triumvirs after the Death
of Julius Caesar.

Conspirators against Julius
Caesar.

Flavius and Marult-us, Tribunes.

Artbmidorus, a Sophist of Cnidos.

A Soothsayer.

Cinna, a Poet.

Another Poet.

LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young Cato, and

VoLUMNius; Friends to Brutus and Cassius.
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dar-

danius; Servants to Brutus.
PiNDARUs, Servant to Cassius.
Calphurnia, Wife to Caesar.
Portia, IVife to Brutus.
Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, ^e.

CiNNA,

Scene — during a great part of the Play, at Rome: afterwards at Sardis; and near Philippi.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Rome. A Street.

Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Rabble of
Citizens.

Flavius.
Hence; home, you idle creatures; get you home;
Is this a holiday V What! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk.
Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession V — Speak, what trade art thou?

1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on? —
You, sir; what trade are you?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I
am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with
a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender
of bad soals.

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave,
what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with
me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou
saucy fellow?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.

Flat. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the
awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor wo-
men's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a
surgeon to old shoes ; when they are in great dan-
ger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod
upon neats-Ieather, have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get
myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make
holiday, to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings
he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless

things !
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements.
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops.
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome;
And when you saw his chariot but appear.
Have you not made an universal shout.
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way.
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone;

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees.
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault.
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r ') their basest metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I : Disrobe the images.
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. ^)

Wlar. May we do so?
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter; let no images
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about.
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:

KXIX.

Act I,

JULIUS CiESAR.

655

So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;
Who else would soar above the view of men.
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The tame. A public Place.

Enter in Procession, with Music, C^sar; Antont,

for the course; Calphurnia, Portia, Dbcius, ^)

Cicero, Brltus, Cassius, and Casca, a great

Croud following; among them a Soothsayer.

Cat. Calphurnia, —

Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. [Mimic ceases.

Cat. Calphurnia, —

Cal. Here, my lord.

Cat. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth xun his course. — Antonius.

Ant. Cajsar, my lord.

Cas. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia : for our elders say.
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their steril curse.

Ant. I shall remember:

When Ca!sar says. Do thit, it is perform'd.

Cat. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. [Music.

Sooth. Caesar.

Cas. Ha! Who calls?

Casca. Bid every noise be still : — Peace yet again.

[Miuie ceases.

Cat. Who is it in the press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Ci'y, Caesar: Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cas. What man is that?

Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of
aiarch.

Cat. Set him before me, let me see his face.

Cat. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon
Caesar.

Cat. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cat. He is a dreamer; let us leave him; — pass.
[Sennet. ■*) Exeunt all but Ban. and Cab.

Cat. Will you go see the order of the course?

Bru. Not I.

Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cat. Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
And show of love, as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand *)
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru. Cassius,

Be not deceiv'd: If I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,
Of late, with passions of some difference, *)
Conceptions only proper to myself.
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd;
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one;)
Nor construe any further my neglect.
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your
passion; ')
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

Bru. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.

Cat. 'Tis just;
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye.
That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke.
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Cat. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear:
And, since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass.
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love ^)
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish, and shout.

Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear the people
Choose Caesar for their king.

Cas. Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think you would not have it so.

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well: —
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good.
Set honour in one eye, and death i'the other,
And I will look on both indifferently :
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

Cat. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story. —
I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life: but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Caesar; so were you:
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day.
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood.
And swim to yonder point? — Upon the word,
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in.
And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd: and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside
And stemmuig it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Caesar cry'd. Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as ^4Sneas, our great ancestor.
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Caesar: And this man
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body.
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark.

KKIK.

656

JULIUS CiESAR.

Act I.

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:

His coward lips did from their colour fly;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,

Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:

Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,

Alas! it cried. Give me some drink, Titinius,

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper ') should

So get the start of the majestic world.

And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish.

Bru. Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar.

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Like a Colossus; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus, and Caesar: What should be in that Caesar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well:
Weigh them, it is as heavy: conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. [Shout.
Now in the names of all the gods at once.
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd:
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man ?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walks encompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O! you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, ^ ") that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim ; " )
How I have thought of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you.
Be any further mov'd. What you have said,
I will consider: what you have to say,
I will with patience hear: and find a time
Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this; '-)
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

Cas. I am glad, that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.

Re-enter C^sar, and his Train.

Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is returning.

Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve;
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day.

Bru. I will do so : — But, look you, Cassius,
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train:
Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret *^) and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is.

CtBS. Antonius.

Ant. Caesar.

Cas. Let me have men about me that are fat;
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o'nights:
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous.

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous.
He is a noble Roman, and well given.

C<E«. 'Would he were fatter: — But I fear him not :
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music:
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease.
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves;
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd,
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf.
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.

[Exeunt Cmsak and his Train. Casca stays behind.

Casca. You puU'd me by the cloak; Would you
speak with me?

Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to day.
That Caesar looks so sad?

Casca. Why you were with him, were you not?

Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath chanc'd.

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him : and
being ofl^ered him, he put it by with the back of
his hand, thus; and then the people fell a' shouting.

Bru. What was the second noise for?

Casca. Why, for that too.

Cas. They shouted thrice; What was the last cry for?

Casca. Why, for that too.

Bru. Was the crown ofFer'd him thrice?

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice,
every time gentler than other: and at every putting
by, mine honest neighbours shouted.

Cas. Who off'ered him the crown?

Casca. Why, Antony.

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

Casca. I can as Avell be hanged, as tell the man-
ner of it: it was mere foolery. I did not mark it.
I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 'twas
not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ; —
and, as I told you, he put it by once; but, for all
that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it.
Then he offered it to him again ; then he put it by
again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath to
lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the
third time; he put it the third time by: and still
as he refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped
their chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty
night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking
breath because Caesar refused the crown, that it
had almost choked Caesar; for he swooned, and fell
down at it: And for mine own part, I durst not
laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving
the bad air.

Cas. But, soft, I pray you : What ? Did Caesar swoon?

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and foamed
at mouth, and was speechless.

Bru. 'Tis very like: he hath the falling sickness.

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not; but you, and I,
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.

Casca. I know not what you mean by that; but
I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people
did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he
pleased, and displeased them, as they use to do the
players in the theatre, I am no true man. •*)

RKIK.

Act I.

JULIUS C^SAR.

657

Bru, What said he, when he came unto himself?

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, wiien he per-
ceiv'd the common herd was glad he refused the
crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered
them his throat to cut. — An I had been a man
of any occupation, '^) if I would not have taken
him at a word, I would I might go to hell among
the rogues: — and so he fell. When he came to
himself again, he said. If he had done, or said, any
thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it
was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where
I stood, cried, Alas, good soul! — and forgave
him with all their hearts: But there's no heed to
be taken of them; if Cajsar had stabbed their mo-
thers, they would have done no less.

Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away?

Casca. Ay.

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing?

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek.

Cas. To what effect?

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you
i'the face again: But those, that understood him,
smiled at one another, and shook their heads: but
for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could
tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavins, for
pulling scarfs off Ciesar's images, are put to silence.
Fare you well. There was more fooleiy yet, if I
could remember it.

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca?

Casca. No, I am promised forth.

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow?

Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and
yonr dinner worth the eating.

Cas. Good; I will expect you.

Casca. Do so; Farewell, both. [Exit Casca.

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be?
He was quick mettle, when he went to school.

Cas. So is he now, in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprize.
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit.
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.

Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you :
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,
I will come home to you ; or, if you will,
Come home to me, and I will wait for you.

Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the world.

[Exit BuuTus.
Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see,
Thy honourable metal may be wrought
From that it is dispos'd: *^) Therefore 'tis meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes:
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd?
Caesar doth bear me hard: ' ') But he loves Brutus:
If I were Brutus now, and he were Ceissius,
He should not humour me. *8) I will this night,
In several hands, in at his windows throw,
As if they came from several citizens,
Writings, all tending to the great opinion
That Rome holds of his name: wherein obscurely
Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at:
And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure;
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Exit.

SCENE HI.

The same. A Street.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter, from opposite
sides, Casca, wit/i his Sword drawn, and Cickro.

Cic. Good even, Casca : Brought you Caesar home? * ')
Why are you breathless? and why stare you so?

Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of
earth 2 0)
Shakes, like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
Have riv'd the knotty oaks; and I have seen
The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds:
But never till to-night, never till now,
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Either there is a civil strife in heaven;
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,
Incenses them to send destruction.

Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful?

Casca. A common slave (you know him well by
sight,)
Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn
Like twenty torches join'd; and yet his hand,
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd.
Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,)
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glar'd ^'} upon me, and went surly by.
Without annoying me : And there were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women.
Transformed with their fear; who swore, they saw
Men, all on fire, walk up and down the streets.
And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit,
Even at noon-day upon the market-place,
Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say.
These are their reasons, — They are natural;
For, I believe, they are portentous things
Unto the climate that they point upon.

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time:
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose --) of the things themselves.
Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow?

Casca. He doth; for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow.

Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky
Is not to walk in.

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicebo.

Enter Cassius.

Cas. Who's there?

Casca. A Roman.

Cas. Casca, by your voice.

Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this?

Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men.

Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

Cas. Those, that have known the earth so full of
faults.
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets.
Submitting me unto the perilous night;
And thus unbraced, Casca, as you see.
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone: ^^)
And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open
The breast of heaven, I did present myself
Even in the aim and very flash of it.

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the
heavens ?
It is the part of men to fear and tremble.
When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

Cas. You are dull, Casca ; and those sparks of life
That should be in a Roman, you do want,
Or else you use not: You look pale, and gaze.
And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder.
To see the strange impatience of the heavens:
But if you would consider the true cause.
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,
Why birds, and beasts, from quality and kind; 2*)
Why old men, fools, and children calculate: -*)
Why all these things change, from their ordinance,

KUIX.

42

658

JULIUS CiESAR,

Act II.

Their natures, and pre-formed faculties,

To monstrous quality; why, you shall find,

That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits,

To make them instruments of fear, and warning.

Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Gasca,

Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night;

That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars

As doth the lion in the Capitol:

A man no mightier than thyself, or me.

In personal action; yet prodigious grown, 2^)

And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.

Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean : Is it not, Cassius?

Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now
Have thewes and limbs -'') like to their ancestors;
But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead,
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits;
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.

Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow
Mean to establish Caesar as a king:
And he shall wear his crown by sea, and land,
In every place, save here in Italy.

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then ;
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius:
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat:
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass.
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
If I know this, know all the world besides.
That part of tyranny, that I do bear,
I can shake off at pleasure.

Casca. , So can I:

So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf.
But that he sees, the Romans are but sheep:
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws: What trash is Rome,
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O, grief!
Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman: then I know
My answer must be made: ^^) But I am arm'd.
And dangers are to me indifferent.

Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a man,
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand: ^')
Be factious for redress ^'*) of all these griefs;
And I will set this foot of mine as fai',
As who goes farthest.

Caa. There's a bargain made.

Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans,
To undergo, with me, an enterprize
Of honourable-dangerous consequence;
And I do know, by this, they stay for me
In Pompey's porch: For now, this fearful night,
There is no stir, or walking in the streets;
And the complexion of the element
Is favour'd, ^1) like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

Enter Cinna.

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in

haste.
Cat. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait;
He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so?
Cin. To find out you: Who's that? Metellus

Cimber?

Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna?

Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this ?
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.

Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna? Tell me.

Cin. Yes,

You are. O, Cassius, if you could but win
The noble Brutus to our party

Cas. Be you content: Good Cinna, take this paper,
And look you lay it in the praetor's chair.
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
In at his window: set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done.
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us.
Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there?

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie.
And so bestow these papers as you bade me.

Ca». That done, repair to Pompey's theatre.

[Exit ClKNA.

Come, Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day.
See Brutus at his house: three parts of him
Is ours already; and the man entire,
Upon the next encounter, yields him ours.

Casca. O, he sits high, in all the people's hearts :
And that, which would appear offence in us.
His countenance, like richest alchymy,
Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.

Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of him.
You have right well conceited. Let us go,
For it is after midnight; and, ere day.
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. Brutus'* Orchard.

Enter Brutus.

Bru. What, Lucius! ho! —
I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say ! —
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. —
When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say: What, Lucius!

Enter Lucius.

Luc. Call'd you, my lord?

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:
When it is lighted, come and call me here.

Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit.

Bru. It nmst be by his death: and, for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him.
But for the general. He would be crown'd : —
How that might change his nature, there's the ques-
tion.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him? —

That; —
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power: *) And, to speak truth of Caesar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, ^)
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder.
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face:
But when he once attains the upmost round.
He then unto the ladder turns his back.
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees ')
By which he did ascend: So Caesar may;
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
Will bear no colour for the thing he is, ,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented.

KXIH.

Act II.

JULIUS CiESAR.

659

Would run to these, and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg.
Which, hatch'd, ^Y0uld, as his kind, ■*) grow mis-
chievous ;
And kill biin in the shelL

Re-enter Lucics.

Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure.
It did not lie there, when I went to bed.

Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?

Luc. I know not, sir.

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

Luc. I will, sir. ^ [Exit.

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air.
Give so much light, that I may read by them.

[Opeva the Letter, and read*.
Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake, and see thyself.
Shall Rome, ^c. Speak, strike, redress!

Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake,

Such instigations have been often dropp'd
Where I have took them up.
Shall Rome, ^-c. Thus must I piece it ont;
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What! Rome?
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
Speak, strike, redress ! — Am I entreated then *)
To speak and strike? O Rome! I make thee promise,
If the redress will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

[Knock witbin.

Bru. lis good. Go to the gate ; somebody knocks.

[Exit Lucius.
Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The genius, and the mortal instruments.
Are then in council; and the state of man, ')
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door.
Who doth desire to see you.

Bru. Is he alone?

Lue. No, rir, there are more with him.

Bru. Do you know them ?

Lue. No, ar; their hats are pluck'd about their ears.
And half their faces buried in their cloaks,
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour. ^)

Bru. Let them enter. [Exit Lucius.

They are the faction. O conspiracy!
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night.
When evils are most free? O, then, by day,
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, conspiracy ;
Hide it in smiles, and a£fability:
For if thou path, with native semblance on, ')
Not Erebus itself were dim enough
To hide thee from prevention.

Elnter Cassius, Casca, Dbgtds, Cinna, Mbteli.us
CiMBBR, and T&BBONius.
Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest:
Good morrow, Brutus; Do we trouble you?

Bru. I have been up this hour; awake, all night.
Know I these men, that come along with you?

Cas. Yes, every man of them; and no man here.
But honours you: and every one doth wish,
You had but that opinion of yourself,
Which every noble Roman bears of you.
This is Trebonius.

Bru. He is welcome hither.

Cas. This, Decius Brutus.

Bru. He is welcome too.

Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna;
And this, Metellus Cimber.

Bru. They are all welcome.

What watchful cares do interpose themselves
Betwixt your eyes and night?

Cas. Shall I entreat a word? [They whitper.

Dec. Here lies the east : Doth not the day break here?

Casca. No.

Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines.
That fret the clouds, are messengers of day.

Casca. You shall confess, that you are both deceiv'd.
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises;
Which is a great way growing on the south.
Weighing the youthful season of the year.
Some two months hence, up higher toward the north
He first presents his fire; and the high east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one.

Cas. And let us swear our resolution.

Bru. No, not an oath: If not the face of men,')
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, —
If these be motives weak, break off betimes.
And every man hence to his idle bed;
So let high-sighted tyranny range on.
Till each man drop by lottery. '") But if these.
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour
The melting spirits of women; then, countrymen.
What need we any spur, but our own cause.
To prick us to redress? what other bond.
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word.
And will not palter? '*) and what other oath.
Than honesty to honesty engaged,
That this shall be, or we will fall for it?
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, • ')
Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt: but do not stain
The even virtue of our enterprize, '^)
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits.
To think, that, or our cause, or our performance.
Did need an oath; when every drop of blood.
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears.
Is guilty of a several bastardy,
If he do break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.

Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think, he will stand very strong with us.

Casca. Let us not leave Mm out.

Cin. No, by no means.

Met. O let us have him; for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion, '**)
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds:
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands;
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear.
But all be buried in his gravity.

Bru. O, name him not; let us not break with him;
For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin.

Ciu. Then leave hun out

Casca. Indeed, he is not fit.

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar?

Cas. Decius, well urg'd : — 1 think it is not meet,

42*

660

JULIUS C^SAR

Act II.

Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar,
Should outlive Caesar: We shall find of him
A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,
If he improve them, may well stretch so far.
As to annoy us all : which to prevent.
Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together.

Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs;
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards: ^^)
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.
Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood :
O, that we then could come by Caasar's spirit.
And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,
Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfuUy;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods.
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds :
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do.
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide them. This shall make
Our purpose necessary, and not envious:
Which so appearing to the common eyes.
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Maik Antony, think not of him;
For he can do no more than Cajsar's arm.
When Caesar's head is off.

Cas. Yet I ^o fear him:
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar,

Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him:
If he love Caesar, all that he can do
Is to himself; take thought, ''■) and die for Caesar:
And that were much he should; for he is given
To sports, to wildness, and much company. ^')

Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die;
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter,

\Clock strikes.

Bru. Peace, count the clock.

Cas. The clock hath stricken three.

Treb. 'Tis time to part.

Cas. But it is doubtful yet,

Whe'r Caesar will come forth to-day, or no:
For he is superstitious grown of late ;
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies: '^)
It may be, these apparent prodigies.
The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
And the persuasion of his augurers,
May hold him from the Capitol to-day.

Dec. Never fear that: If he be so resolv'd,
I can o'ersway him: for he loves to hear,
That imicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, *9)
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers:
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does; being then most flattered.
Let me work :

For I can give his humour the true bent;
And I will bring him to the Capitol.

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.

Bru. By the eighth hour: Is that the uttermost?

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey;
I wonder, none of you have thought of him.

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him ; * ")
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.

Cas. The morning comes upon us: We'll leave
you, Brutus:
And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all remember
What have you said, and show yourselves true Romans.

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
Let not our looks ^') put on our purposes;
But bear it as our Roman actors do.
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy:
And so, good-morrow to you every one.

[^Exeunt all but Brutus.
Boy! Lucius! — Fast asleep? It is no matter;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

Enter Portia.

For. Brutus, my lord!

Bru. Portia, Avhat mean you? Wherefore rise you
now?
It is not for your health, thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning.

For. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently,
Brutus,
Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about.
Musing, and sighing, with your arms across;
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks:
I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your head,
And too unpatiently stamp'd with your foot:
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not;
But, with an angry wafture of your hand.
Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience.
Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal,
Hoping it was but an effect of humour.
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep;
And, could it work so much upon your shape,
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, -^)
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all.

For. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health.
He would embrace the means to come by it.

Bru. Why, so I do : — Good Portia, go to bed.

For. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick;
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,
To dare the vile contagion of the night?
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;
You have some sick offence within your mind.
Which, by the right and virtue of my place,
I ought to know of: And, upon my knees,
I charm you, by my once commended beauty.
By all your vows of love, and that great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one.
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
Why you are heavy; and what men to-night
Have had resort to you: for here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness?

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia.

For. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets
That appertain to you? Am I yourself.
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation;
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the

suburbs
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife;

HBIX.

Act II.

JULIUS CiESAR.

661

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops,
That visit my sad heart.

Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret.
I grant, I am a woman; hut, withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife:
I grant, I am a woman; but, withal,
A woman well-reputed; Cato's daughter.
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex.
Being so father'd, and so husbanded?
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them:
I have made strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh: Can I bear that with patience.
And not my husband's secrets?

Bru. O ye gods.

Render me worthy of this noble wife! [Knocking within.
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while;
And by and by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart.
All my engagements I will construe to thee,
All the charactery of my sad brows: —
Leave me with haste. {Exit Poetii.

Enter Lucius and Ligarius.

Lucius, who's that, knocks?

Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with you.

Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. —
Boy, stand aside. — Caius Ligarius! how?

Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.

Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
To wear a kerchief? 'Would you were not sick!

Ldg. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Any exploit worthy the name of honour.

Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome!
Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins!
Thou, like an exorcist, ^^) hast conjur'd up
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run.
And I will strive with things impossible;
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do?

Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men whole.

Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make sick ?

Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius,
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going
To whom it must be done.

Lig. Set on your foot;

And, with a heart new-fir'd, I follow you.
To do I know not what: but it sufficeth,
That Brutus leads me on.

Bru. Follow me then. [Exeunt.

SCENE n.

TJie same. A Room in Caesar'« Palace.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter C^sar, in hi$
Nightgown.

Cat. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace
to-night:
Thrice hath Calphumia in her sleep cried out.
Help, ho! They murder Ceesar! Who's within?

Enter a Servant.
Serv. My lord?

Cas. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice.
And bring me their opinions of success.
Serv. I will, my lord.

Enter Cai-phuknia.
Cal. What mean yon, Caesar? Think you to walk
forth?
You shall not stir out of your house to-day.

Ca$. Caesar shall forth: The things that threa-
ten'd me.
Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see
The face of Ceesar, they are vanished.

Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, -*)
Yet now they fright me. There is one within.
Besides the things that we have heard and seen.
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
A lioness hath whelped in the streets;
And graves have yawned and yielded up their dead:
Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds.
In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol:
The noise of battle hurtled in the air, - *)
Horses did neigh, ^') and dying men did groan;
And ghosts did shriek, and squeal about the streets.

0 Caesar! these things are beyond all use.
And I do fear them.

Cas. What can be avoided.

Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods?
Yet Caesar shall go forth: for these predictions
Are to the world in general, as to Caesar.

Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of
princes.

Cas. Cowards die many times before their deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come, whea it will come.

Re-enter a Servant.

What say the augurers?

Serv. They would not have you to stir forth tonlay.
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,
They could not find a heart within the beast.

Cas. The gods do this in shame of cowardice: *')
Caesar should be a beast without a heart.
If he should stay at home to-day for fear.
No, Caesar shall not: Danger knows full Avell,
That Caesar is more dangerous than he.
We wei'e two lions litter'd in one day.
And I the elder and more terrible;
And Caesar shall go forth.

Cal. Alas, my lord,

Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence.
Do not go forth to-day: Call it my fear.
That keeps you in the house, and not your own.
We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house;
And he shall say, you are not well to-day:
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.

Cas. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well ;
And, for thy humour, I will stay at home.

Enter Decids.

Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.
Dec. Caesar, all hail ! Good morrow, worthy Caesar :

1 come to fetch you to the senate-house.
Cas. And you are come in very happy time.

To bear my greeting to the senators.
And tell them, that I will not come to-day:
Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser;
I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius.

Cal. Say, he is sick.

Cas. Shall Caesar send a lie?

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far.
To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth?
Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come.

Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause.
Lest I be laugh'd at, when I tell them so.

Cas. The cause is in my will, I will not come;

KHIB.

662

JULIUS CiESAR.

Act II.

That is enough to satisfy the senate.
But, for your private satisfaction,
Because I love you, I will let you know;
Calphurnia here, iny wife, stays me at home.
She dreamt to-night she saw ray statua, ^ ^)
Which like a fountain with a hundred spouts,
Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it.
And these does she apply for warnings, portents, ^ '}
And evils imminent; and on her knee
Hath begg'd, that I will stay at home to-day.

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted;
It was a vision fair and fortunate:
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd,
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
Reviving blood; and that great men shall press
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance, ^o)
This by Calphurnia's dream is signified.

Cces. And this way have you well expounded it.

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say :
And know it now; the senate have concluded
To give, this day, a crown to mighty Caesar.
If you shall send them word, you will not come,
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say:
Break up the senate till another time,
When Casar's wife shall meet with better dreams.
If Cffisar hide himself, shall they not whisper,
Lo, CtBsar is afraid?

Pardon me, Cajsar; for my dear, dear love
To your proceeding bids me tell you this;
And reason ^^) to my love is liable,

Cces. How foolish do your fears seem now, Cal-
phurnia ?
I am ashamed I did yield to them. —
Give me my robe, for I will go : —

Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus,
Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna.

And look where Publius is come to fetch me.

Puh. Good morrow, Caesar.

Cas. Welcome, Publius. —

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? —
Good morrow, Casca. — Caius Ligarius,
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy,
As that same ague which hath made you lean. —
What is't o'clock?

Bru. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight.

Cces. I thank you for your pains and courtesy.

Enter Antony.

See! Antony, that revels long o'nights,
Is notwithstanding up : —
Good morrow, Antony.

Aiit. So to most noble Caesar.

CtES. Bid them prepare within : —
I am to blame to be thus waited for. —
Now, Cinna: — Now, Metellus : — What, Trebonius!
I have an hour's talk in store for you;
Remember that you call on me to-day:
Be near me, that I may remember you.

Treb. Caesar, 1 will: — and so near will I be,

\_A8ide.
That your best friends shall wish I had been further.

C<zs. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine
with me;
And we, like friends, will straightway go together.

Bru. That every like is not the same, O Caesar,
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. A Street near the Capitol.

Enter Artkmidorus, reading a Paper.

Art. Cajsar, beware o/Brutus; take heed of Cas-
sius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna;
trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus CImber;
Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wronged
Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these
men; and it is bent against Caesar. If thou be'st
not immortal, look about you: Security gives way
lo Conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee I
Thy lover,

Artemidorus.
Here will I stand, till Caesar pass along.
And as a suitor will I give him this.
My heart laments, that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation. 3^)
If thou read this, O Caesar, thou may'st live;
If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. ^^) \_Exit.

SCENE IV.

The same. Another Part of the same Street^
before the House o/' Brutus.

Enter Portia and Lucius.

Por. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house;
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone:
Why dost thou stay?

Luc. To know my errand, madam.

Por, I would have had thee there, and here again,
Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there. —

0 constancy, be strong upon my side !

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue!

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! —
Art thou here yet?

Luc. Madam, what should I do?

Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
And so return to you, and nothing else?

Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
For he went sickly forth: And take good note,
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, boy! what noise is that?

Luc. I hear none, madam.

Por. 'Pr'ythee, listen well:

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray.
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.

Enter Soothsayer.

Por. Come hither, fellow:

Which way hast thou been?

Sooth. At mine own house, good lady.

Por. What is't o'clock?

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady.

Por. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?

Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take ray stand,
To see him pass on to the Capitol.

Por. Thou hast some suit to Cajsar, hast thou not ?

Sooth. That I have, lady: if it will please Caesar
To be so good to Caesar, as to hear me,
I shall beseech him to befriend himself.

Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended to-
wards him?

Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I fear
may chance.
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,
Will croud a feeble man almost to death:

BXIK.

Act in.

JULIUS CiESAR.

663

I'll get me to a place more void, and there
Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. {Exit.
Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing
The heart of woman is! O Brutus!
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprize!
Sure, the boy heard me: — Brutus hath a suit.
That Caesar will not grant. — O, I grow faint: —
Run, Lucius, and counuend me to my lord;
Say, I am merry: come to me again.
And bring me word what he doth say to thee.

{Exeunt.

ACT HI.

SCENE I. The same. The Capitol; the
Senate sitting.

A Croud o/ People in the Street leading to the
Capitol; among them Artemidorus, awrft/ic Sooth-
sayer. Flourish. Enter CjEsar, Brutus, Cassius,
Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, CiNNA, An-
tony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others.

Cces. The ides of March are come.

Sooth. Ay, Caesar! but not gone.

Art, Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule.

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read,
At your best leisure, this his humble suit.

Art. O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit
That touches Caesar nearer: Read it, great Ca;sar.

Cies. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd.

Art. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly.

Cas. What, is the fellow mad?

Pub. Sirrah, give place.

Cas, What, urge you your petitions in the street V
Come to the Capitol.

CjGsar enters the Capitol, the rest following.
All the Senators rise.

Pop. I wish, your enterprize to-day may thrive.

Cas. What entreprize, Popilius?

Pop, Fare you well.

{Advances to C£sar.

Bru. What said Popilius Lena?

Cas. He wish'd, to-day our enterprize might thrive.
I fear, our purpose is discovered.

Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar: Mark him.

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. —
Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known,
Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back,
For I will slay myself.

Bru. Cassius, be constant:

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.

Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, Brutus,
He draws Mark Antony out of the way.

[Exeunt Antony and Tbebonius. C^aAa
and the Senators take their seats.

Dec. W^here is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,
And presently prefer his suit to Ca;sar.

Bru. He is address'd: ') press near, and second him.

Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.

Cass. Are we all ready? what is now amiss
That Caesar, and his senate, must redress?

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant
Caesar,
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
An humble heart: — [Kneeling.

Cas. I must prevent thee, Cimber.

These couchlngs, and these lowly courtesies,
Might fire the blood of ordinai'y men;
And turn pre-ordinance, ^) and first decree,
Into the law of children. Be not fond

To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood.

That will be thaw'd from the true quality

With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words,

Low crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning.

Thy brother by decree is banish'd;

If thou dost bend, and pray and fawn, for him,

I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.

Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without cause

Will he be satisfied.

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own.
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear,
For the repealing of my banish'd brother?

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar;
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may
Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

Cas. What, Brutus !

Cas. Pardon, Caesar: Caesar, pardon;

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall.
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.

Cas. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern star.
Of whose true fix'd, and resting quality,
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks.
They are all fire, and every one doth shine;
But there's but one in all doth hold his place:
So, in the world: 'Tis furnish'd well with men,
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; *)
Yet, in the number, I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshak'd of motion: *) and, that I am he,
Let me a little show it, even in this ;
That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd.
And constant do remain to keep him so.

Cin. O Caesar,

Cas. Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?

Dec. Great Caesar,

Cas. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?

Casca. Speak, hands, for me.

[Casca stabs C^sak in the JSfeck. C«sar catches
hold of his Arm. He is then stabbed by several
of Aer Conspirators, and at last by Maucus Buutus.

Caes. Et tu, Brute ? — Then fall, Caesar.

[Dies. The Senators and People retire in confusion.

Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! —
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out.
Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement !

Bru. People, and senators! be not affrighted;
Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid.

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. ^)

Dec. And Cassius too.

Bru. Where's Publius?

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's
Should chance

Bru. Talk not of standing; — Publius, good cheer;
There is no harm intended to your person.
Nor to no Roman else: *) so tell them, Publius.

Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the people.
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.

Bru. Do so; — and let no man abide this deed.
But we the doers.

Re-enter Trebonius.

Cas. Where's Antony?

Treb. Fled to his house amaz'd :

Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run,
As it were doomsday.

Bru. Fates ! we will know your pleasures : —

That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time.
And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

KBQK.

664

JULIUS CiESAR.

Act III.

Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life,
Cuts off so many years of fearing death.

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit:
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd
His time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop.
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords:
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place;
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads.
Let's all cry, Peace! Freedom! and Liberty!

Cas. Stoop then, and wash, — ') How many ages
hence.
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over,
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown?

Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,
That now on Pompey's basis lies along,
No worthier than the dust?

Cas. So oft as that shall be.

So often shall the knot of us be call'd
The men that gave our country liberty.

Dec. What, shall we forth?

Cas. Ay, every man away :

Binitus shall lead; and we will grace his heels
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.

Enter a Servant.

Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's.

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel;
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;
And, being prostrate, thus he bade rae say.
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;
Caesar, was mighty, bold, royal, and loving:
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him;
Say, I fear'd Ca>sar, honour'd him, and lov'd him.
If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd
How Cajsar hath deserv'd to lie in death,
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead
So well as Brutus living; but Avill follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus,
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state.
With all true faith. So says ray master Antony.

Bru. This master is a wise and valiant Roman;
I never thought him worse.
Tell him, so please him come unto this place,
He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour,
Depart untouch'd.

Scrv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit Servant.

Bru. I know, that we shall have him well to friend.

Cas. I wish, we may: but yet have I a mind.
That fears him much; and my misgiving still
Falls shrewdly to the purpose.

Re-enter Antony.

Bru. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark
Antony.

Ant. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou He so low?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure? — B'are thee well. —
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend.
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: 8)
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
As Cffisar's death's hour; nor no instrument
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myself so apt to die:
No place will please me so, no mean of death.
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off.
The choice and master spirits of this age.

Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us.

Though now we must appear bloody and cruel.

As, by our hands, and this our present act.

You see we do; yet see you but our hands,

And this the bleeding business they have done:

Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful;

And pity to the general wrong of Rome

(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,)

Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part.

To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:

Our arms, in strength of malice, ') and our hearts,

Of brothers' temper, do receive you in

With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's,
In the disposing of new dignities.

Bru. Only be patient, till we haTe appeas'd
The multitude, beside themselves with fear,
And then we will deliver you the cause.
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,
Have thus proceeded.

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom.

Let each man render me his bloody hand:
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you: —
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;
Now, Decius Brutus, yours; — now yours, Metellus;
Yours, Cinna; — and, my valiant Casca, yours; —
Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.
Gentlemen all, — alas! what shall I say?
My credit now stands on such slippery ground.
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me.
Either a coward or a flatterer. —
That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true;
If then thy spirit look upon us now.
Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace.
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes.
Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds.
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
It would become me better, than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius ! — Here wast thou bay'd, brave

hart;
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. * °)
O world! thou wast the forest to this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. —
How like a deer, stricken by many princes.
Dost thou here lie!

Cas. Mark Antony,

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius:

The enemies of Caesar shall say this;
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so;
But what compact mean you to have with us?
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends;
Or shall we on, and not depend on you?

Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed,
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar.
BViends am I with you all, and love you all;
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons,
Why, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous.

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle :
Our reasons are so full of good regard.
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
You should be satisfied.

Ant. That's all I seek:

And am moreover suitor, that I may
Produce his body to the market-place;
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend.
Speak in the order of his funeral.

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony.

Cas. Brutus, a word with you. —

You know not what you do ; Do not consent, [Attde.

XKIK.

Act hi.

JULIUS CiESAR.

665

That Antony speak in his funeral:

Know you how much the people may be mov'd

By that which he will utter?

Bru. By your pardon ; —

I will myself into the pulpit first.
And show the reason of our Csesar's death:
What Antony shall speak, 1 will protest
He speaks by leave and by permission;
And that we are contented, Caesar shall
Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong.

Ca$. I know not what may fall; I like it not.

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take your Caesar's body.
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar;
And say, you do't by our permission;
Else shallyou not have any hand at all
About his funeral: And you shall speak
In the same pulpit whereto I am going.
After my speech is ended.

Ant. Be it so;

I do desire no more.

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us.

[Exeunt all hut AsTOicY.

Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth.
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man,
That ever lived in the tide of times. ")
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophecy, —
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue;
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury, and fierce ci\-il strife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy:
Blood and destruction shall be so in use.
And dreadful objects so familiar.
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds:
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge.
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell.
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry HavoCf and let slip '-) the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Enter a Servant.

You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?

Serv. I do, Mark Antony.

Ant. Caesar did write for him, to come to Rome.

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming:
And bid me say to you by word of mouth, —
O Caesar! [Seeing the Body.

Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.
Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes.
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,
Began to water. Is thy master coming?

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of
Rome.

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath
chanc'd :
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while;
Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse
Into the market-place: there shall I try.
In my oration, how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men;
According to the which, thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things.
Lend me your band. [Exeunt, with Cjesas'* Body.

SCENB U.

The same. The Forum.

Enter Brutls and Cassius, and a throng of
Citizens.

Cit. We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. —
Cassius, go you into the other street,
And part the numbers. —

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ;
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;
And public reasons shall be rendered
Of Cajsar's death.

1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak.

2 Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons,
When severally we hear them rendered.

[Exit Cassius, with gome of the Citizens.
Bbutus goes into the Rostrum.

5 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence !

Bru. Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my
cause; and be silent that you may hear: believe
me for mine honour; and have respect to mine ho-
nour, that you may believe: censure me in your
wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the
better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any
dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus'
love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that
fjricnd demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this
is my answer, — Not that I loved Caesar less, but
that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar
were living, and die all slaves; than that Caesar
were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar loved
me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice
at it; as he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he
was ambitious, I slew him: There is tears, for his
love; joy, for his fortune; honour, for liis valour;
and death, for his ambition. Who is here so base,
that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him
have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would
not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I
offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love
his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended.
I pause for a reply.

Cit. None, Brutus, none. [Several speaking at once.

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no
more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The
question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol:
his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy;
nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

Enter Aktokt and others, vith Cmsavl's Body.

Here comes his body, moum'd by Mark Antony;
who, though he had no hand in his death, shall
receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com-
monwealth; As which of you shall not? With this
I depart; That, as I slew my best lover *^) for the
good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself,
when it shall please my country to need my death.
Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live !

1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house.

2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors.
S Cit. Let him be Caesar.

4 Cit. Caesar's better parts

Shall now be crown'd in Brutus.

1 Cit. We'll bring bun to his house with shoiks

and clamours.
Bru. My countrymen,

2 Cit. Peace; silence! Brutus speaks.
1 Cit. Peace, ho !

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony:

HKIX.

666

JULIUS CiESAR.

Act III.

Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech
Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark Antony,
By our permission, is aliow'd to make.
I do entreat you, not a man depart.
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit.

1 Cit. Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony.

3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair ;
We'll hear him: Noble Antony, go up.

Ant. ¥or Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you.

4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus?

3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake,
He finds himself beholden to us all.

4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.
1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant.

3 Cit. Nay, that's certain :

We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him.

2 Cit. Peace; let us hear what Antony can say.

Ant. You gentle Romans,

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him.

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your
ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil, that men do, lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones:
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious:
If It were so. It was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd It.
Here under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(P'or Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men;)
Come I to speak in Cesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see, that on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown.
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?

0 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts.

And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings.

2 Cit. If you consider rightly of the matter,
Caesar has had great wrong.

3 Cit. Has he, masters?

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place.

4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take

the crown;
Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious.

1 Cit. If It be found so, some will dear abide it.

2 Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with

weeping.

3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than

Antony.

4 Cit. Now mark hlra, he begins again to speak.
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Ca;sar might

Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor ' '*) to do him reverence.
O masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honourable men:
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you.
Than I will wrong such honourable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar,
I found It in his closet, 'tis his will:
Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins ^*) in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory.
And, dying, mention it within their wills.
Bequeathing It, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.

4 Cit. We'll hear the will : Read It, Mark Antony.

Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Caesar's will.

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
It Is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar,
It will inflame you. It will make you mad:
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For If you should, O, what would come of It!

4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear It, Antony;
You shall read us the will; Cajsar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay a while?
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honourable men.
Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar: I do fear it.

4 Cit. They were traitors : Honourable men !

Cit. The will! the testament!

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers : the will !
read the will!

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?

Cit. Come down.

2 Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the Pulpit.

3 Cit. You shall have leave.

4 Cit. A ring; stand round.

1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.

2 Cit. Room for Antony; — most noble Antony.
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.
Cit. Stand back! room! bear back!

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle: I remember
The first time ever Caesar put It on;
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent;
That day he overcame the Nervil: —
Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through:
See, what a rent the envious Casca made:
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Ca;sar foUow'd itj
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: ")
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him !
This was the most unkindest cut of all :
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms.
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face.
Even at the base of Pompey's statua.
Which all the while ran blood, *') great Caesar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel
The dint of pity: *8) these are gracious drops.

BBIS.

Act JV.

JULIUS CiESAR.

667

Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

1 Cit. O piteous spectacle!

2 Cit. O noble Caesar!

3 Cit. O woful day!

4 Cit. O traitors, villains !

1 Cit. O most bloody sight!

2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; about, —
seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a
traitor live.

Ant. Stay, countrymen.

1 Cit. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony.

2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die
with him.

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir
you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They, that have done this deed, are honourable;
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not.
That made them do it; they are wise and honourable,
And will no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
j I am no orator, as Brutus is:
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man.
That love my friend : and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
! For I have neither wit, ' '} nor words, nor worth,
i Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech.
To stir men's blood; I only speak right on;
I tell you that, which you yourselves do know;
Show you sweet Cassar'a wounds, poor, poor dumb

mouths.
And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
W^ould ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Caesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Cit. We'U mutiny.
1 Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus.

3 Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators.
Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.
Cit. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony.
Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what:

Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves?
Alas, you know not — I must tell you then: —
You have forgot the will I told you of.

Cit. IMost true; the will; — let's stay, and hear
the will.

Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seaL
To every Roman citizen he gives.
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. *°)

2Ci*. Most noble Caesar! — we'll revenge his death.

SCit. O rojal Caesar!

Ant. Hear me with patience.

Cit. Peace, ho!

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
His private arbours, and new-planted orchards,
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you.
And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures,
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.
Here was a Caesar: When comes such another?

1 Cit. Never, never : — Come, away, away :
We'll burn his body in the holy place.

And with the brands fire the traitors' houses.
Take up the body.

2 Cit. Go, fetch fire.

3 Cit. Pluck down benches.

4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing.

{Exeunt Citizens, with the Body.
Ant. Now let it work; ISlischief; thou art afoot, i
Take thou what course thou wilt! — How now,
fellow? I

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

Ant. Where is he?

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's bouse.

Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him:
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,
And in this mood will give us any thing.

Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.

Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people.
How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius.

[Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The tame. A Street.

Enter Cinna, the Poet.

Cin. I dreamt to-night, that I did feast with Caesar,
And things unluckily charge my fantasy: -')
I have no will to wander forth of doors.
Yet something leads me forth.

Enter Citizens.

1 Cit. What is your name?

2 Cit. Whither are you going?

3 Cit. Where do you dwell?

• 4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor?

2 Cit. Answer every man directly.

1 Cit. Ay, and briefly.
i 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely.

3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best.

Cin. What is my name? Whither am I going?
Where do I dwell? Am I a married man, or a bache-
lor ? Then to answer every man directly, and briefly,
wisely, and truly. Wisely I say, I am bachelor.

2 Cit. That's as much as to say, they are fools
that marry : You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear.
Proceed; directly.

Cin. Directly, 1 am going to Caesar's funeraL

1 Cit. As a friend or an enemy?
Cin. As a friend.

2 Cit. That matter is answered directly.

4 Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly.

I Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.

3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly.
Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna.

1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator.
Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.

4 Cit. Tear him for his bad veyses, tear him for
his bad verses. ^r>: '^' ^ '- ••r'f 'fiy-.-n^ ~^^/ Cd~>.jy^

2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna; pluck
but his name out of his heart, and turn him going.

3 Cit. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, ho ! fire-
brands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Seme
to Decius' house, and some to Casca's : some to Li-
garius': away; go. [Exeuia.

%

ACT IV.

Scene I. The tame. A Room in Antony's
House.

Aktony, OcTAVins, and Lbpidcs, teated at a Table.

Ant. These many then shall die; their names are

prick'd.
Oct. Your brother too must die; Consent you,

Lepidus?
hep. I do consent.

Oct. Prick him down, Antony.

Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live, ')
Who is your sister's son, Meurk Antony.

668

JULIUS CiESAR.

Act IV.

Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I damn hiin.^)
But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house;
Fetch the will hither, and we will determine
How to cut off some charge in legacies.

Lep. What, shall I find you here?

Oct. Or here, or at

The Capitol. [Exit Lepidbs.

Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man.

Meet to be sent on errands: Is it fit.
The three-fold world divided, he should stand
One of the three to share it?

Oct. So you thought him ;

And took his voice who should be prick'd to die.
In our black sentence and proscription.

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you:
And though we lay these honours on this man.
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
To groan and sweat under the business.
Either led or driven, as we point the way;
And having brought our treasure where we will,
Then take we down his load, and turn him off.
Like to the empty ass, to shake liis ears,
And graze in commons.

Oct. You may do your will;

But he's a tried and valiant soldier.

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius; and, for that,
I do appoint him store of provender.
It is a creature that I teach to fight,
To wind, to stop, to run directly on;
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit.
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so;
He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth :
A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds
On objects, arts, and imitations;
Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men,
Begin his fashion: Do not talk of him.
But as a property. ^) And now, Octavius,
Listen great things. — Brutus and Cassius,
Are levying powers : we must straight make head :
Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd.
Our best friends made, and our best means stretch'd

out; 4)
And let us presently go sit in council.
How covert matters may be best disclos'd,
And open perils surest answered.

Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, *)
And bay'd abo\it with many enemies;
And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear.
Millions of mischief. \Exeunt,

SCENE II.

Before Brutus' Ten*, in the Camp near Sard is.

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucimus, Lucius, and Sol-
diers: TiTiNius and Pindarus meeting them.

Bru. Stand here.

Luc. Give the word, ho! and stand.

Bru. What now, Lucilius?,is Cassius near?

Luc. He is at hand; and Pindarus is come
To do you salutation from his master.

[PiNnARUs gives a Letter to Brutus.

Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus,
In his own change, or by ill officers.
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish
Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand,
I shall be satisfied.

Pin. I do not doubt,

But that my noble master will appear
Such as he is, full of regard, and honour.

Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius;
How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd.

Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough;
But not with such familiar instances,
Nor with such free and friendly conference.
As he hath used of old.

Bru. Thou hast describ'd

A hot friend cooling: Ever note, Lucilius,
When love begins to sicken and decay.
It useth an enforced ceremony.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith:
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand.
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle:
But when they should endure the bloody spur.
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?

Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter'd ;
The greater part, the horse in general.
Are come with Cassius. [March within.

Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd: —

March gently on to meet him.

Enter Cassius and Soldiers.

Cas. Stand, ho!

Bru. Stand, ho! Speak the word along.

Within. Stand.

Within. Stand.

Within. Stand.

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.

Bru. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies?
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hid^s wrongs;
And when you do them

Bru. Cassius, be content,

Speak your griefs^) softly, — I do know you well: —
Before the eyes of both our armies here.
Which should perceive nothing but love from us,
Let us not wrangle: Bid them move away;
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs.
And I will give you audience.

Cas. Pindarus,

Bid our commanders lead their charges off
A little from this ground.

£rM. iLucilius,' do the like; ') and let no man
Come to. our tent, till we have done our conference.
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [jExeunt.

SCENE III.

Within the Tent o/" B r u t u s .

Lucius and Titinius at some distance from it.

Enter Brutus and Cassius.

Cas. That you have wrong'd me, doth appear in this :
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein, my letters, praying on his side.
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case.

Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offence ^) should bear his comment.

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this.
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption.
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

Cas. Chastisement !

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March re-
member !
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,

BXIX.

Act IV.

JULIUS CiESAR.

669

And not for justice? ') What, shall one of us.
That struck the foremost man of all this world.
But for supporting robbers* shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes?
And sell the mighty space of our large honours,
For so much trash as may be grasped thus? —
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon.
Than such a Roman.

Cas. Brutus, bay *") not me,

I'll not endure it: you forget yourself.
To hedge me in; *^) I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions. ^^)

Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassius.

Cas. I am.

Bru. I say, you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.

Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is't possible?

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cas. O ye gods ! ye gods ! Must I endure all this ?

Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud
heait break;
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are.
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen.
Though it do split you: for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is't come to this?

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true.
And it shall please me well: For mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me,
Brutus ;
I said, an elder soldier, not a better:
Did I say, better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have
mov'd me.

Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted
him.

Cas. 1 durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What? durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love,
I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty.
That they pass by me, as the idle wind.
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ; —
For I can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions.
Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous.
To lock such rascal counters from his friends.
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts.
Dash him to pieces!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru. You did.

Cas. I did not: — he was but a fool,

That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd

my heart:
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. *^)

Cas. You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear
As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come.
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is aweary of the world:
Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother;
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd.
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote.
To cast into my teeth! O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; »*)
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
: Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know.
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him

better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.

Bru. Sheath your dagger:

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark.
And straight is cold again.

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

Bru. And my heart too.

Cas. O Brutus! —

Bru. What's the matter?

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour, which my mother gave me.
Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth.

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, ' ^) and leave you so.

[Noise within.

Poet. [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals;
There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet
They be alone.

Luc. [Within.] You shall not come to them.

Poet. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.

Enter Poet.

Cas. How now? What's the matter?

Poet. For shame, you generals;. What do you mean?
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;
For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye.

Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme!

Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence.

Cas. Bear with him, Brutus ; 'tis his fashion. ^

Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time:
What should the wars do with these jigging fools? »«)
Companion, *'') hence.

Cas. Away, away, be gone. [Exit Poefc

Enter Lucilius and Titimus.

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies to-uight

670

JULIUS C^SAR.

Act IV.

Cat. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with
you
Immediately to us. [Exeunt Ldcilius and Titinids.

Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.

Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry.

Bru. O, Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.

Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.

Bru. No man bears sorrow better: — Portia is dead.

Cas. Ha! Portia?

Bru. She is dead.

Cas. How 'scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so ?
O insupportable and touching loss! —
Upon what sickness?

Bru. Impatient of my absence;

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong; — for with her death
That tidings came; — With this she fell distract,
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.

Cas. And died so?

Bru. Even so.

Cas. O ye immortal o-ndsi

Enter Lucius, with Wine and Tapers.

Bru. Speak no more of her. — Give me a bowl

of wine: —

In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks.

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : —

Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;

I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks.

Re-enter Tixrwius, with Messala.

Bru, Come in, Titinius: — Welcome, good Mes-
sala. —
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.

Cas. Portia, art thou gone ?

Bru. No more, I pray you. —

Messala, I have here received letters.
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power,
Bending their expedition toward Philippi.

Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour.

Bru. With what addition?

Mes. That by proscription and bills of outlawry,
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,
Have put to death an hundred senators.

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree;
Mine speak of seventy senators, that died,
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

Cas. Cicero one?

Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead.

And by that order of proscription. —
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

Bru. No, Messala.

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

Bru. Nothing, Messala.

Mes. That, methinks, is strange.

Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?

Mes. No, my lord.

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:
B'or certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die, Messala.
With meditating that she must die once, ^*)
I have the patience to endure it now.

Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure.

Cas. I have as much of this in art ^') as you,
But yet my nature could not bear it so.

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think
Of marching to Philippi presently?

Cas. I do not think it good.

Bru. Your reason?

Cas. This it is :

'Tis better that the enemy seek us:
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still.
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.
The people, 'tvvixt Philippi and this ground.
Do stand but in a forc'd affection;
For they have grudg'd us contribution:
The enemy, marching along by them.
By them shall make a fuller number up.
Come on refresh'd, new added, and encourag'd;
From which advantage shall we cut him off,
If at Philippi we do face him there.
These people at our back.

Cas. Hear me, good brother.

Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note beside.
That we have try'd the utmost of our friends.
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe :
The enemy increaseth every day.
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Cas. Then, with your will, go on ;

We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk.
And nature must obey necessity ;
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to say?

Cas. No more. Good night.

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.

Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.] Farewell,
good Messala: —
Good night, Titinius: — Noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.

Cas. O, my dear brother!

This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls!
Let it not, Brutus.

Bru. Every thing is well.

Cas. Good night, my lord.

Bru. Good night, good brother.

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus.

Bru. Farewell, every one.

[Exeunt Cas. Tit. and Mes.

Re-enter Lucius, with the Gown.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

Luc. Here in the tent.

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ?

Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-watch'd.
Call Claudius, and some other of my men;
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

Luc. Varro and Claudius!

Eater Varro and Claudius.

Var. Calls my lord?

Bru. 1 pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep ;
It may be, I shall raise you by and by
On business to my brother Cassius.

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch
your pleasure.

Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs;
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me.
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so.j
I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie down.

Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me.

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.

KBnc.

Act V,

JULIUS CJESAR.

671

Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile.
And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

Luc. Ay, iny lord, an it please you.

Bru. It does, my boy :

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

Luc. It is my duty, sir.

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might;
I know, young bloods look for a time of rest.

Luc. I have slept, my lord, already,

Bru. It is well done; and thou shalt sleep again;
I will not hold thee long: if I do live,
I will be good to thee. [Music, and a Song.

This is a sleepy tune: — O murd'rous slumber!
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace ^°) upon my boy,
That plays thee music? — Gentle knave, good night;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument;
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.
Let me see, let me see; — Is not the leaf turn'd down.
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

[He sit* down.

Enter the Ghost of C^esab.
How ill this taper burns! — Ha! who comes here?
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes,
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me: — Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

Bru. Why com'st thou ?

Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.

Bru. Well;
Then, I shall see thee again?

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vanishes.

Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. —
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest:
111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. —
Boy ! Lucius ! — Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! —
Claudius !

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — •
Lucius, awake.

Luc. My lord!

Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so cry'dst
out?

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

Bru. Yes, that thou didst : Didst thou see any thing ?

Luc. Nothing, my lord.

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius!
Fellow thou ! awake.

Var. My lord.

Clau. My lord.

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in yonr sleep ?

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ?

Bru. Ay ; Saw you any thing ?

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing.

Clau. Nor I, my lord.

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius ;
Bid him set on his powers betimes before,
And we will follow.

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Plains 0/ Philippi.

Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army.

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered:
You said, the enemy would not come down,
But keep the hills and upper regions;

It proves not so : their battles are at hand ;
They mean to warn us ') at Philippi here.
Answering before we do demand of them.

Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know
Wherefore they do it: they could be content
To visit other places; and come down
With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face.
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;
But 'tis not so.

Enter a Messenger.

Mett. Prepare you, generals:

The enemy comes on in gallant show :
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out.
And something to be done immediately.

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on,
Upon the left hand of the even field.

Oct. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.

Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent?

Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. [March.

Drum. Enter Brutcs, Cassios, and their Army;
LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, and others.

Bru. They stand, and would have parley.

Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and talk.

Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?

Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge.
Make forth, the generals would have some words.

Oct. Stir not until the signal.

Bru. Words before blows: Is it so, countrymen?

Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do.

Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes,
Octavius.

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good
words:
Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart,
Crying, Long live! hail, Ccesar!

Cas. Antony,

The posture of your blows are yet unknown;
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honeyless.

Ant. Not stingless too.

Bru. O, yes, and soundless too;
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony,
And, very wisely, threat before you sting.

Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile daggers
Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar:
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like

hounds.
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet;
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind.
Struck Caesar on the neck. O flatterers ! -)

Cas. Flatterers! — Now, Brutus, thank yourself:
This tongue had not offended so to-day.
If Cassius might have rul'd.

Oct. Come, come, the cause: If arguing make us
sweat.
The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
Look;

I draw a sword against conspirators; ,

When think you that the sword goes up again? —
Never, till Caesar's three-and-twenty wounds
Be well aveng'd; or till another Caesar
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.

Bru. Caesar, thou can'st not die by traitors.
Unless thou bring'st them with thee.
.4)tn\ Oift So I hope;

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.

Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain.
Young man, thou could'st not die more honourable.

Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour,
Join'd with a masker and a reveller.

RKIK.

672

JULIUS CiESAR.

Act V.

Ant. Old Cassius, still!

Oct. Come, Antony; away. —

Defiance, traitors, hurl we ^) in your teeth:
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field;
If not, when you have stomachs.

[Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army.

Cas. Why now, blow, wind; swell, billow; and
swim, bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.

Bru. Ho!
Lucilius; hark, a word with you.

Luc. My lord.

[BauTUS and Lucilius converse apart.

Cat. Messala, —

Met. What says my general?

Cat. Messala,

This is ray birth-day; at this very day
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:
Be thou my witness, that, against my will,
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set
Upon one battle all our liberties.
You know, that I held Epicurus strong.
And his opinion: now I change my mind,
And partly credit things that do presage.
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign •*)
Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch'd.
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands;
Who to Philippi here consorted us;
This morning are they fled away, and gone;
And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites,
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us,
As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.

Mes. Believe not so.

Cat. I but believe it partly ;

For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd
To meet all perils very constantly.

Bru. Even so, Lucilius.

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus,

The gods to-day stand friendly; that we may,
Lovei's in peace, lead on our days to age!
But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain,
Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
If we do lose this battle, then is this
The very last time we shall speak together:
What are you then determined to doY *)

Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy, ^)
By which I did blame Cato for the death
Which he did give himself: — I know not how,
But I do find it cowardly and vile.
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
The time of life : — arming myself with patience, ')
To stay the providence of some high powers.
That govern us below.

Cas. Then, if we lose this battle.

You are contented to be led in triumph
Thorough the streets of Rome?

Bru. No, Cassius, no : think not, thou noble Roman,
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;
lie bears too great a mind. But this same day
Must end that work, the ides of Maxxh begun;
And whether we shall meet again, I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take: —
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius!
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then this parting was well made.

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus !
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made.

Bru. Why then, lead on. — O, that a man might
know
The end of this day's business, ere it come!

But it sufficeth, that the day will end.
And then the end is known. — Come, ho ! away !

[^Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. The Field of Battle.

Alarum. Enter Bhutus and Messala.

Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills
Unto the legions on the other side: [Loud Alarum.
Let them set on at once; for I perceive
But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing,
And sudden push gives them the overthrow.
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down.

[^Exeunt.

SCENE III.
The same. Another Part of the Field.
Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.

Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy:
This ensign here of mine was turning back;
I slew the coward, and did take it from him.

Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early :
Who having some advantage on Octavius,
Took it too eagerly; his soldiers fell to spoil,
Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd.

Enter Pindarus.

Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further ofl";
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord!
Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.

Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;
Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire?

TV'f. They are, my lord.

Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me,

Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him,
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops.
And here again; that I may rest assur'd.
Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy.

Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought.

[Exit.

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill;
My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius,
And tell me what thou not'st about the field. —

[Exit PiNBARUa.

This day I breathed first: time is come round,

And where I did begin, there shall I end;

My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what news ?

Pin. [Above.] O my lord!

Cas. What news?

Pin. Titinius is
Enclosed round about with horsemen, that
Make to him on the spur; — yet he spurs on. —
Now they are almost on him; now, Titinius! —
Now some 'light : — O, he 'lights too : — he's ta'en ; -

and, hark ! [Shout.

They shout for joy.

Cas. Come down, behold no more. —

O, coward that I am, to live so long.
To see my best friend ta'en before my face!

Enter Pindarus.
Come hither, sirrah:
In Parthia did I take thee prisoner;
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,
That whatsoever I did bid thee do,
Thou should'st attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath !
Now be a freeman; and, with this good sword.
That ran through Ceesar's bowels, search this bosom.

XBIB.

Act V.

JULIUS CtESAR

673

Stand not to answer; Here, take thou the hilts;
And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now.
Guide thou the sword. — Caesar, thou art reveng'd.
Even with the sword that kiil'd thee. [Vies.

Pin. So, I am free; yet would not so have been,
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius!
Far from this country Pindarus shall run,
Where never Roman shall take note of him. [Exit,

Re-enter Titinius, mtJt Mbssala.

Met. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power,
As Cassius' legions are by Antony.

Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius.

Mes. Where did you leave him?

Tit. All disconsolate,

With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.

Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground?

Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart!

Mes. Is not that he?

Tit. No, this was he, Messala,

But Cassius is no more. — O setting sun !
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night.
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set:
The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone;
Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done!
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.

0 hateful error, melancholy's child!

Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
The things that are not? O error soon conceiv'd,
Thou never com'st unto a happy birth.
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee.

Tit. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus?

Mes. Seek him, Titinius: whilst I go to meet
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report
Into his ears: I may say, thrusting it;
For piercing steel, and darts envenomed.
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus,
As tidings of this sight.

Tit. Hie you, Messala,

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. [-BxjtMEssAiiA.
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?
Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they
Put on ray brows this wreath of victory,
And bid me giv't thee ! *) Didst thou not hear their

shouts ?
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing.
But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding. — Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. —
By your leave, gods: — This is a Roman's part:
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. [Dies.

Alarum. Re-enter Messala, withBuvTva, young
Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius.

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

Mes. Lo, yonder; and Titinius mourning it.

Bru. Titinius' face is upward.

Cato. He is slain.

Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords
In our own proper entrails. [Low Alarums.

Cato. Brave Titinius!

Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius!

Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these ? —
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
It is impossible, that ever Rome
Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more tears
To this dead man, than you shall see me pay. —

1 shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. —
Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body;

His funeral shall not be in our camp.
Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come; —
And come, young Cato; let us to the field. —
Labeo, and Flavins, set our battles on : —
'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night
We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Eseunt.

SCENE IV.

Another part of the Field.

Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers ofbothArmiet;
then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others.

Bru. Yet countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!

Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
I will proclaim ray name about the field : —
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho !
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! [Charges the Enemy.

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus I;
Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus.
[Exit, charging the Enemy. Cato is over-
powered, and falls.

Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down?
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius;
And may'st be honour'd being Cato's son. ')

1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest.

Luc. Only I yield to die.

There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight;

[Offering Money.
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.

1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner!

2 Sold. Room, ho ! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en.

1 Sold. I'll tell the news. — Here comes the ge-
neral: —

Enter ANTosr.
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.

Ant. Where is he?

Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough;
I dare assure thee, that no enemy
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus:
The gods defend him from so great a shame!
When you do find him, or alive, or dead.
He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure you,
A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe,
Give him all kindness: I had rather have
Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on.
And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead:
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent.
How every thing is chanc'd. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Field.

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato,
and Volumnius.

Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, ray lord,
He came not back; he is or ta'en, or slain.

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: Slaying is the word;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. —

[Whispering.

Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

Bru. Peace then, no words.

Cli. m rather kill myself.

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius! [Whispers him.

Bar. I do such a deed?'")

Cli. O, Dardanius!

Dar. O, Clitus!

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

XKIX.

43

674

JULIUS C^SAR.

Act V.

Dar. To kill hiin, Clitus: Look, he meditates.

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
That it runs over even at his eyes.

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word.

Vol. What says my lord?

Bru. Why, this, Volumnius:

The ghost of Caesar hath appeared to me
Two several times by night: at Sardis, once;
And this last night, here in Philippi' fields.
I know, my hour is come.

Vol. Not so, my lord.

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:
It is more worthy, to leap in ourselves,
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st, that we two went to school together;
Even for that our love of old, I pray thee.
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord.

* [Alarum still.

Cli. Ply, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.

Bru. Farewell to you — and you; — and you,

Volumnius. —
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep:
Farewell to thee too, Strato. — Countrymen,
My heart doth joy, that yet, in all my life,
I found no man, but he was true to me.
I shall have glory by this losing day.
More than Octavius and Mark Antony,
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
So, fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history;
Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest.
That have but labour'd to attain this hour.

[Alarum. Cry within: Fly, fly, fly.

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly.

Bru. Hence; I will follow thee. **)

[Exeunt Clitus, Dahdanibs, and Volumnids.
I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:

Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face.
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
Stra. Give me your hand first: Fare you well,

my lord.
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — Caesar, now be still:
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.

[He runs on his Stoord, and dies.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony,
Mbssala, LuciLius, and their Army.

Oct. What man is that?

Mes. My master's man. — Strato, where is thy
master ?

Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala.
The conquerors can but make a fire of him;
For Brutus only overcame himself.
And no man else hath honour by his death.

Luc. So Brutus should be found. — I thank thee,
Brutus,
That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. *-)

Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them. * ^)
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. •*)

Oct. Do so, Messala. '^}

Mes. How died my master, Strato?

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it.

Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest service to my master.

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all:
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;
He only, in a general honest thought.
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle; and the elements
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, This was a man!

Oct. According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie.
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. —
So call the field to rest: and let's away.
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt.

KXIK.

XXX.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

M. Antony,

OCTAVIUS CjESAR,

M. ^MiL. Lepidus,
Sbxtcs Pompbics.
DoMiTics Enobarbus,
Vbntidius,

Eros,

ScARUS,

Dercetas,

Demetrius,

Philo,

MbCjBNAS,

Agrippa,

Doi<ABELLA,

Procclbius,

Thyreus,

Gallus,

Triumvirs.

Friends of Antony.

Friends to Caesar.

Menas,

Menkcrates, ^ Friends of Pompey.
Varrius,

Taurus, Lieutenant- General to Caesar.
Canidius, Lieutenant -General to Antony,
SiLius, an Officer in Ventidius'* Army.
EuphRonius, an Ambassador from Antony to Caesar.
Alexas, Mardian, Sbleucus, and Diomeobs; At-
tendants on Cleopatra.
A Soothsayer.
A Clown.

Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.

Octavia, Sister to Caesar, and Wife to Antony.

Sit*"^'^^' I -Attendants on Cleopatra.
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
Scene — dispersed; in several Parts of the Roman Empire.

ACT I.

Scene I. Alexandria. A Room »n Cleopa-
tra's Palace.

Enter Demetrius and Philo.
Philo.
Nay, but this dotage of our general's,
O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes.
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn.
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart.
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges *) all temper;
And is become the bellows, and the fan.
To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come!

Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with

their Trains; Eunuchs /anwtn^ her.
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar -) of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see.

Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much.

Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

Cleo. I'll set a bourn *) how far to be belov'd.

Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven,
new earth.

Enter an Attendant.

Att. News, my good lord, from Rome.

■Ant. Grates me : — The sum. *)

Cleo. Nay, hear them, *) Antony:
Fulvia, perchance, is angry; Or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you. Do this^ or this;

KXK.

Take in that kingdom, ^) and enfranchise that;
Perform'tf or else we damn thee.

Ant. How, my love!

Cleo. Perchance, — nay, and most like,
You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. —
Where's Fulvia's process ? '') Cajsar's I would say? —

Both? —
Call in the messengers. — As I am Egypt's queen,
Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine
Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame.
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. —The messengers.

Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt! and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space;
Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life
Is, to do thus; when such a mutual pair, [Embracing.
And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet, ^)
We stand up peerless.

Cleo. Excellent falsehood!

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? —
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself. "^

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. —

Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, ')
Let's not confound the time ' °) with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now: What sport to-night?

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors.

Ant. Fye, wrangling queen!

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd!
No messenger; but thine and all alone, ' *)
To-nieht we'll wander through the streets, and note

43*

676

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act I.

The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
Last night you did desire it : — Speak not to us.
\^xeunt Ant. and Gleof. with their Train.

Dem. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight?

Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.

Dem. I'm full sorry,

That he approves the common liar, '-) who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!

[^Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Another Room.

Enter Charmian, Iras, Albxas, and a
Soothsayer.

Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything
Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the
soothsayer that you praised so to the queen? O,
that I knew this husband, which, you say, must
change his horns with garlands! *^)

Alex. Soothsayer.

Sooth. Your will?

Char. Is this the man? — Is't you, sir, that know
things ?

Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy,
A little I can read.

Alex. Show him your hand.

Enter Enobarbus.

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough,
Cleopatra's health to drink.

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune.

Sooth. I make not, but foresee.

Char. Pray then, foresee me one.

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are.

Char. He means, in flesh.

Iras. No, you shall paint, when you are old.

Char. Wrinkles forbid!

Alex. Vex not his prescience; be attentive.

Char. Hush!

Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved.

Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.

Alex. Nay, hear him.

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me
be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow
them all: let me have a child at fifty, to whom
Herod of Jewry may do homage: ^'*) find me to
marry me with Octavius Cajsar, and companion
me with my mistress.

Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.

Char. O excellent! I love long life better than
figs. ' *)

Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former
fortune
Than that which is to approach.

Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no
names: "') 'Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches
must I have?

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb,
And fertile every wish, a million. *')

Char. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.

Alex. You think, none but your sheets are privy
to your wishes.

Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.

Alex, We'll know all our fortunes.

Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night,
shall be — drunk to bed.

Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing
else.

Char. Even as the overflowing Nilus presageth
famine.

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.

Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog-
nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. — 'Pr'ythee,
tell her but a worky-day fortune.

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike.

Iras. But how, but how? give me particulars.

Sooth. I have said.

Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?

Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune
better than I, where would you choose it?

Iras. Not in my husband's nose.

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! Alexas,
— come, his fortune, his fortune. — O, let him
marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I be-
seech thee! And let her die too, and give him a
worse! and let worse follow worse, till the worst
of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a
cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though
thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis,
I beseech thee!

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of
the people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a
handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow
to behold a foul knave uncuckolded; Therefore,
dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly !

Char. Amen.

Alex. Lo, now! if it lay in their hands to make
me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores,
but they'd do't.

Eno. Hush! here comes Antony.

Char. Not he, the queen.

Enter Cleopatra.

Cleo. Saw you my lord?
Eno. No, lady.

Cleo. Was he not here?

Char. No, madam.

Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth ; but on the sudden
A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus, —
Eno. Madam.
Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's

Alexas ?
Alex. Here, madam, '^) at your service. — My

lord approaches.

Enter Antony, with a Messenger, and At-
tendants.

Cleo. We will not look upon him: Go with us.

[^Exeunt Clbopatka, Enobakbus, Alesas, JaAS,
Charmian, Soothsayer, and AttendantH.

Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.

Ant. Against my brother Lucius?

Mess. Ay:
But soon that war had end, and the time's state
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst

Caesar ;
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them.

Ant. Well,

What worst?

Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller.

Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On :
Things, that are past, are done, with me. — 'Tis thus ;
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.

Mess. Labienus

(This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force.
Extended Asia from Euphrates; *')
His conquering banner shook, from Syria
To Lydia, and to Ionia;
Whilst

XKX.

Act I.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

677

Ant. Antony, thou would'st say, —

Mess. O, my lord !

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general
tongue ;
Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome:
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults
With such full licence, as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds.
When our quick winds lie still; * ") and our ills told us.
Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while.

Mest. At your noble pleasure. \Exit.

Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there.

1 Alt. The man from Sicyon. — Is there such an

one?

2 Att. He stays upon your will.

Ant. Let him appear, —

These strong Egyptian fetters 1 must break,

Enter another Messenger.
Or lose myself in dotage. — What are you?

2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead.

Ant. Where died she?

2 Mess. In Sicyon :
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a Letter.

Ant. Forbear me. —

\Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:
What our contempts do often hurl from us.
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure.
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself: -') she's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back, -^) thatshov'dheron.
I must from this enchanting queen break off;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know.
My idleness doth hatch. — How now! Enobarbus!

Enter Enobarbus.

Eno. What's your pleasure, sir?

Ant. I must with haste from hence.

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: We see
how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer
our departure, death's the word.

Ant. I must be gone.

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die:
It were pity to cast them away for nothing; though,
between them and a great cause, they should be
esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least
noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty
times upon far poorer moment : -^) I do think, there
is mettle in death, which commits some loving act
upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought.

Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of no-
thing but the finest part of pure love: We cannot
call her winds and waters, sighs and tears; they
are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can
report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she
makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

Ant. 'Would I had never seen her!

Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonder-
ful piece of work; which not to have been blessed
withal, would have discredited your travel.

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Sir?

Ant. Fulvia is dead.

Eno. Fulvia?

Ant. Dead.

Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice.
When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of
a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the
earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are
worn out, there are members to make new. If there

were no more women but Fulvia, then had you in-
deed a cut, and the case to be lamented; this grief
is crowned with consolation ; your old smock brings
I forth a new petticoat : — and, indeed, the tears live
in an onion, that should water this sorrow.

Ant. The business she hath broached in the state.
Cannot endure my absence.

Eno. And the business you have broached here
cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopa-
tra's, which wholly depends on your abode.

Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break
The cause of our expedience -*) to the queen.
And get her loA'e to part. **) For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, * *")
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius
Hath given the dare to Caesar, and comnmnds
The empire of the sea : our slippery people
(Whose love is never link'd to the deserver,
Till his deserts are past,) begin to throw
Pompey the great, and all his dignities.
Upon his son; who, high in name and power.
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier: whose quality, going on,
The sides o'the world may danger : Much is breeding.
Which, like the courser's hair, -') hath yet but life,
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure,
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.

Eno. I shall do't. \Exeant.

SCENE III.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alex.4s.

Cleo. Where is he?

Char. I did not see him since.

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he
does : —
I did not send you; — -^) If you find him sad.
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return.

[Exit Alex.

Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly.
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.

Cleo. What should I do, I do not?

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in
nothing.

Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool : the way to lose him.

Char. Tempt him not so too far : I wish, forbear ;
In time we hate that which we often fear.

Enter Antony.

But here comes Antony.

Cleo. I ti-va. sick, and sullen.

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose, —

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fail;
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.

Ant. Now, my dearest queen, —

Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me.

Ant. What's the matter?

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good
news.
What says the married woman ? — You may go ;
'Would, she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here,
I have no power upon you; hers you are.

Ant. The gods best know, —

Cleo. O, never was there queen

KIIX.

678

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act I.

So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.

Ant. Cleopatra, —

Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and
true.
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods.
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows.
Which break themselves in swearing!

Ant. Most sweet queen, —

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go : when you sued staying,
Then was the time for words : No going then ; —
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes;
Bliss in our brows' bent; -^) none our parts so poor.
But was a race of heaven: ^°) They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world.
Art turn'd the greatest liar.

Ant. How now, lady!

Cleo. I would, I had thy inches; thou should' st know.
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant. Hear me, queen:

The strong necessity of time commands
Our services a while: but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome:
Equality of two domestic powers
Breeds scrupulous faction: The hated, grown to

strength.
Are newly grown to love : the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change: My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my

going, 3')
Is Fulvia's death.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me
freedom.
It does from childishness: — Can Fulvia die? ^-)

Ant. She's dead, my queen:
Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd; ^^) at the last, best:
See when, and where she died.

Cleo. O most false love !

Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill
With sorrowful water? ^*) Now I see, I see.
In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be.

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease.
As you shall give the advice: Now, by the fire.
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence,
Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war.
As thou affect'st.

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmlan, come; —

But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well:
So Antony loves. ^^)

Ant. My precious queen, forbear;

And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.

Cleo. So Fulvia told me.

I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears
Belong to Egypt: ^^) Good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling; and let it look
Like perfect honour.

Ant. You'll heat my blood; no more.

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

Ant. Now, by my sword, —

Cleo. And target, — Still he mends;

But this is not the best; Look, 'pry'thee, Charmlan,

How this Herculean Roman 3') does become
The carriage of his chafe.

Ant. I'll leave you, lady.

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part, — but that's not it;
Sir, you and I have lov'd — but there's not it;
That you know well: Something it is I would, —
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten. ^^)

Ant. But that your royalty

Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself. ^^)

Cleo. 'TIs sweating labour,

To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me, "*") when they do not
Eye well to you: Your honour calls you hence;
Therefore be deaf to my unpltied folly,
And all the gods go with you! upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory! *^) and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!

Ant. Let us go. Come;

Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me.
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away. [Exeunt.

SCENE rv.

Rome. An Apartment in Caesar's House.
Enter Octavius CjEsab, Lepidus, and Attendants.

C(zs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate
One great competitor: ^-) from Alexandria
This is the news ; He fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy
Moie womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners: You shall

find there
A man, who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.

Lep. I must not think, there are

Evils enough to darken all his goodness:
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven.
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary.
Rather than purchas'd; *^) what he cannot change.
Than what he chooses.

C(B8. You are too indulgent: Let us grant, it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy;
To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat; say this becomes him,
(As his composure must be rare indeed.
Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must Antony
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. ■''*) If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness.
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones.
Call on him for't: ''^) but, to confound such time.
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid
As we rate boys ; who, being mature in knowledge.
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure.
And so rebel to judgment.

Enter a Messenger.

Lep. Here's more news.

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,
Most noble Ca;sar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea;

XKK.

Act I.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

079

And it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Caesar; to the ports
The discontents lepair, **) and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.
Cat. I should have known no less —

It hath been taught us from the primal state,
That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were;
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love.
Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body,
Like a vagabond flag upon the stream.
Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, ^^)
To rot itself with motion.
Mets. Caesar, I bring thee word,

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates.
Make the sea ser\e them; which they ear '**) and

wound
With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on't, •»') and flush youth *•>)

revolt :
No vessel can peep forth, bat 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more.
Than could his war resisted.
CiB$. Antony,

Leave thy lascivious wassels. ^') When thou once
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow ; whom thou fought'st against
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer: Thou didst drink
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle *-)
Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did

deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets.
The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps,
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh.
Which some did die to look on : And all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now,)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
Lep. It is pity of him.

Cas. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome: 'Tis time we twain
Did show ourselves i'the field; and, to that end.
Assemble we immediate council: Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.

Lep. To-morrow, Caesar,

I shall be fumish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able.
To 'front this present time.

Ca$. Till which encounter.

It is my business too. Farewell.
Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know
mean time
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir.
To let me be partaker.

€"«»• Doubt not, sir;]

I knew it for my bond. *^) ' [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, ani Mardian.

Cleo. Charmian, —

Char. Madam.

Cleo. Ha, ha! —
Give me to drink mandragora. *^)

(-'fior. Why, madam?

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of
time.
My Antony is away.

Char. You think of him

Too much.

Cleo. O, treason! *5)

Char. Madam, I trust, not so.

Cleo. Thou, eunuch! iMardian!

Mar. ^ What's your highness' pleasure?

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; 1 take no pleasure
In aught an eunuch has: 'Tis well for thee.
That, being unseminard, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egjpt. Hast thou aff"ectioiis?

Mar. Yes, gracious madam.

Cleo. Indeed? .

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing
But what in deed is honest to be done :
Yet I have fierce affections, and think.
What Venus did with Mars.

Cleo. O Charmian,

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony !
Do bravely, horse ! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of men. — ^^) He's speaking now.
Or murmuring, Where'a my serpent of old Nilet
For so he calls me; Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison : — Think on me.
That am with Phoebus'^ amorous pinches black.
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, *')
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspect, and die
With looking on Ms life. '

Enter Albxas.
Mex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail!

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath
With his tinct gilded thee. — * «)
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony!

Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen.
He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, —
This orient pearl ; — His speech sticks in my heart
Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
Alex. Good friend, quoth he,

Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt tends
Thit treasure of an oyster; at whose foot
To mend the petty pretent, I will piece
Her opulent throne with hingdomt; All the eatt.
Say thou, thall call her mistress. So he nodded.
And soberly did mount a termagant steed, *')
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.
Cleo. VVhat, was he sad, or merry?

Alex. Like to the time o'the year between the ex-
tremes
Of heat and cold ; he was nor sad^ nor merry.
Cleo. O well-divided disposition ! — Note him.
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man ; but note hinu
He was not sad; for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his: he was not merry;
Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy : but between both :
O heavenly mingle ! — Be'st thou sad, or merry.
The violence of either thee becomes;
So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my posts?
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers:
Why do you send so thick? "*)
Cleo. Who's born that day

When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian. —
Welcome, my good Alexas. — Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Caesar so?

680

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act II.

Char. O that brave Caesar!

Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis!
Say, the brave Antony.

Char. The valiant Caesar!

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,
If thou with Caesar paragon again
My man of men.

Char. By your most gracious pardon,

I sing but after you.

Cleo. My sallad days;

When I was green in judgment: — Cold in blood,
To say, as I said then! But, come, away:
Get me ink and paper: he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.''')

\Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Messina. A Room in Pompey'»
House.

Enter Pompey, Menbcratbs, and Mbnas.

Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
The deeds of justest men.

Mene. Know, worthy Pompey,

That what they do delay, they not deny.

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays
The thing we sue for.

Mene. - We, ignorant of ourselves.

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers
Deny us for our good; so find we profit,
By losing of our prayers.

Pom. I shall do well:

The people love me, and the sea is mine;
My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope
Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make
No wars without doors : Caesar gets money, where
He loses hearts: Lepidus flatters both.
Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,
Nor either cares for him.

Men. Caesar and Lepidus

Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry.

Pom. Where have you this ? 'tis false.

Men. From Silvius, sir.

Pom. He dreams; I know, they are in Rome to-
gether.
Looking for Antony: But all charms of love ')
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip! ^)
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both!
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts.
Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks.
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite;
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour.
Even till a lethe'd dullness. — ^) How now, Varrius?

Enter Varrius.

Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver:
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
Expected; since he went from Egypt, 'tia
A space for further travel. *)

Pom. I could have given less matter

A better ear. — Menas, I did not think.
This amorous surfeiter would have don'd his helm *)
For such a petty war: his soldiership
Is twice the other twain: But let us rear
The higher our opinion, that our stirring
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow ') pluck
The ne'er lust-wearied Antony.

Men. I cannot hope, ')

Caesar and Antony shall well gi'eet together:

His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Caesar;
His brother >varr'd upon him; although, I think.
Not moved by Antony.
Pom. I know not, Menas,

How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
Were't not that we stand up against them all,
'Twere pregnant they should square ^) between

themselves ;
For they have entertained cause enough
To draw their swords: but how the fear of us
May cement their divisions, and bind up
The petty difference, we yet not know.
Be it as our gods will have it! It only stands
Our lives upon, ') to use our strongest hands.
Come, Menas. [Exeunt. »<*)

SCENE II.

Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus.

Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus.

Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed.
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
To soft and gentle speech.

Eno. I shall entreat him

To answer like himself: if Caesar move him,
Let Antony look over Caesar's head.
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,
I would not shav't to day. ^')

Lep. 'Tis not a time

For private stomaching.

Eno. Every time

Serves for the matter that is then born in it.

Lep. But small to greater matters must give way.

Eno. Not if the small come first.

Lep. Your speech is passion:

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes
The noble Antony.

Enter Antony and Ventidius.
Eno. And yonder, Caesar.

Enter C^sab, Mec^nas, and Agrippa.

Ant. If we compose well here, *-) to Parthia:
Hark you, Ventidius.

Cas. I do not know,

Mecaenas; ask Agrippa.

Lep. Noble friends.

That which combin'd us was most great, and let not
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss.
May it be gently heard: When we debate
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit
Murder in healing wounds: Then, noble partners,
(The rather, for I earnestly beseech,)
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms.
Nor curstness grow to the matter. ^^)

Ant. 'Tis spoken well:

Were we before our armies, and to fight,
I should do thus.

Cas. Welcome to Rome.

Ant. Thank you.

Cas. Sit.

Ant. Sit, sir!

Cas. Nay,

Then —

Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so ;
Or, being, concern you not.

Cas. I must be laugh'd at.

If, or for nothing, or a little, I
Should say myself offended; and with you
Chiefly i'the world: more laugh'd at, that I should

XKB.

Act II.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

681

Once name yoa derogately, ^rhen to sound your name
It not concern'd me.

Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar,

What was't to you?

Cat. No more than my residing here at Rome
Might be to you in Egypt: Yet, if you there
Did practise on my state, '*) your being in Egypt
Might be my question. '*)

Ant. How intend you, practis'd?

CetM. Yon may be pleasM to catch at mine intent.
By what did here befall me. Your wife, and brother,
Made wars upon me; and their contestation
Was theme for you, you were the word of war. * ')

Ant. You do mistake your business ; my brother never
Did lu'ge me in his act: I did enquire it;
And have my learning from some true reports, *^)
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather
Discredit my authority with yours;
And make the wars alike against my stomach.
Having alike your cause? Of this, my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel.
As matter whole you have not to make it with.
It must not be with this.

Cat. You praise yourself

By laying defects of judgment to me ; but
You patcfa'd up your excuses.

Ant. Not so, not so;

I know you coidd not lack, I'm certain on't.
Very necessity of this thought, that I,
Y''our partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars
Which 'fronted ^ ^) mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another: *')
The third o'the world is yours ; which with a snaffle
You may pace easy, but not such a Wfe.

Eno. 'Would we had all such ^^'ives, that the men
Might go to wars with the women!

Ant. )So much uncurable, her garboils, Caesar,
Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted
Shrewdness of policy too,) I grieying grant.
Did you too much disquiet: for that, yoa must
But say, I could not help it.

Cat. I wrote to you.

When rioting in Alexandria; you
Did pocket up my letters, emd with taunts
Did gibe my missive out of audience.

Ant. Sir,

He fell upon me, ere admitted; then.
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what 1 was i'the morning: but, next day,
I told him of myself; *°) which was as much
As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow
Be nothing of our strife; if we coutend.
Out of oar question wipe him.

Cat. You have broken

The article of your oath; which you shall never
Have tongue to charge me with.

I^fp- Soft, Caesar.

Ant. No, Lepidns, let him speak;
The honour's sacred -*) which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it: But on, Caesar;
The article of my oath, —

Cat. To lend me arms, and aid, when I requir'd
them;
The which you both denied.

^i^t- Neglected, rather;

And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
Work without it: '^) Truth is, that Fulvia,

To have me out of Egj-pt, made wars here;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do

So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.

Lep. 'Tis nobly spoken. *^)

Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no further
The griefs -•*) between ye: to forget them quite,
Were to remember that the present need
Speaks to atone you. -')

Lief. Worthily spoke, Mecaenas.

Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the
instant, you may, when you hear no more words of
Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to
wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do.

Ant. Thou art a soldier only! speak no more.

Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost
forgot.

Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no
more.

Eno. Go to, then; your considerate stone. -*)

Cat. I do not much dislike the matter, but
The manner of his speech: for it cannot be.
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew
What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge
O' the world I would pursue it.

Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, —

Cat. Speak, Agrippa.

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's nde,
Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.

Cat. Say not so, Agrippa;

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
Were well deserv'd of raishness.

Ant. I am not married, Caesar: let me hear
Agrippa further speak.

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity.
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an unslipping knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife: whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men;
Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage,
All little jealousies, which now seem great.
And all great fears, which now import their dangers.
Would then be nothing : truths would be but tales,^ ')
Where now half tales be truth: her love to both,
Would, each to other, aoid all loves to both.
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought.
By duty ruminated.

Ant. Will Caesar speak?

Cat. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
With what is spoke already.

Ant. What power is in Agrippa,

If I would say, AgrippOf be it »0, ^
To make this good?

Cat. The power of Caesar, and

His power unto Octavia.

Ant. May I never

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows.
Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand :
Further this act of grace; and, from this hour.
The heart of brothers govern in our loves.
And sway our great designs!

Cat. There is my hand.

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly: Let her live
To join her kingdoms, and our hearts; and never
Fly off our loves again!

hep. Happily, amen!

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst
Pompey ;
For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great.
Of late upon me: I must thank him only.

XKX.

682

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act II.

Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; -*)
At heel of that, defy him.*

Lep. Time calls upon us:

Of us ") must Porapey presently be sought.
Or else he seeks out us.

Ant. And where lies he? ^'*)

Ctes. About the Mount Misenum.

Ant. What's his strength

By land?

Cas. Great, and increasing: but by sea
He is an absolute master.

Ant. So is the fame.

'Would, we had spoke together! Haste we for it:
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we
The business we have talk'd of.

Cas. With most gladness;

And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I will lead you.

Ant. Let us, Lepldus,

Not lack your company.

Lep. Noble Antony,

Not sickness should detain me.

[Flourish. Exeunt C«;8An, Ant., and Lepidhs.

Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir.

Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas ! —
my honourable friend, Agrippa! —

Agr. Good Enobarbus!

Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are
so well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt.

Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance,
and made the night light with drinking.

Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a break-
fast, and but twelve persons there; Is this true?

Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we had
much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily
deserved noting.

Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be
square to her. ^ ')

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed
up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus.

Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my reporter
devised well for hei'.

Eno. I will tell you:
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were

silver ;
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster.
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person.
It beggar'd all description; she did lie
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,)
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see.
The fancy out-work nature: on each side her.
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool.
And what they undid, did. •'^)

Agr. O, rare for Antony!

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i'the eyes, ^^)
And made their bends adornings : ^ *) at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands.
That yarely frame the office. ^ *) From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone.
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy.
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.

Agr. Rare Egyptian!

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper: she replied.
It should be better, he became her guest;
Which she entreated: Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak.
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart.
For what his eyes eat only.

Agr. Royal wench!

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed;
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd.

Eno. I saw her once

Hop forty paces through the public street :
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted.
That she did make defect, perfection.
And, breathless, power breathe forth.

Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly.

Eno. Never; he will not;
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety: Other women
Cloy th' appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her; that the holy priests
Bless her, when she is riggish. ^')

Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is
A blessed lottery ^') to him.

Agr. Let us go. —

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest.
Whilst you abide here.

Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The same. A Room in Caesar't House.

Enter Caesar, Antony, Octavia between them;
Attendants, and a Soothsayer.

Ant. The world, and my great office, will sometimes
Divide me from your bosom.

Octa. All which time

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers
To them for you.

Ant. Good night, sir. — My Octavia,

Read not my blemishes in the world's report:
I have not kept my square; but that to come
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady. —

Octa. Good night, sir.

C/es. Good night. [Exeunt C^ksab and Octavia.

Ant. Now, sirrah! you do wish yourself in Egypt?

Sooth. 'Would I had never come from thence, nor you
Thither!

Ant. If you can, your reason ?

Sooth. I see't in

My motion, ^^) have it not in my tongue: But yet
Hie you again to Egypt.

Ant. Say to me,

Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's, or mine?

Sooth. Caesar's.
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side:
Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable.
Where Caesar's is not; but, near him, thy angel
Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd; therefore
Make space enough between you.

Atit. Speak this no more.

Sooth. To none but thee; no more, but when to thee.
If thou dost play with him at any game.
Thou art sure to lose; and, of that natural luck.
He beats thee 'gainst the odds; thy lustre thickens,
When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit

Act II.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

683

Is all afraid to govern thee near him;
But, he away, 'tis noble.

Ant. Get thee gone:

Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him: —

[Exit Soothsayer.
He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap.
He hath spoken true: The very dice obey him 5
And, in our sports, my better cunning faints
Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds:
His cocks do win the battle still of mine,
When it is all to nought; and his quails ^') ever
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds, *") I will to Egypt:
And though I make this marriage for my peace.

Enter Ventidius.

I'the east my pleasure lies : — O, come, Ventidius,
You must to Parthia; your commission's ready:
Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt.

SCENE rv.

The same. A Street.
Enter Lbpidus, Mec^nas, and Agrippa.

Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you,
hasten
Your generals after.

Agr. Sir, Mark Antony

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.

Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress,
Which will become you both, farewell.

Mec. We shall.

As I conceive the journey, be at mount *')
Before you, Lepidus.

Lep. Your way is shorter.

My purposes do draw me much about;
You'll win two days upon me.

Mec. Agr. Sir, good success !

Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.

Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food **)
Of us that trade in love.
Attend. The music, ho!

Enter Mardian.

Cleo. Let it alone; let us to billiards: ^^)
Come, Charmian.

Char. INIy arm is sore, best play with Mardian.

Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd.
As with a woman; — Come, you'll play with me, sir?

Mar. As well as I can, madam.

Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though it
come too short.
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now ; —
Give me mine angle, — We'll to the river: there.
My music playing far off, I will betray
Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up,
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say. Ah, ha! you're caught.

Char. 'Twas merry, when

You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.

Cleo. That time ! — O times ! —

I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night
I laugh'd him into patience: and next morn.
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk biin to his bed;

Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst
I wore his sword Philippan. O ! from Italy ;

Enter a Messenger.
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.

Mess. Madam, madam, —

Cleo. Antony's dead? —
If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress:
But well and free.

If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here
My bluest veins to kiss; a hand, that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.

Mess. First, madam, he's well.

Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark;

we use
To say, the dead are well: bring it to that.
The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.

Mess. Good madam, hear me.

Cleo. Well, go to, I will;

But there's no goodness in thy face: If Antony
Be free and healthful, — why so tart a favour
To trumpet such good tidings? If not well.
Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes,
Not like a formal man. '**)

Mies*. Will't please yon, hear me?

Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st:
Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.

Mess. Madam, he's well.

Cleo. Well said.

Mess. And friends with Caesar.

Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man.

Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.

Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me.

Mess. But yet, madam, —

Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay
The good precedence; "**) fye upon but yet:
But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor. 'Pr'ythee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear.
The good and bad together: He's friends with

Caesar;
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.

Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report:
He's bound unto Octavia.

Cleo. For what good turn?

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed.

Cleo. I am pale, Charmiiui.

Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia.

Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee!

[Strikea him doum.

Mess. Good madam, patience.

Cleo. What say you? — Hence,

[Strikes biin again.
Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;

[She hales him up and doum.
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine,
Smarting in ling'ring pickle.

Mess. Gracious madam,

I, that do bring the news, made not the match.

Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee.
And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst
Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage:
And I will boot thee with what gift beside
Thy modesty can beg.

Mess. He's married, madam.

Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long.

[Draws a Dagger.

KKK.

684

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act II.

Mess. Nay, then I'll run: —

What mean you, madam? I have made no fault.

[Exit.

Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself;
The man is innocent.

Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. —
Melt figypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
Turn all to serpents! — Call the slave again;
Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call.

Char, tie is afeard to come.

Cleo. I will not hurt him: —

These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself; "') since I myself
Have given myself the cause. — Come hither, sir.

Re-enter Messenger.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news: Give to a gracious message
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves, when they be felt.

Mess. I have done my duty.

Cleo. Is he married?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do.
If thou again say. Yes.

Mess. He is married, madam.

Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold
there still?

Mess. Should I lie, madam?

Cleo. O, I would, thou didst;

So half my Egypt were submerg'd, '*') and made
A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence:
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married?

Mess. I crave your highness' pardon.

Cleo. He is married?

Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend you :
To punish me for what you make me do,
Seems much unequal: he is married to Octavia.

Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee.
That art not! — What? thou'rt sure oft? — *«}

Get thee hence:
The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome,
Are all too dear for me; Lie they upon thy hand.
And be undone by 'em! [Exit Messenger.

Char. Good your highness, patience.

Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Caesar.

Char. Many times, madam.

Cleo. I am paid for't now.

Lead me from hence,

I faint; O Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter: —
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, '*') her years,
Her inclination, let him not leave out
The colour of her hair : — bring me word quickly. —

[Exit A1.EXA8.
Let him for ever go : — * ") Let him not — Charmian,
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
T'other way he's a Mars : — Bid you Alexas

[To Mabdian.
Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Charmian,
But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Near Misenum.

Enter Pompey and Mknas, at one side, with Drum
and Trumpet: at another, C^sah, Lkpidus, An-
tony, Enobabbus, Mbc^nas, with Soldiers
marching.

Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine;
And we shall talk before we fight.
Cas. Most meet,

That first we come to words ; and therefore have we
Our written purposes before us sent;
Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword;
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth,
That else must perish here.

Pom. To you all three,

The senators alone of this great world.
Chief factors for the gods, — I do not know,
Wherefore my father should revengers want.
Having a son and friends; since Julius Caesar,
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted.
There saw you labouring for him. What was it.
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? And what
Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom.
To drench the Capitol; but that they would
Have one man but a man? And that is it.
Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burden
The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome
Cast on my noble father.

Cas. Take your time.

Ant. Thou canst not fear us, *') Pompey, with
thy sails.
We'll speak with thee at sea : at land, thou know'st
How much we do o'er-count thee.

Pom. At land, indeed,

Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house; ^^)
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, *^)
Remain in't as thou may'st.

Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us,

(For this is from the present,) ***) how you take
The offers we have sent you.

C(BS. There's the point.

Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh
What it is worth embrac'd.

Cees. And what may follow,

To try a larger fortune.

Pom. You have made me offer

Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must
Rid all the sea of pirates; then to send
Measures of wheat to Rome: This 'greed upon.
To part with unback'd edges, and bear back
Our targe undinted.

CcBS. Ant. Lep. That's our offer.

Pom. Know then,

I came before you here, a man prepar'd
To take this olTer: But Mark Antony
Put me to some impatience : — Though I lose
The praise of it by telling. You must know.
When Cajsar and your brothers were at blows.
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find
Her welcome friendly.

Aiit. I have heard it, Pompey;

And am well studied for a liberal thanks.
Which I do owe you.

Po?n. Let me have your hand:

I did not think, sir, to have met you here.

Ant. The beds i'the east are soft; and thanks to

you,

That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither;
For I have gain'd by it.

Cas. Since I saw you last.

There is a change upon you.

Pom. Well, I know not

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face; *^)
But in my bosom shall she never come,
To make my heart her vassal.

Lep. Well met here.

Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed ;
I crave, our composition may be written,
And seal'd between us.

XKX.

Act II.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

685

C{K». That's the next to do.

Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part : and let us
Draw lots who shall begin.

Ant. That will I, Pompey.

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot : but, first,
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Caesar
Grew fat with feasting there.

Ant. You have beard much.

Pom. I have fair meanings, sir.

Ant. And fair words to them.

Pom. Then so much have I heard: —
And I have heard, ApoUodorus carried —

Eno. No more of that : — He did so.

Pom. What, I pray you?

Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.

Pom. I know thee now ; How far'st thou, soldier !

Eno. WeU;

And well am like to do; for, I perceive,
Four feasts are toward.

Pom. Let me shake thy hand;

I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight.
When I have envied thy behaviour.

Eno. Sir,

I never lov'd you much; but I have prais'd you.
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much
As I have said you did.

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness,

It nothing ill becomes thee. —
Aboard my galley I invite you all:
Will you lead, lords?

Cas. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir.

Pom. Come.

[Exeunt Pompey, Cjbsab, Antony, Lefiduh,
Soldiers and Attendanta.

Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made
this treaty. — [Aside.'] — You and I have known,
sir. ^')

Eno. At sea, I think.

Men. We have, sir.

Eno. You have done well by water.

Men. And you by land.

Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me:
though it cannot be denied what I have done by land.

Men. Nor what I have done by water.

Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own
safety: you have been a great thief by sea.

Men. And you by land.

Eno. There I deny my land service. But give me
your hand, Menas : If our eyes had authority, here
they might take two thieves kissing.

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their
hands are.

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true face.

Men. No slander; they steal hearts.

Eno. We came hither to fight with you.

Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a
drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his
fortune.

Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep it back again.

Men. You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark
Antony here ; Pray you, is he married to Cleopatra ?

Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia.

Men. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.

Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius.

Men. Pray you, sir?

Eno. 'Tis true.

Men. Then is Caesar, and he, for ever knit together.

Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, 1 would

not prophesy so.

Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made

more in the marriage, than the love of the parties.

Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, the band

that seems to tie their friendship together, will be
the very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of a
holy, cold, and still conversation. *'')

Men. Who would not have his wife so?

Eno. Not he, that himself is not so ; which is Mark
Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again: then
shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Cae-
sar; and, as I said before, that which is the strength
of their amity, shall prove the immediate author of
their variance. Antony will use his affection where
it is; he married but his occasion here.

Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you
aboard? I have a health for you.

Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our throats
in Egypt.

Men. Come; let's away. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

OrtAoarrf Pompey'* GaHey, lying near Misenum.

Music. Enter two or three Servants, tpith a
Banquet. ^^)

1 Serv. Here they'll be, man : Some o' their plants * ')
are ill-rooted already, the least wind i'the world
will blow them down.

2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured.

1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. <" ")

2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the dispo-
sition, he cries out, no more; reconciles them to
his entreaty, and himself to the drink.

1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him
and his discretion.

2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great
men's fellowship: I had as lief have a reed that
will do me no service, as a partizan ' ' ) I could
not heave.

1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to
be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes
should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks.

A Sennet tounded. Enter C^sar, Antoht, Pom-
pey, Lbpidus, Agrippa, MbcjBnas, Enobabbus,
Mknas, with other Captains.

Ant. Thus do they, sir: [to Cjesak] They take the
flow o'the Nile
By certain scales i'the pyramid ; they know.
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, ' -) if dearth.
Or foizon, follow: <'^) The higher Nilus swells.
The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain.
And shortly comes to harvest.

Lep. You have strange serpents there.

Ant. Ay, Lepidus.

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud
by the operation of your sun : so is your crocodile.

Ant. They are so.

Pom. Sit, — and some wine. — A health to Lepidus.

Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll
ne'er out.

Eno. Not till you have slept; I fear me, you'll
be in till then.

Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies'
pyramises are very goodly things ; <''*) without con-
tradiction, I have heard that.

Men. Pompey, a word. [Jside.

Pom. Say in mine ear: what is't?

Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain,

[Aaide.
And hear me speak a word.

Pom. Forbear me till anon. —

This wine for Lepidus.

Lep. What manner o'thing is your crocodile?

HXK.

686

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

Act III.

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad
as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is, and
moves with its own organs: it lives by that which
nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it
transmigrates.

Lep. What colour is it of?

Ant. Of its own colour too.

Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent.

Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.

Cas. Will this description satisfy him?

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else
he is a very epicure.

Pom. [To Menas aside.] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell
me of that? away!
Do as I bid you. — Where's this cup I call'd for ?

Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me,
Rise from thy stool. [Jside.

Pom. I think, thou'rt mad. The matter?

[Rises, and walks aside.

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.

Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith : What's
else to say?
Be jolly, lords.

Ant. These quicksands, Lepidus,

Keep off them, for you sink.

Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world?

Pom. What say'st thou?

Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world?
That's twice.

Pom. How should that be?

Men. But entertain it, and.

Although thou think me poor, I am the man
Will give thee all the world.

Pom. Hast thou drunk well?

Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.
Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove:
Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, '5)
Is thine, if thou wilt have't.

Pom. Show me which way.

Men. These three world -sharers, these compe-
titors, '^)
Are in thy vessel: Let me cut the cable;
And, when we are put off, fall to their throats:
All there is thine.

Pom. Ah, this thou should'st have done.

And not have spoke on't! In me, 'tis villainy;
In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know,
'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour;
Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue
Hath so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown,
I should have found it afterwards well done;
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.

Men. For this, [Aside.

I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes * ' ) more. —
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd.
Shall never find it more.

Pom. This health to Lepidus.

Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him,
Pompey.

Eno. Here's to thee, Menas.

Men. Enobarbus, welcome.

Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid.

Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas.

[Pointing to the Attendant who carries off
Lepidus.

Men. Why?

Eno. He bears

The third part of the world, man ; See'st not ?

Men. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it
were all.
That it might go on wheels!

Eno. Drink thou; increase the reels.

Men. Come.

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.

Ant. It ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, ^s) jjo!
Here is to Caesar.

Cas. I could well forbear it.
It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain,
And it grows fouler.

^nt. Be a child o'the time.

CcBS. Possess it, I'll make answer: but I had
rather fast
From all, four days, than drink so much in one.

Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To Antony.

Shall we dance now the Egyptian bacchanals,
And celebrate our drink?

Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier.

Ant. Come, let us all take hands;
'Till that the conquering wine hath steeped our sense
In soft and delicate lethe.

Eno. AH take hands. —

Make battery to our ears with the loud music: —
The while, I'll place you : Then the boy shall sing ;
The holding every man shall bear, ^^) as loud
As his strong sides can volley.

[Music plays. Enobabbus places them hand
in hand.

Song.

Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne: '°)
In thy vats our cares be drown'd:
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd;
Cup us, till the world go round;
Cup us, till the world go round!

Cces. What would you more? — Pompey, good
night. Good brother,
Let me request you oif : our graver business
Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let's part;
You see, we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobarbe
Is weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks ; the wild disguise hath almost
Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good

night. —
Good Antony, your hand.
Pom. I'll try you o'the shore.

Ant. And shall, sir: give's your hand.
Pom. O Antony,

You have my father's house, — But what? we are

friends :
Come, down into the boat.

Eno. Take heed you fall not. —

[Exeunt Pompey, C^sar, Ant., and Attendants.
Menas, I'll not on shore.

Men. No, to my cabin. —

These drums ! — these trumpets, flutes ! what ! —
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
To these great fellows: Sound, and be hang'd,
sound out.

[A Flourish of Trumpets, with Drums.
Eno. Ho, says 'a! -r- There's my cap.
Men. Ho! — noble captain!

Come. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I, A Plain in Syria.

Enter Vbntidius, as after conquest, with Silius,

and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the dead

Body of Pacorus borne before him.

Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and

now

Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death

KBX.

Act III.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

mi

Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body
Before our army: — Thy Pacorus, Orodes, ■)
Pays this for Marcus Crassus.

Sil. Noble Ventidius,

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm,
The fugitive Parthiaxis follow; spur through Media,
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither
The routed fly: so thy grand captain Antony
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and
Put garlands on thy head.

Ten. O Silius, Silius,

I have done enough: A lower place, note well.
May make too great an act: For learn this, Silius;
Better leave undone, -} than by our deed acquire
Too high a fame, when him we serve's away.
Caesar, and Antony, have ever won
More in their officer, than person: Sossius,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown.
Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour.
Who does i'the wars more than his captain can,
Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition.
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss,
Than gain, which darkens him.
I could do more to do Antonius good.
But 'twould offend him; and in his offence
Should my performance perish.

Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius,

That without which a soldier, and his sword.
Grants scarce distinction. ') Thou wilt write to
Antony ?

Ven. ni humbly signify what in his name.
That magical word of war, we have effected;
How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks,
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia
We have jaded out o'the field.

SU. Where is he now ?

Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with what
haste
The weight we must convey with us will permit,
We shall appear before him. — On, there ; pass along.

[ExeujU.

SCENE n.

Rome. An Ante-Chamber in Caesar's House.
Enter Agrippa and Enobarbus, meeting.

Agr. What, are the brothers parted?

Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is
gone;
The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
To part from Rome: Ca;sar is sad; and Lepidns,
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled
With the green sickness.

Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidus.

Eno. A very fine one: O, how he loves Caesar!

Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony !

Eno. Caesar? Why he's the Jupiter of men.

Agr. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.

Eno. Spake you of Caesar? How? the Nonpareil!

Agr. O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! *)

Eno. Would you praise Caesar, say, — Caesar; —
go no further.

Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent
praises.

Eno. But he loves Ca>sar best; — Yet he loves
Antony :

Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets,

cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love
To Antony. But as for Caesar,
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.

Agr. Both he loves.

Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. *)

So, — [Trumpeta.

This is to horse — Adieu, noble Agrippa.

Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell.

Enter C^sar, Antont, Lbpidus, and Octavia.

Ant. No further, sir.

Cat. You take from me a great part of myself;
Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band ')
Shall pass on thy approof. — Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love.
To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter
The fortress of it: for better might we
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherish'd.

Ant. Make me not offended

In your distrust.

Cas. I have said.

Ant. You shall not find.

Though you be therein curious, ') the least cause
For what you seem to fear: So, the gods keep you.
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends!
We will here part.

Cas. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well;
The elements be kind to thee, ^) and make
Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well.

Octa. My noble brother! —

Ant. The April's in her eyes: It is love's spring.
And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful.

Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and —

Cas. What,

Octavia ?

Octa. I'll tell you in your ear.

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue : the swan's down feather.
That stands upon the swell at full of tide.
And neither way inclines.

Eno. Will Caesar weep? [Jtide to Agbiffa.

Agr. He has a cloud in's face.

Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse; ')
So is he, being a man.

Agr. Why, Enobarbus?

When Antony found Julius Caesar dead.
He cried almost to roaring: and he wept,
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.

Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a
rheum ;
What willingly he did confound, *°) he wail'd:
Believe it, till I weep too.

Cas. No, sweet Octavia,

You shall hear from me still; the time shall not
Out-go my thinking on you.

Ant. Come, sir, come;

I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love:
Look, here I have you; thus I let you go.
And give you to the gods.

Cas. Adieu; be happy!

Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light
To thy fair way !

Cat. Farewell, farewell! [Kisses Octavia.

Ant. ' Farewell !

[Trumpets sound. ExeunL

SCENE m.

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Albxas.

Cleo. Where is the fellow?

jllex. Half afeard to come.

Cleo. Go to, go to : — Come hither, sir.

688

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act III.

Enter a Messenger.

Alex. Good majesty,

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you,
But when you are well pleas'd.

Cleo. That Herod's head

I'll have: But how? when Antony is gone
Through whom I might command it. — Come thou
near.

Mess. Most gracious majesty, —

Cleo. Didst thou behold

Octavia ?

Mess. Ay, dread queen.

Cleo. Where?

Mess. Madam, in Rome

I look'd her in the face; and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony.

Cleo. Is she as tall as me? *')

Mess. She is not, madam.

Cleo. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd,
or low?

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she is low-voic'd.

Cleo. That's not so good : — he cannot like her long.

Char. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.

Cleo. I think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, and
dwarfish! —
What majesty is in her gait? Remember,
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.

Mess. She creeps;

Her motion and her station *^) are as one:
She shows a body rather than a life;
A statue, than a breather.

Cleo. Is this certain?

Mess. Or I have no observance.

Char. Three in Egypt

Cannot make better note.

Cleo. He's very knowing,

I do perceiv't : -. — There's nothing in her yet : —
The fellow has good judgment.

Char. Excellent.

Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee.

Mess. Madam,

She was a widow.

Cleo. Widow? — Charmian, hark.

Mess. And I do think, she's thirty.

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is it long,
or round?

Mess. Round even to faultiness.

Cleo. For the most part too,

They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what colour ?

Mess. Brown, madam; And her forehead is as
low »')
As she would wish it.

Cleo. There is gold for thee.

Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : —
I will employ thee back again; I find thee
Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready;
Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger.

Char. A proper man.

Cleo. Indeed, he is so: I repent me much.
That so I harry'd him. ^ '») Why, methinks, by him,
This creature's no such thing.

Char. O, nothing, **) madam.

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should
know.

Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend.
And serving you so long!

Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good
Charmian :
But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write: All may be well enough.

Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Athens. A Room in Antony'* House.

Enter Antonit and Octavia.

Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, —
That were excusable, that, and thousands more
Of semblable import, — but he had wag'd
New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read it
To public ear:

Spoke scantly of me; when perforce he could not
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
He vented them; most narrow measure lent me:
When the best hint was given him, he not took't,
Or did it from his teeth. ")

Oct. O my good lord.

Believe not all; or, if you must believe.
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady.
If this division chance, ne'er stood between.
Praying for both parts:

")) And the good gods will mock me presently.
When I shall pray, O bless my lord and husband I
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud,
O, bless my brother! Husband win, win brother.
Prays, and destx'oys the prayer; no midway
'Twixt these extremes at all.

Ant. Gentle Octavia,

Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks
Best to preserve it: If I lose mine honour,
I lose myself: better I were not yours.
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested.
Yourself shall go between us : The mean time, lady,
I'll raise the preparation of a war
Shall stain your brother; Make your soonest haste;
So your desires are yours.

Oct. Thanks to my lord.

The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak.
Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be ' *)
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.

Ant. When it appears to you where this begins,
Turn your displeasure that way; for our faults
Can never be so equal, that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The same. Another Room in the same.

Enter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting.

Eno. How now, friend Eros?

Eros. There's strange news come, sir.

Eno. What, man?

Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon
Pompey.

Eno. This is old; What is the success?

Eros. Caesar, having made use of him in the wars
'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality; ")
would not let him partake in the glory of the action :
and not resting here, accuses him of letters he had
formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, ^°)
seizes him: So the poor third is up, till death en-
large his confine.

Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more :
And throw between them all the food thou hast.
They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony?

Eros. He's walking in the garden — thus; and spurns
The rush and lies before him ; cries. Fool, Lepidus 1
And threats the throat of that his officer,
That murder'd Pompey.

Eno. Our great navy's rigged.

Eros. For Italy, and Caesar. More, Domitius; ^•)

XEXB.

Act III.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

689

My lord desires you presently: my news
I might have told hereafter.

Eno. 'Twill be naught;

But let it be. — Bring me to Antony.

Erot. Come, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI,

Rome. A Room in Caesar'» House.

Enter Cmsar, Agrippa, and Mbc^nas.

C<B$. Contemning Rome, he has done all this : And
more;
In Alexandria, — here's the manner of it,
I'the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold
Were publicly enthron'd : at the feet, sat
Caesarion, whom they call my father's son;
And all the unlawful issue, that their lust
Since then hath made between them. Unto her
He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt; made her
Of Lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,
Absolute queen.

Mec. This in the public eye?

Cas. I'the common show-place, where they exercise.
His sons he there proclaim'd. The kings of kings:
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia,
He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: She
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis
That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience
As 'tis reported, so.

Mec. Let Rome be thus

Inform'd.

Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence
Already, will their good thoughts call from him.

Cas. The people know it; and have now receiv'd
His accusations.

Agr. Whom does he accuse?

Cat. Caesar: and that, having in Sicily
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him
His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me
Some shipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets.
That Lepidus of the triumvirate
Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain
All his revenue.

Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd.

Cas. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone.
I have told him, Lepidus wets grown too cruel;
That he his high authority abus'd,
And did deserve his change ; for what I have conquer'd,
I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia,
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I
Demand the like.

Mec. He'll never yield to that

Cat. Nor must not then be yielded to in this.

Enter Octavia.

Oct, Hail, Caesar, and my lord ! hail, most dear Caesar !

Cat. That ever I should call thee, cast-away!

Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.

Cat. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You
come not
Like Caesar's sbter: The wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher, and
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach.
Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way.
Should have borne men; and expectation fainted,
Longing for what it had not: nay, the dust
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
Rais'd by your populous troops : But you are come
A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented
The ostent of our love, ^^) which, left unshown

Is often left unlov'd: we should have met you
By sea, and land; supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.

Oct. Good my lord.

To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it
On my free-will. My lord, Mark Antony,
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted
My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd
His pardon for return.

Cat. Which soon he granted.

Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.

Oct. Do not say so, my lord.

Cat. I have eyes upon him.

And his affairs come to me on the wind.
Where is he now?

Oct. My lord, in Athens.

Cat. No, my most wronged sister; Cleopatra
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire
Up to a whore; who now are levying
The kings o' the earth for war: He hath assembled
Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus,
Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king
Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas;
King Malchas of Arabia; king of Pont;
Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king
Of Comagene; Polemon and Amintas,
The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, with a
More larger list of scepters.

Oct. Ah me, most wretched.

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends.
That do afflict each other!

Cat. Welcome hither:

Your letters did withhold our breaking forth;
Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wrong led,
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart:
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives
O'er your content these strong necessities;
But let determin'd things to destiny
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome:
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd
Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods.
To do you justice, make them ministers
Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort;
And ever welcome to us.

Agr. Welcome, lady.

Mec. Welcome, dear madam.
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you;
Only the adulterous Antony, most large
In his abominations, turns you off;
And gives his potent regiment -^) to a trull.
That noises it against us.

Oct. Is it 80, sir?

Cat. Most certain. Sister, welcome: Pray yoo.
Be ever known to patience: My dearest sister!

[Exemtt,

SCENE VH.

Antony'* Camp, near to the Promontory of
Actium.

Enter Cleopatra and Enobabbds.

Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not.

Eno. But why, why, why?

Cleo. Thou hast forspoke my being - *) in these wars;
And saj'st, it is not fit.

Eno. Well, is it, is it?

Cleo. Is't not? Denounce against us, -5) why should
not we
Be there in person?

Eno. [^»iVfe.] Well, I could reply ; —
If we should serve with horse and mares together.
The horse were merely lost; =') the mares would bear
A soldier, and his horse.

BXK.

44

690

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act III.

Cleo. What is't you say?

Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony;
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his time.
What should not then be spar'd. He is already
Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome,
That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids,
Manage this war.

Cleo. Sink Rome; and their tongues rot,

That speak against us! A charge we bear i'the war,
And, as the president of my kingdom, will
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it;
I will not stay behind.

Eno. Nay, I have done:

Here comes the emperor.

Enter Antony and Canidius.

Ant. Is't not strange, Canidius,

That from Tarentum, and Brundusium,
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea.
And take in Toryne? — ^'') You haye heard on't,
sweet?

Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd,
Than by the negligent.

Ant. A good rebuke,

Which might have well becom'd the best of men.
To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we
Will fight with him by sea.

Cleo. By sea! What else?

Can. Why will my lord do so?

A7it. For he dares us ^ *) to't.

Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight.

Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,
Where Ca;sar fought with Pompey : But these offers.
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
And so should you.

Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd :

Your mariners are muleteers, ^^) reapers, people
Ingross'd by swift impress; in Caesar's fieet
Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought:
Their ships are yare: yours, heavy. No disgrace
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea.
Being prepar'd for land.

Ant. By sea, by sea.

Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
The absolute soldiership you have by land;
Distract your army, which doth most consist
Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted
Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego
The way which promises assurance; and
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard.
From firm security.

Ant. ^ I'll fight at sea.

Cleo. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.

Ant. Our overplus of shipping will be burn;
And, with the rest fuU-mann'd, from the head of

Actium
Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail.

Enter a Messenger.
We then can do't at land. — Thy business?

Me»8. The news is true, my lord; he is descried;
Caesar has taken Toryne.

Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible;
Strange, that his power should be. — ^o) Canidius,
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land.
And our twelve thousand horse : — We'll to our ship ;

Enter a Soldier.
Away, my Thetis! — 3 >) How now, worthy soldier?

Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea;
Trust not to rotten planks: Do you misdoubt
This sword, and these my wounds? Let the Egyptians
And the Phoenicians, go a ducking; we

Have used to conquer, standing on the earth,
And fighting foot to foot.

Ant. Well, well, away.

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatba, and Enobasbcs.

Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i'the right.

Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action grows
Not in the power on't: ^-) So our leader's led,
And we are women's men.

Sold. You keep by land

The legions and the horse whole, do you not?

Ca7i. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
Publicola, and Caelius, are for sea:
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's
Carries beyond belief. ^^)

Sold. While he was yet in Rome,

His power went out in such distractions, ^*) as
Beguil'd all spies.

Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you?

Sold. They say, one Taurus.

Can. Well I know the man.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The emperor calls for ^*) Canidius.
Can. With news the time's with labour; and throes
forth, »6)
Each minute, some. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

A Plain near Actium.

Enter Cjesar, Taurus, Officers, and others.

CtBs. Taurus, —

Taur. My lord.

Cizs. Strike not by land ; keep whole :

Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea.
Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll:
Our fortune lies upon this jump. ^ ') [Exeunt.

Enter Antony and Enobarbus.
Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon side o'the hill,
In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place
We may the number of the ships behold.
And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt.

Enter Canidius, marching with his Land Army
one way over the Stage; and Taurus, the Lieu-
tenant of CjEsar, the other way. After their going
in, is heard the noise of a Sea-fight.

Alarum. Re-enter Enobarbus.
Eno. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no
longer :
The Antoniad, '») the Egyptian admiral.
With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder;
To see't, mine eyes are blasted.

Enter Scarus.

Scar. Gods, and goddesses,

All the whole synod of them !

Eno. What's thy passion?

Scar. The greater cantle ^') of the world is lost
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away
Kingdoms and provinces.

Eno. How appears the fight?

Scar. On our side like the token'd *") pestilence,
Where death is sure. Yon' ribald-rid nag**) of

Egypt,
Whom leprosy o'ertake! i'the midst o'the fight, —
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd.
Both as the same, or rather, ours the elder,
The brize upon her, ^^^ u^e a cow in June,
Hoists sails, and flies.

XXX.

Act III.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

691

Eno. That I beheld: mine eyes

Did sicken at the sight on't, '*^) and could not
Endure a further view.

Scar. She once being loofd, "**)

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,
Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mallard,
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her:
I never saw an action of such shame;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
Did violate so itself.

Eno. Alack, alack!

Enter Canidius.

Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath.
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well:
O, he has given example for our flight.
Most grossly, by his own.

Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good
night
Indeed. [Aside.

Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled.

Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend
What further comes.

Can. To Caesar will I render

My legions, and my horse; six kings already
Show me the way of yielding.

Eno. I'll yet follow

The wounded chance of Antony, "* *) though my reason
Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Antony and Attendants.

Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon't,
It is asham'd to bear me ! — Friends, come hither,
I am so lated in the world,-*') that I
Have lost my way for ever: — I have a ship
Laden with gold; take that, divide it; fly.
And make your peace with Caesar.

Att. Fly! not we.

Ant, I have fled myself; and have instructed cowards
To run, and show their shoulders. — Friends, be gone ;
I have myself resolv'd upon a course,
Which has no need of you; be gone:
My treasure's in the harbour, take it. — O,
I follow'd that I blush to look upon:
My very hairs do mutiny; for the white
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them
For fear and doting. — Friends, be gone, you shall
Have letters from me to some friends, that will
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad.
Nor make replies of loathness: take the hint
Which my despair proclaims; let that be left
Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway:
I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Leave me, I pray, a little : 'pray you now : —
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command, *')
Therefore I pray you: — I'll see you by and by.

[Si(« down.

Enter Eaos and Cleopatra, led by CnAaMLiN
and Iras.

Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him : -
Iras. Do, most dear queen.
Char. Do! Why, what else?
Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno!
Ant. No, no, no, no, no.
Eros. See you here, sir?
Ant. O fye, fye, fye.
Char. Madam, —

Comfort him.

RKK.

Iras. Madam; O good empress! —

Eros. Sir, sir, —

Ant. Yes, my lord, yes; — He, at Philippi, kept
His sword even like a dancer; "**) while I struck
The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I,
That the mad Brutus ended: he alone
Dealt on lieutenantry, •*') and no practice had
In the brave squares of war : Yet now — No matter.

Cleo. Ah, stand by.

Eros. The queen, my lord, the qaeen.

Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him;
He is unqualitied *°) with very shame.

Cleo. Well then, — Sustain me: — O!

Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen approaches ;
Her head's declined, and death will seize her; but ")
Your comfort makes the rescue.

Ant. I have offended reputation;
A most unnoble swer\-ing.

Eros. Sir, the queen.

Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See,
How I convey my shame *-) out of thine eyes
By looking back on what I have left behind
'Stroy'd in dishonour.

Cleo. O my lord, my lord!

Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought,
You would have follow'd.

Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well.

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings,*^)
And thou should'st tow me after : O'er my spirit
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
Command me.

Cleo. O, my pardon.

Ant. Now I must

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness; who
With half the bulk o'the world play'd as I pleas'd.
Making, and marring fortunes. You did know,
How much you were my conqueror; and that
My sword, made weak by my affection, would
Obey it on all cause.

Cleo. O pardon, pardon.

Ant. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates
All that is won and lost: Give me a kiss;
Even this repays me. — We sent our schoolmaster,
Is he come back ? — Love, I am full of lead : —
Some wine, within there, and our viands : — For-
tune knows,
We scorn her most, when most she offers blows.

[Exeunt.

SCENE X.

Caesar'* Camp, in Egypt.
Enter CjEsab, Dolabblla, THTRBrs, and others.

Ca$. Let him appear that's come from Antony. —
Know you him?

Dol. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: **)

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing.
Which had superfluous kings for messengers,
Not many moons gone by.

Enter Euphhonids.

Cas. Approach, and speak.

Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony:
I was of late as petty to his ends.
As is the mom-dew on the myrtle-leaf
To his grand sea. **)

Cas. Be it so; Declare thine office.

Eup. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and
Requires to live in Egypt: which not granted,

44*

692

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act III.

He lessens his requests; and to thee sues

To let him breathe between the heavens and earth,

A private man in Athens: This for him.

Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness;

Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves

The circle of the Ptolemies *') for her heirs,

Now hazarded to thy grace.

Cas. For Antony,

I have no ears to his request. The queen
Of audience, nor desire, shall fail; so she
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, ^')
Or take his life there: This if she perform.
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.

Eup. Fortune pursue thee!

Cas. Bring him through the bands.

[Exit EUPHRONIUS.

To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time : Despatch ;
From Antony win Cleopatra : promise, [To Thvebus.
And in our name, what she requires; add more,
From thine invention, offers: women are not.
In their best fortunes, strong : but want will perjure
The ne'er-touch'd vestal: Try thy cunning, Thyreus;
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.

Thyr. Caesar, I go.

CiBS. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw; *')
And what thou think'st his very action speaks
In every power that moves.

Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt.

SCENE XI.

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and Iras.

Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus?

Eao. Think, and die.

Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this?

Eno. Antony only, that would make his will
Lord of his reason. What although ^') you fled
From that great face of war, whose several ranges
Frighted each other? why should he follow?
The itch of his affection should not then
Have nick'd his captainship; *") at such a point,
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being
The mered question: ''*) 'Twas a shame no less
Than was his lo^, to course your flying flags.
And leave his navy gazing.

Cleo. 'Pr'ytliee, peace.

Enter Antont, with Euphronius.

Ant. Is this his answer?

Eup. Ay, my lord.

Ant. The queen

Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield
Us up.

Eup. He says so.

Ant. Let her know it. —

To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
With principalities.

Cleo. That head, my lord?

Ant. To him again; Tell him he wears the rose
Of youth upon him ; from which, the world should

note
Something particular: his coin, ships, legions.
May be a coward's; whose ministers would prevail
Under the service of a child, as soon
As i'the command of Caesar: I dare him therefore
To lay his gay comparisons apart,
And answer me declin'd, ''^) sword against sword,
Ourselves alone: I'll write it; follow me.

[Exeunt Aktohy and EuFHBomns.

Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will
Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the show, <* ^)
Against a sworder. — I see, men's judgments are
A parcel of their fortunes; ''*) and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will
Answer his emptiness! — Caesar, thou hast subdu'd
His judgment too.

Enter an Attendant.

Att. A messenger from Caesar.

Cleo. What, no more ceremony? — See, my wo-
men! —
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose.
That kneel'd unto the buds. — Admit him, sir.

Eno. Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. ^*)

[Aside.
The loyalty, well held to fools, does make
Our faith mere folly : — Yet, he, that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fallen lord.
Does conquer him that did his master conquer,
And earns a place i' the story.

Enter Thyreus.

Cleo. Caesar's will?

Thyr. Hear it apart.

Cleo. None but friends; say boldly.

Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.

Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has;
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master
Will leap to be his friend: For us, you know,
Whose he is, we are; and that's, Caesar's.

Thyr. So. —

Thus then, thou most renown'd; Caesar entreats.
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st.
Further than he is Caesar.

Cleo. Go on : Right royal.

Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony
As you did love, but as you fear'd him.

Cleo. O !

Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
Not as deserv'd.

Cleo. He is a god, and knows

What is most right: Mine honour was not yielded.
But conquer'd merely.

Eno. To be sure of that, [Aside.

I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky,
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee, [Exit Enobarbus.

Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar

What you require of him? for he partly begs
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him,
That of his fortunes you should make a staff
To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits.
To hear from me you had left Antony,
And put yourself under his shrowd.
The universal landlord.

Cleo. What's your name?

Thyr. My name is Thyreus.

Cleo. Most kind messenger.

Say to great Caesar this, In disputation
I kiss his conqu'ring hand: tell him, I am prompt
To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel :
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath *') I hear
The doom of Egypt.

Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course.

Wisdom and fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may shake it. Give me grace ") to lay
My duty on your hand.

naas..

Act III

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

693

Cleo. Your Caesar's father

Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place.
As it rain'd kisses.

Re-enter Anton? and Enobarbus.

Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders! —

What art thou, fellow 'i

Thyr. One, that but perforins

The bidding of the fullest man, <"*) and worthiest
To have conunand obey'd.

Eno. You will be whipp'd.

Ant. Approach, there: — Ay, you kite! — Now
gods and devils!
Authority melts from me : Of late, when I cry'd, ho !
Like boys unto a muss, ") kings would start forth,
And cry, Your will? Have you no ears? I am

Enter Attendants.

Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him.

Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp.
Than with an old one dying.

Ant. Moon and stars!

Whip him : — Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here, (What's her name.
Since she was Cleopatra?) — Whip him, fellows,
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face.
And whine aloud for mercy: Take him hence.

Thyr. Mark Antony, —

Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd.

Bring him again: — This Jack of Caesar's shall
Bear us an errand to him. —

\Exeunt Attendants with Thvreus.
You were half blasted ere I knew you : — Ha !
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race.
And by a gem of women, "*) to be abus'd
By one that looks on feeders? ^^)

Cleo. Good my lord, —

Ant. You have been a boggier ever: —
But when we in our viciousness grow hard,
(O misery on't!) the wise gods seal our eyes;
In our own filth drop our clear judgments; make us
Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we strut
To our confusion.

Cleo. O, is it come to this?

Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon
Dead Caesar's trencher: nay, you were a fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours,
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out: — '^) For, I am sure.
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.

Cleo. Wherefore is this?

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards.
And say, God quit you! be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal.
And plighter of high hearts! — O, that I were
Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar
The horned herd! '3) for I have savage cause;
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him. — Is he whipp'd?

Re-enter Attendants, with TnyRBus.

1 Att. Soundly, my lord.

Ant. Cry'd he, and begg'd he pardon?

1 Att. He did ask favour.

Ant, If that thy father live, let him repent
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since

Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: henceforth,
The white hand of a lady fever thee.
Shake thou to look on't. — Get thee back to Caesar,
Tell him thy entertainment: Look, thou say,
He makes me angry with him: for he seems
Proud and disdainful; harping on what I am;
Not what he knew I was: He makes me angry;
And at this time most easy 'tis to do't;
When my good stars, that were my former guides.
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires
Into the abism of hell. If he mislike
My speech, and what is done; tell him, he has
Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture.
As he shall like, to quit me: '*) Urge it thou:
Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thybevs.

Cleo. Have you done yet?

Ant. Alack, our terrene moon

Is now eclips'd; and it portends alone
The fall of Antony !

Cleo. I must stay his time.

Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points? "')

Cleo. Not know me yet?

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me?

(^leo. Ah, dear, if I be so.

From my cold heart may heaven engender hail.
And poison it in the source; and the first stone
Drop in my neck: as it determines, 'S) so
Dissolve my life! The next Ca;sarion smite; 7')
Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb.
Together with my brave Egyptians all.
By the discandying of this pelleted storm.
Lie graveless; till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey !

Ant. I am satisfied.

Caesar sits down in Alexandria ; where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held: our sever'd navy too
Have knit again, and fleet, '») threat'uing most

sea-like.
Where hast thou been, my heart? — Dost thou hear,

lady?
If from the field I shall return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood;
I and my sword will earn our chronicle; '')
There is hope in it yet.

Cleo. That's my brave lord!

Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, ^o) men did ransome lives
Of me for jests; but now, I'll set my teeth.
And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night: ®') call to me
All my sad captains, fill our bowls; once more
Let's mock the midnight-bell.

Cleo. It is my birth-day:

I had thought, to have held it poor; but, since my lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

Ant. We'll yet do well.

Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord.

Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them ; and to-night I'll
force
The wine peep through their scars. — Come on,

my queen:
There's sap in't yet. The next tune I do fight,
I'll make death love me; for I will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe.

[Exeunt Aktony, Clkofatra, and Attendants.
Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To be
furious.
Is, to be frighted out of fear: and in that mood,
The dove will peck the estridge; and i see still,

KKK.

694

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act IV.

A diminution in our captain's brain
Restores his heart: When valour preys on reason,
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek
Some way to leave him. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCEIVE I. Cffisar'* Camp at Alexandria.

Enter C^sar, reading a Letter; Agrippa, Mb-

CjEnas, and others.

Cas. He calls me boy ; and chides, as he had power
To beat me out of Egypt: my messenger
He hath whipp'd with rodsj dares me to personal

combat,
Caesar to Antony: Let the old ruffian know,
I have many other ways to die; mean time,
Laugh at his challenge.

Mec. Caesar must think,

When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted.
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of ^) his distraction: Never anger
Made good guard for itself.

Cas. Let our best heads

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight : — Within our files there are
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late.
Enough to fetch him in. See it be done; -)
And feast the army: we have store to do't.
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony!

\_Exeunt.

SCENE n,

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter AjSTOJiY, Cleopatra, Enobabbus, Charmian,
Iras, Alexas, and others.

Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius.

Eno. No.

Ant. Why should he not?

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.

Ant. To-morrow, soldier,

By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live.
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?

Eno. I'll strike; and cry, Take all. ^)

Ant. Well said; come on. —

Call forth my household sei-vants; let's to-night

Enter Servants.
Be bounteous at our meal. — Give me thy hand.
Thou hast been rightly honest ; — so hast thou ; —
And thou, — and thou, — and thou : — you have

serv'd me well,
And kings have been your fellows.

Cleo. What means this?

Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow
shoots
Out of the mind. [Atide.

Ant. And thou art honest too.

I wish, I could be made so many men;
And all of you clapp'd up together in
An Antony; that I might do you service,
So good as you have done.

Serv. The gods forbid!

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night:
Scant not my cups; and make as much of me.
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And suiTer'd my command.

Cleo. What does he mean?

Eno. To make his followers weep.

Ant. Tend me to-night;

May be, it is the period of your duty:
Haply, you shall not see me more; or if,
A mangled shadow : "*) perchance, to-morrow
You'll serve another master. I look on you.
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away; but, like a master
Married to your good service, stay till death:
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more.
And the gods yield you for't! ^)

Eno. What mean you, sir.

To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;
And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd; ') for shame.
Transform us not to women.

Ant. Ho, ho, ho! ')

Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus!
Grace grow where those drops fall ! My hearty friends,
You take me in too dolorous a sense:
*) I spake to you for your comfort: did desire you
To burn this night with torches : Know, my hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow; and will lead you.
Where rather I'll expect victorious life,
Than death and honour. Let's to supper; come.
And drown consideration. [Exeunt.

SCENE HI.

The same. Before the Palace.
Enter two Soldiers, to their guard.

1 Sold. Brother, good night : to-morrow is the day.

2 Sold. It will determine one way: fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?

1 Sold. Nothing: What news?

2 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumour :
Good night to you.

1 Sold. Well, sir, good night.

Enter two other Soldiers.

2 Sold. Soldiers,
Have careful watch.

3 Sold. And you : Good night, good night.

[The first two place themselves at their posts.

4 Sold. Here we: [they take their posts] and if to-

morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.

3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army.
And full of purpose.

[Music of Hautboys under the stage.

4 Sold. Peace, what noise?

1 Sold. List, list!

2 Sold. Hark!

1 Sold. Music i'the air.

3 Sold. Under the earth.

4 Sold. It signs well, ')
Does't not?

3 Sold. No.

1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean?

2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd,
Now leaves him.

1 Sold. Walk; let's see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do. [They advance to another post.

2 Sold. How now, masters?

Sold. How now?

How now? do you hear this?

[Several speaking together.
1 Sold. Ay; Is't not strange?

3 Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear?

1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
Let's see how't will give off.
Sold. [Several speaking.] Content: 'Tis strange.

[Exeunt.

KBR.

Act IV.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

695

SCENE IV.

The tame. A Room in the Palace.

Enter ANTowr and Cleopatra; Cha&hian, and
others, attending.

Ant. Eros! mine armour, Eros!
Cleo. Sleep a little.

Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armour,
Eros!

Enter Eros, teitk Armour.
Come, my •"} good fellow, put thine iron on: —
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her. — Come.

Cleo. Nay, ITl help too.

What's this for?

Ant. Ah, let be, let be? thou art

The armourer of my heart : — False, false ; this, this.

Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help : Thus it must be.

Ant. Well, well;

We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow ?
Go, put on thy defences.

Erot. Briefly, sir. ")

Cleo. Is not this buckled well?

Ant. Rarely, rarely:

He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To dofTt '^) for our repose, shall hear a storm. —
Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire
More tight at this, than thou: •^) Despatch. — Olove,
That thou could'st see my wars to-day, and knew'st
The royal occupation! thou should'st see

Enter an Officer, armed.

A workman in't. — Good morrow to thee ; welcome :
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge :
To business that we love, we rise betime.
And go to it with delight.

1 Off. A thousand, sir.
Early though it be, have on their riveted trim.
And at the port expect you.

[Shout. Trumpets. FlovTuh.

Enter other Officers, and Soldiers,

2 Off. The morn is fair. — Good morrow, general.
All. Good morrow, general.

Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads.

This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes. —
So, so ; come, give me that : this way ; well said.
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me:
This is a soldier's kiss : rebukable, [Kistet ber.

And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee
Now, like a man of steel. — You, that will fight.
Follow me close; I'll bring you to't — Adieu.

[Exeunt Aktony, Eros, Officers, and Soldiers.

Char. Please you, retire to your chamber?

Cleo. Lead me.

He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might
Determine this great war in single fight!
Then, Antony, — But now, -- Well, on. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Antony'* Camp near Alexandria.

Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros;
a Soldier meeting them.

Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony !
Ant. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once
prevail'd
To make me fight at land!

Sold. Had'st thou done so.

The kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
FoUow'd thy heels.

Ant. Who's gone this morning?

Sold. Who?

One ever near thee; Call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp
Say, / am none of thine.

Ant. What say'st thou?

Sold. Sir,

He is with Caesar.

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure

He has not with him.

Ant. Is he gone?

Sold. Most certain.

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it;
Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him
(I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings:
Say, that I wish he never find more cause
To change a master. — O, my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men: — Eros, despatch. *^)

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Caesar'* Camp before Alexandria.

Flouriah. Enter C^sar, with Agrippa, Enobak-
Bus, arid others.

Cas. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is, Antony be took alive; **)
Make it so known.

Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Acuppa.

Cas. The time of universal peace is near:
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the olive freely.

Enter a Messenger.

Meu. Antony

Is come into the field.

Cas. Go, charge Agrippa

Plant those that have revolted in the van.
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself. [Exeunt Cj^sAm and bit Train.

Eno. Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry,
On affairs of Antony; there did persuade
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar,
And leave his master Antony: for this pains,
Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest
That fell away, have entertainment, but
No honourable trust. I have done ill;
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely,
That I will joy no more.

Enter a Soldier of C^sar'*.

Sold. Enobarbus, Antony

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty overplus: The messenger
Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now.
Unloading of his mules.

Eno. I give it you.

Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus.

I tell you true: Best that ") you safd the bringer
Out of the host; I must attend mine office.
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor
Continues still a Jove. [^^'* Soldier.

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth.
And feel I am so most. *') O Antony,
Thou nune of bounty, how would'st thou have paid
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold? This blows my
heart: *»)

EXX.

698

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act IV.

If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall outstrike thought : but thought will do't, I feel. ' ')
I fight against thee! — No: I will go seek
Some ditch, wherein to die; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life. [Exit.

SCENE VII.

Field of Battle between the Camps.

Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa,
and others.

Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far:
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression ^°)
Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter Anton r and Scarus, wounded.

Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed !
Had we done so at first, we had driven them home
With clouts about their heads.

Ant. Thou bleed'st apace.

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.

Ant. They do retire.

Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes ; I have yet
Room for six scotches more.

Enter Ekos.

Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage
serves
For a fair victory.

Scar. Let us score their backs,

And snatch 'era up, as we take hares, behind;
'Tis sport to maul a runner.

Ant. I will reward thee

Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.

Scar. I'll halt after. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

Under the Walls 0/ Alexandria.

Alarum. Enter ANToNr, marching; Scarus, and
Forces.

Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; Run one before.
And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow,
Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all;
For doughty-handed are you; and have fought
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been
Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors,
Enter the city, clip your wives, ^^) your friends.
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand;

[To Scarus.

Enter Cleopatra, attended.

To this great fairy ^ *) I'll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee. — O thou day o'the

worldj
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all.
Through proof of harness ^ ^) to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triumphing.

Cleo. Lord of lords!

O infinite virtue! com'st thou smiling from
The world's great snare ^'*) uncaught?

Ant. My nightingale,

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl?

though grey
Do something mingle with our brown ; ^ *) yet have we

A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
Get goal for goal of youth. 2<>) Behold this man;
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand ; —
Kiss it, my warrior : — He hath fought to-day,
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
Destroy'd in such a shape.

Cleo. I'll give thee, friend,

An armour all of gold; it was a king's.

Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phoebus' car. — Give me thy hand;
Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe

them: ^7)
Had our great palace the capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together;
And drink carouses to the next day's fate.
Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters,
With brazen din blast you the city's ear;
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines; -^)
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds

together,
Applauding our approach. [Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Caesar's Camp.
Sentinels on their post. Enter Enobarbus.

1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour.
We must return to the court of guard : ^ ') The night
Is shiny; and, they say, we shall embattle

By the second hour i'the morn.

2 Sold. This last day was
A shrewd one to us.

Eno. O, bear me witness, night, —

S Sold. What man is this?

2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him. ^ »)
Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,

When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent! —

1 Sold. Enobarbus!

3 Sold. Peace:
Hark further.

Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me; *')
That life, a very rebel to my will.
May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart ^^)
Against the flint and hardness of my fault;
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver, and a fugitive:
O Antony ! O Antony ! [Dies.

2 Sold. Let's speak
To him.

1 Sold. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Caesar.

3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps.

1 Sold. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleeping. ^^)

2 Sold. Go we to him.

3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir; speak to us.

2 Sold. Hear you, sir ?
1 Sold. The hand of death hath raught him. ^'^)

Hark, the drums [Brums afar off.

Demurely ^^) wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour
Is fully out.

3 Sold. Come on then;

He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the Body.

HXK.

Act IV.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

($97

SCENE X.

Between the two Campt.

Enter Anton r and Scarus, tpilh Forces, marching.

Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea;
We please them not by land.
Scar. For both, my lord.

Ant. I would, they'd fight i'the fire, or in the air;
We\l fight there too. But this it is; Our foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city.
Shall stay with us: order for sea is given;
They have put forth the haven: Further on, ^')
Where their appointment we may best discover,
And look on their endeavour. ^') [Exeunt.

Enter CjSsak, and his Forces, marching.

Cat. But being charg'd, we will be still by land,

Which, as I take't, we sheill; ^*) for his best force

Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales,

And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt.

Re-enter Antony and Scarus.

Ant. Yefc they're not join'd: Where yonder pine
does stand,
I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word
Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit.

Scar. Swallows have built

In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers
Say, they know not, — they cannot tell : — look grimly.
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts.
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear,
Of what he has, and has not.

Alarum afar off^ at at a Sea-fight.
Re-enter Antony.
Ant. All is lost;

This foul Elgyptian hath betrayed me:
My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder
They cast their caps up, and carouse together
Like friends long lost. — Triple-turn'd whore! 3')

'tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly;
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,
I have done all : — Bid them all fly, be gone.

[Exit ScAsus.
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more:
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. — All come to this ? — The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets.
On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd.
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am:
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm, *")
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them

home.
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, **)
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose,
Beguil'd me *-) to the very heart of loss. *3)
What, Eros, Eros! —

Enter Clbopatra.

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt.

Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love?

Ant. Vanish; or I shall give thee thy deserving,
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee.
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians:
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
For poor'st diminutives, to dolts; •>*) and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up

With her prepared naila, [Exit Cleo.] 'Tis well

thou'rt gone.
If it be well to live: But better 'twere
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! —
The shirt of Nessus is upon me: Teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage:
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o'the moon;**)
And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club.
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die;
To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot ; she dies for't. — Eros, ho ! [Exit.

SCENE XI.

Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Clbopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cleo. Help me, my women! O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield ; ■*') the boar of Tessaly
Was never so emboss'd. *')

Char. To the monument;

There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting.
Than greatness going off.

Cleo. To the monument;

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; —
Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony,
And word it, pr'ythee, piteously: Hence,
Mardian; and bring me how he takes my death. —
To the monument. [Exeunt.

SCENE XII.
The tame. Another Room,
Enter Antony and Eros.

Ant. E!ros, thou yet behold'st me?

Erot. Ay, noble lord.

Ant. Sometime, we see a cload that's dragonish :
A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't, that nod unto the world.
And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these

signs;
They are black vesper's pageants. *^)

Erot. Ay, my lord.

Ant. That, which is now a horse, even with a
thought.
The rack dislimns; *') and makes it indistinct.
As water is in water.

Erot. It does, my lord.

Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body: here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt ; and the queen, —
Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine;
Which, whilst it was mine^ had annex'd unto't
A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false play 'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph. —
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves. — O, thy vile lady !

Enter Mabdian.
She has robb'd me of my sword.

Mar. No, Antony;

My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch; peace;

She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death.

Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once;

698

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act IV.

And that she has discharg'd : What thou would'st do,

Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake

Was, Antony! most noble Antony 1

Then in the midst a tearing groan did break

The name of Antony; it was divided

Between her heart and lips; she render'd life,

Thy name so buried in her.

Ant. Dead then?

Mar. Dead.

Ant. Eros, unarm; ^'') the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep : — That thou depart'st hence safe,
Does pay thy labour richly; Go. — Off, pluck off; —

[Exit Mabdian.
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent. *')
Crack thy frail case! — Apace, Eros, apace. —
No more a soldier : — Bruised pieces, go ;
You have been nobly borne. — From me awhile.

[Exit Ebo8.
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture: — Since the torch is out.
Lie down, and stray no further: Now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength: Seal then, and all is done. — *^)
Eros! — I come, my queen: — Eros! — Stay for me:
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze:
Dido and her iEIneas shall want troops.
And all the haunt be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros !

Re-enter Eros.

Eros. What would my lord?

Anl. Since Cleopatra died,

I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she, which, by her death, our Caesar tells,
/ am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come, (which now
Is come, indeed,) when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror that, on my command.
Thou then would'st kill me: do't; the time is come:
Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in thy cheeks.

Eros. The gods withhold me!

Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not?

Ant. Eros,

Would'st thou be window'd in great Rome, and see
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, ^^) bending down
His corrigible neck, **) his face subdued
To penetrative shame; whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued? ^^)

Eros. I would not see't.

Ant. Come then ; for with a wound I must be cur'd.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.

Eros. O, sir, pardon me.

Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou
not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.

Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship of the whole world •'''') lies.

Ant. Lo thee I [Turning from him.

Eros. My sword is drawn.

Ant. Then let it do at once

The thing why thou hast drawn it.

Eros. My dear master.

My captain, and my emperor! let me say.
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.

Ant. 'Tis said, man; — and farewell.

Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?

Ant. Now, Eros.

Eros. Why, there then: — [Palls on his Sword.]

Thus do I escape the sorrow
Of Antony's death. [Dies.

Ant. Thrice nobler than myself!

Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou could'st not. My queen and Eros
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me
A nobleness in record: But I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come then; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus

[Falling on his Sword.
I learn'd of thee. How? not yet dead? ^'l) not

dead? —
The guard ! — ho ! — O, despatch me.

Enter Dercbtas and Guard.

1 Guard. What's the noise ?
Ant. I have done my work ill, friends; O make

an end
Of what I have begun.

2 Guard. The star is fallen.
1 Guard. And Time is at his period.

All. Alas! and woe!

Ant. Let him that loves me, strike me dead.

1 Guard. Not I.

2 Guard. Nor I.

3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard.
Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.

This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.

Enter Diomedbs.
Dio. Where's Antony?
Der. There, Diomed, there.

Dio. Lives he?

Wilt thou not answer, man? [Exit Debcbtas.

Ant. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword,
and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.

Dio. Most absolute lord.

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.

Ant. When did she send thee?

Dio. Now, my lord.

Ant. Where is she?

Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a pro-
phesying fear
Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw
(Which never shall be found) you did suspect
She had dispos'd with Caesar, *^) and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.

Ant. Too late, good Diomed : — Call my guard, I
pr'ythee.

Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard,

what, ho!
Come, your lord calls.

Enter some of the Guard.

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides ;
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.

1 Guard. Woe are we, ^ ') sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.

KHX.

Act V.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

699

_4ll. Most heavy day!

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up:
I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all.

[Exeunt, bearing Antohv.

Scene xril.

The tame. A Monument.
Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.

Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence.

Char. Be comforted, dear madam.

Cleo. No, I will not:

All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great

Enter Diomedks.

As that which makes it. — How now ? is he dead ?

Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o'the other side your monument.
His guard have brought him thither.

Enter Antony, borne by the Guard.

Cleo. O thoa sun, 6°)

Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in! — darkling*')

stand
The varying shore o'the world! — ''-) O Antony!
Antony, Antony! — Charmian, help; help, Iras;
Help, friends below; let's draw him hither.

Ant. Peace :

Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumphed on itself.

Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death a while, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips. —

Cleo. I dare not, dear,

(Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not,
Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
Of the full-fortun'd Ctesar ever shall
Be brooch'd with me ; ' ^) if knife, drugs, serpents, have
"Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe:
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes.
And still conclusion, ^*) shall acquire no honour
Derauring upon me. — But come, come, Antony, —
Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up ;
Assist, good friends.

Ant. O, quick, or I am gone.

Cleo. Here's sport, indeed ! — ^^) How heavy weighs
my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness, <"*)

That makes the weight : Had I great Juno's power,
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up.

And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, —

Wishers were ever fools; — O, come, come, come;

[They draw Antony up.
"And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast liv'd;

Quicken with kissing; * ■) had my lips that power,

Thus would I wear them out.
All. A heavy sight!

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying:

Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,

That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel,

Provok'd by my offence.

Ant. One word, sweet queen:

Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. — O!

Cleo. They do not go together.

Ant. Gentle, hear me:

None about Caesar trust, but Proculeius.

Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust;
None about Caesar.

Ant. The miserable change now at my end.
Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts.
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o'the world.
The noblest: and do now not basely die,
Nor cowardly; put off my helmet to
My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going;
I can no more. [Diet.

Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die?

Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a stye? — O, see, my women.
The crown o'the earth doth melt: — My lord! —
O, wither'd is the garland of the war.
The soldier's pole**) is fallen; young boys, and girls.
Are level now with men : the odds is gone.
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the vbiting moon. [She faint*.

Char. O, quietness, lady!

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign.

Char. Lady, —

Iras. Madam, —

Char. O madam, madam, madam!

Iras. Royal Egypt!

Empress!

Char. Peace, peace, Iras.

Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman ; and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks.
And does the meanest chares. *''') It were for me
To throw my scepter at the injurious gods;
To tell them, that this world did equal theirs.
Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naught;
Patience is sottish; and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad: Then is it sin.
To rush into the secret house of death,
Ere death dare come to us? — How do you, women?
What, what? good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian?
My noble girls ! — Ah, women, women ! look.
Our lamp is spent, it's out : — Good sirs, take heart : —

[To the Guard below.
We'll bury him : and then, what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion.
And make death proud to take us. Come, away:
This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end.

[Exeunt; those above bearing off Aktohy'« Body.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Caesar's Camp before Alexandria.

Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabklla, Mec^nas,
Gallus, Proculeius, and others.

Cas. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrate, *) tell him, he mocks us by
The pauses that he makes.

Dol. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Dolabella.

Enter Dbrcetas, teith the Sword vf Antobt.
Cas. Wherefore is that? and what art thou, that
dar'st
Appear thus to us? *)

700

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act V.

Der. I am call'd Dercetas;

Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up, and spoke,
He was my master; and I wore my life,
To spend upon his haters: If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Ca;sar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.

Cas, What is't thou say'st?

Ver. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.

Cas. The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack : The round world should have shook
Lions into civil streets,

And citizens to their dens : — The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.

Der. He is dead, Caesar;

Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand.
Which writ his honour in the acts it did.
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. — This is his sword,
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.

Cas. Look you sad, friends?

The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings
To wash the eyes of kings. ^)

Agr. And strange it is.

That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.

Mec. His taints and honours

Waged equal with him.

Agr. A rarer spirit never

Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.

Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.

Cees. O Antony!

I have foUow'd thee to this; — But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies : ^) I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day,
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world: But yet let me lament.
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts.
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire.
Friend and companion in the front of war.
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts *) did kindle, — that our

stars
Unreconciliable, should divide

Our equalness to this. — ^) Hear me, good friends, —
But I will tell you at some meeter season;

Enter a Messenger.
The business of this man looks out of him.
We'll hear him what he says. — Whence are you?

Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument.
Of thy intents desires instruction;
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forced to.

Cas. Bid her have good heart;

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her: for Caesar cannot live
To be ungentle.

Mess. So the gods preserve thee! [Exit.

Cas. Come hither, Proculeius: Go, and say.
We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require;
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us: for her life in Rome

Would be eternal in our triumph: Go,

And, with your speediest, bring us what she says.

And how you find of her.

Pro. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Proculeius.

Cas. Gallus, go you along. — Where's Dolabella,
To second Proculeius? [Exit Callus.

Agr. Mec. Dolabella!

Cas. Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employed; he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent; where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war;
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings : Go with me, and see
What I can show in this. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Alexandria. A Room in the Monument.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.

Cleo. My desolation does begin to make
A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Caesar;
Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, ')
A minister of her will; And it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds;
Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung.
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. ^)

Enter, to the Gates of the Monument, Procu-
leius, Gallus, and Soldiers.

Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt ;
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.

Cleo. [TFithin.] What's thy name?

Pro. My name is Proculeius.

Cleo. [IFithin.] Antony

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd.
That have no use for trusting. If your master
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him,
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom: if he please
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son.
He gives me so much of mine own, as I
Will kneel to him with thanks.

Pro. Be of good cheer;

You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing:
Make your full reference freely to my lord.
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over
On all that need: Let me report to him
Your sweet dependancy: and you shall find
A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness, ®)
Where he for grace is kneel'd to.

Cleo. [Tnthin^ Pray you, tell him

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him
The greatness he has got. '") I hourly learn
A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly
Look him i'the face.

Pro. This I'll report, dear lady.

Have comfort; for, I know, your plight is pitied
Of him that caus'd it.

Gal. You see how easily she may be surpriz'd;
[Here Proculeius, and two of the Guard, ascend the
Monument by a Ladder placed against a Window,
and having descended, come behind Cleopatra,
Some of the Guard unbar and open the Gates.
Guard her till Caesar come.

[To Proculeius and the Guard. Exit Gallus.

Iras. Royal queen!

Char. O Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen ! —

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands.

[Drawing a Dagger.

Act V.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

701

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold:

[Seize* and disarmt her.
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betray'd.

Cleo. What, of death too

That rids our dogs of languish?

Pro. Cleopatra,

Do not abuse my master's bounty, by
The undoing of yourself: let the world see
His nobleness well acted, which your death
Will never let come forth.

Cleo. Where art thou, death?

Come hither, come! come, come, and take a queen
Worth many babes and beggars! ")

Pro. O, temperance, lady!

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir;
If idle talk will once be necessary, '-)
I'll not sleep neither: This mortal house I'll ruin,
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court;
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,
And show me to the shouting varletry
Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nilus' mud
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies
Blow me into abhorring! rather make
My country's high pyramides cy gibbet.
And hang me up in chains!

Pro. You do extend

These thoughts of horror further than you shall
Find cause in Caesar.

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. Proculeius,

What thou hast done thy master Csesar knows.
And he hath sent for thee: as for the queen, *')
I'll take her to my guard.

Pro. So, Dolabella,

It shall content me best : be gentle to her. —
To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,

\To Gleofatba.
If You'il employ me to him.

Cleo. Say, I would die.

{^Exeunt Fkoccleius, and Soldiers.

Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me?

Cleo. I cannot tell.

Dol. Assuredly, you know me.

Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard, or known.
You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams;
Is't not your trick?

Dol. I understand not, madam.

Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony; —
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!

Dol. ^ If it might please you, —

Cleo. His face was as the heavens ; and therein stuck
A sun and moon ; which kept their course, and lighted
The little O, the earth.

Dol. ^ Most sovereign creature, —

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm
Crested the world: »■») his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb.
He was a rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas,
That grew the more by reaping: His delights
Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above
The element they liv'd in: In his livery
Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands

were
As plates ' ^) dropp'd from his pocket.

^o'- Cleopatra, —

Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be, such a man
As this I dream'd of?

Dol. Gentle madam, no.

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But, if there be, or ever were one such.
It's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms ") wth fancy; yet, to imagine
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy.
Condemning shadows quite. *')

Dol. Hear me, good madam:

Your loss is as yourself, great; and yon bear it
As answering to the weight: 'Would I might never
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel.
By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots
My very heart at root.

Cleo. I thank you, sir.

Know you, what Caesar means to do with me?

Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew.

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, —

Dol. Though he be honourable, —

Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph?

Dol. Aladam, he will;

I know it.

Within. Make way, there, — Caesar.

Enter C^sar, Gallus, Proculeius, MsCiENAs,
Selbucus, and Attendants.

Cat. Which is the queen

Of Egypt?

Dol. 'Tis the emperor, madam.

[Cleofatsa hneeb.

Cat. Arise,

You shall not kneel:

I pray you rise; rise, Egypt.

Cleo. Sir, the gods

Will have it thus; my master and my lord
I must obey.

Cat. Take to you no hard thoughts:

The record of what injuries you did us.
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.

Cleo. Sole sir o'the world,

I cannot project ' ') mine own cause so well
To make it clear; but do confess, I have
Been laden with like frailties, which before
Have often sham'd our sex.

Cat. Cleopatra, know.

We will extenuate rather than enforce: "
If you apply yourself to our intents,
(Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall find
A benefit in this change; but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purposes, and put your children
To that destruction which I'll guard them from.
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.

Cleo. And may, through all the world: 'tis yours;
and we
Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord.

Cat. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, amd jewels,
I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued;
Not petty things admitted. — Where's Seleucus?

Sel. Here, madam.

Cleo. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord.
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.

Sel. Madam,
I had rather seel ") my lips, than, to my peril.
Speak that which is not.

Cleo. What have I kept back?

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made known.

XKR.

702

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Act V.

Cat. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
Your wisdom in the deed.

Cleo. See, Caesar ! O, behold,

How pomp is follow'd! mine will now be yours;
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
Even make me wild: O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hir'd! — What, goest thou back?

thou shalt
Go back, I warrant thee ; but I'll catch thine eyes.
Though they had wings: Slave, soul-less villain, dog !

0 rarely base! *")

Cas. Good queen, let us entreat you.

Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this;
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me,
Doing the honour of thy lordliness
To one so meek, that mine own servant should
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by ^')
Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar,
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd,
Immoment toys, things of such dignity
As we greet modern friends ^-) withal; and say,
Some nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia, and Octavia, to induce
Their mediation; must I be unfolded
With one -^) that I have bred? The gods! It smites me
Beneath the fall I have. 'Pr'ythee, go hence;

[To Selbocus.
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through the ashes of my chance: — ^*) Wert thou

a man.
Thou would'st have mercy on me.

Cas. Forbear, Seleucus.

[Exit Seleucus.

Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are mis-
thought
For things that others do; and, when we fall,
We answer others' merits **) in our name,
Are therefore to be pitied.

Cas. Cleopatra,

Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd.
Put we i'the roll of conquest: still be it yours,
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe,
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd ;
Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear queen;
For we intend so to dispose you, as
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep:
Our care and pity is so much upon you.
That we remain your friend; And so adieu.

Cleo. My master, and my lord!

CeB». Not so : Adieu.

[Exeunt C«sab, and his Train.

Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I
should not
Be noble to myself: but hark thee, Charmian.

[Whispers Cuabhian.

Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done.
And we are for the dark.

Cleo. Hie thee again:

1 have spoke already, and it is provided ;
Go, put it to the haste.

Char. Madam, I will.

Re-enter Dolabblla.

Dol. Where ia the queen?

Char. Behold, sir. [Exit Ghabmian.

Cleo. , Dolabella ?

Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this: Caesar through Syria
Intends his journey; and, within three days.
You with your children will he send before:

Make your best use of this: I have perform'd
Your pleasure, and my promise.

Cleo. Dolabella,

I shall remain your debtor.

Hoi. I your servant.

Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Ca;sar.

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol,] Now, Iras,
what think'st thou?
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown
In Rome as well as I: mechanic slaves
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths,
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded.
And forc'd to drink their vapour.

lra». The gods forbid!

Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: Saucy lictors
Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald rhymers - <')
Ballad us out o'tune: the quick comedians ^')
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels; Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness ^*)
I' the posture of a whore.

Ira%. O the good gods!

Cleo, Nay, that is certain.

Iras. I'll never see it; for, I am sure, my nails
Are stronger than mine eyes.

Cleo. "- Why, that's the way

To fool their preparation, and to conquer
Their most absurd intents. — Now, Charmian? —

Enter Cxiarmian.
Show me, my women, like a queen ; — Go fetch
My best attires : — I am again for Cydnus,
To meet Mark Antony: — Sirrah, Iras, go. —
Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed :
And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give

thee leave
To play till dooms-day. — Bring our crown and all.
Wherefore's this noise? [Exit Ibas. A noise within.

Enter one of the Guard.,
Guard. Here is a rural fellow.

That will not be denied your highness' presence;

He brings you figs.
Cleo. Let him come in. How poor - ') an instrument

[Exit Guard,

May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty.

My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing

Of woman in me : Now from head to foot

I am marble-constant: now the fleeting moon ^°)

No planet is of mine.

Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a
Basket.

Guard. This is the man.

Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard.

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus ") there,
That kills and pains not?

Clown. Truly I have him : but I would not be the
party that should desire you to touch him, for his
biting is immortal ; those, that do die of it, do seldom
or never recover.

Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't?

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard
of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very
honest woman, but something given to lie; as a
woman should not do, but in the way of honesty:
how she died of the biting of it, what pain she
felt, — Truly, she makes a very good report o'the
worm: But he that will believe all that they say,
shall never be saved by half that they do; But
this is most fallible, the worm's an odd worm.

KXX.

Act V.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

703

Cleo. Get thee hence; farewell.

Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm.

Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the basket.

Clown. You must think this, look you, that the
worm will do his kind. *^)

Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell.

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted,
but in the keeping of wise people: for, indeed,
there is no goodness in the worm.

Cleo. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.

Clown. Very good: give it nothing, I pray you,
for it is not worth the feeding.

Cleo. Will it eat me?

Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but I
know the devil himself will not eat a woman : I know,
that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil
dress her not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils
do the gods great harm in their women ; for in every
ten that they make, the devils mar five.

Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewell.

Clown. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the worm.

[Exit.

Re-enter Iras, with a Robe, Crown, &c.

Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me: Now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : —
Yare, yare, ^^) good Iras; quick. — Methinks, 1 hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: Husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire, and air; my other elements
I give to baser life. — So, — have you done ?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian ; — Iras, long farewell.

[Kisses them. Iras falls and dies.
Have I the aspick in my lips? **; Dost fall? ^^)
If thou and nature can so gently part.
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch.
Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still?
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may say.
The gods themselves do weep!

Cleo. This proves me base:

If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her; ^6) and spend that kiss,
Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, ^ ')
[To the Asp, which she applies to her breast.
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool,
Be angry, and despatch. O, could'st thou speak!
That I might hear thee call great Caesar, ass
Unpolicied! 3*)

Char. O eastern star!

Cleo. Peace, peace!

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast.
That sucks the nurse asleep?

Char. O, break! O, break!

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, —
O Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too : —

[Applying another Asp to her arm.
What should I stay — [Falls on a bed, and dies.

Char. In this wild world? — So, fare thee well. —
Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd. — Downy windows, close; ^9)
And golden Phoebus never be beheld

Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it, and then play. *»)

Enter ike Guard, rushing in.
1 Guard. Where is the queen?
Char. Speak softly, wake her not.

1 Guard. Caesar hath sent —
Char. Too slow a messenger.

[Applies the Asp.
O, come; apace, despatch: I partly feel thee.

1 Guard. Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's

beguil'd.

2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Ca;sar; —

call him.

1 Guard. What work is here? — Charmian, is this

well done?
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier! [Die$.

Enter Dolabella.
Dot. How goes it here?

2 Guard. All dead.

Dol. Caesar, thy thoughts

Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming
To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou
So sought'st to hinder.

Within. A way there, a way for Caesar!

Enter C^sah, arid Attendants.

Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer;
That you did fear, is done.

Cas. Bravest at the last:

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal.
Took her own way. — The manner of their deaths?
I do not see them bleed.

Dol. Who was last with them?

1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her figs ;
This was his basket.

Cas. Poison'd then.

1 Guard. O Caesar,

This Charmian lived but now; she stood, and spake:
I found her trimming up the diadem
On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood,
And on the sudden dropp'd.

Cas. O noble weakness ! —

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear
By external swelling: but she looks like sleep.
As she would catch another Antony
In her strong toil of grace.

Dol. Here, on her breast.

There is a vent of blood, and something blown:'**)
The like is on her arm.

1 Guard. This is an aspick's trail : and these fig-leaves
Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves
Upon the caves of Nile.

Cas. Most probable.

That so she died; for her physician tells me,
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite ^-)
Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed ;
And bear her women from the monument: —
She shall be buried by her Antony:
No grave upon the earth shall clip ^^) in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them; and their story is
No less in pity, than his glory, **) which
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall.
In solemn show, attend this funeral;
And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity. [Exeunt.

XCKX.

i\

XXXI.

M B E

N E.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

CrMBELiNR, King of Britain.

Cloten, Son to the Queen by a former Husband.

Leonatus Posthumus, a Gentleman, Husband to

Imogen.
Bblarius, a banished Lord, disguised under the

Name of Morgan.
~ I Sons to Cymbeline, disguised under

OruiDERius, I ^j^^ ^ames o/Polydore and Cadwal,
Arviragus, I gjippgged Sons to Belarius.
Philario, Friend to Posthumus, i Italians
Iachimo, Friend to Pliilario, j

A BVench Gentleman, Friend to Pliilario.
Caius Lucius, General of the Roman Forces.
A Roman Captain.

Two British Captains.
PisANio, Servant to Posthumus.
Cornelius, a Physician.
Two Gentlemen.
Two Gaolers.

Queen, Wife to Cymbeline.

Imogen, Daughter to Cymbeline by a former Queen.

Helen, Woman to Imogen.

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Appa-
ritions, a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman,
a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers,
Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and other
Attendants.

Scene — sometimes in Britain; sometimes in Italy.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Britain. The Garden behind Cym-
beline'« Palace.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1 Gent.
You do not meet a man, but frowns; our bloods
No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers;
Still seem, as does the king's. *)
2 Gent. But what's the matter?

1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom,

whom
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow,
That late he married,) hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor, but worthy, gentleman : She's wedded ;
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd; all
Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king
Be touch'd at very heart.

2 Gent. None but the king?

1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen.
That most desir'd the match: But not a courtier.
Although they wear their faces to the bent

Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.

2 Gent. And why so?

1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing
Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her,

(I mean, that married her, — alack, good man! —
And therefore banish'd) is a creature such
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think,
So fair an outward, and such stuff within,
Endows a man but he.

2 Gent. You speak him far. ^)

1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself;
Crush him together, rather than unfold

His measure duly.

2 Gent. What's his name, and birth?

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root : His father
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour.
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;

But had his titles by Tenantius, ^) whom

He serv'd with glory and admir'd success:

So gain'd the sur-addltion, Leonatus:

And had, besides this gentleman in question.

Two other sons, who, in the wars o'the time.

Died with their swords in hand ; for which, their father

(Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow,

That he quit being! and his gentle lady,

Bid of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd

As he was born. The king, he takes the babe

To his protection; call him Posthumus;

Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber:

Puts him to all the learnings that his time

Could make him the receiver of; which he took.

As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd ; and

In his spring became a harvest; Liv'd in court,

(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd : '*)

A sample tq the youngest; to the more mature,

A glass that feated them; *) and to the graver,

A child that guided dotards: to his mistress, ')

For whom he now is banish'd, — her own price

Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;

By her election may be truly read,

What kind of man he is.

2 Gent. I honour him

Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me.
Is she sole child to the king?

1 Gent. His only child.
He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old,

I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stolen; and to this hour, no guess in know-
ledge
Which way they went.

2 Gent. How long is this ago?

1 Gent. Some twenty years.

2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd !

XKKI.

Act I.

CYMBELINE

705

So slackly guarded! And the search so slow.
That could not trace them!

1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, sir.

2 Gent. I do well believe you.
1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the queen

and princess. ') \Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same.

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.

me,

Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find
daughter,
After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good.
You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.

Post. Please your highness,

I will from hence to-day.

Queen. You know the peril : —

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king
Hath charg'd you should not speak together.

[Exit Queen.

Imo. O

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds! — My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing,
(Always reserv'd my holy duty,) *) what
His rage can do on me: You must be gonej
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live.
But that there is this jewel in the world,
That I may see again.

Post. My queen! my mistress!

O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man! I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence in Rome, at one Philario's;
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen.
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

Re-enter Queen.

Queen. Be brief, I pray you:

If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure: Yet I'll move him

[Aside.
To walk this way; I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; ')
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit.

Pott. Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live.
The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu!

Imo. Nay, stay a little:
Were you but riding forth to air yourself.
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart:
But keep it till you woo another wife.
When Imogen is deeid.

Post. How! how! another? —

You gentle gods, give me but this I have.
And sear up *°) my embracements from a next

With bonds of death! — Remain thou here

[Putting on the Bing.
While sense can keep it on ! " ) And sweetest, fairest.
As I my poor self did exchange for you.
To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles
I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;
It is a manacle '^) of love; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.

[Putting a Bracelet on her Artn.
Imo. O, the gods!

When shall we see again?

Enter Ctmbeline and Lords.
Pott. Alack, the king!

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from my sight !
If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou dlest: Away!
Thou art poison to my blood.

Pott. The gods protect you !

And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone. [Exit.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym. O disloyal thing.

That should'st repair my youth; thou heapest
A year's age on me!

Imo. I beseech you, sir.

Harm not yourself with your vexation; I
Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears. '^)
Cym. Past grace ? obedience ?

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
Cym. That raight'st have had the sole son of my

queen !
Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
And did avoid a puttock. ^'*)
Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made
my throne
A seat for baseness.

Imo. No; I rather added

A lustre to it.
Cym. O thou vile one!

Imo. Sir,

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my play- fellow; and he is
A man, worth any woman; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays. ' ^)
Cym. What ! — Art thou mad ?

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me! — 'Would
I were
A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son !

Re-enter Queen.

Cym. Thou foolish thing! —

They were again together: you have done

[To the QuEEir.
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.

Queen. 'Beseech your patience : — Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace; — Sweet sovereign.
Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
Out of your best advice. ")

Cym. Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
Die of this folly ! [«*»•

Enter Pisanio.
Queen. Fye ! — you must give way :
Here is your servant. — How now, sir? What news?
Pit. My lord your son drew on my master.
Queen. Ha!
No harm, I trust, is done?
KKHI. 45

706

CYMBELINE

Act I.

Pis. There might have been,

But that my master rather play'd than fought,
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.

Queen. I am very glad on't.

Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his
part. —
To draw^ upon an exile! — O brave sir! —
I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer back. — Why came you from your master?

Pis. On his command : He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven: left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When it pleas'd you to employ me.

Queen. This hath been

Your faithful servant; I dare lay mine honour.
He will remain so.

Pis. I humbly thank your highness.

Queen. Pray, walk a while.

Imo. About some half hour hence,

I pray you, speak with me : you shall, at least.
Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE m.

A public Place.

Enter Cloten, and two Lords.

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt;
the violence of action hath made you reek as a
sacrifice: Where air comes out, air comes in: there's
none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it —
Have I hurt him?

2 Lord. No, faith ; not so much as his patience.

[Aside.

1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcase,
if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if
it be not hurt.

2 Lord. His steel was in debt; it went o'the back
side the town. [Aside.

Clo. The villain would not stand me.
2 Lord. No ; but he fled forward still, toward your
face. [Aside.

1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough of your
own: but he added to your having; gave you some
groiind.

2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans : Pup-
pies ! [Aside.

Clo. I would, they had not come between us.

2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how
long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside.

Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and
refuse me!

2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she
is damned. [Aside.

1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and
her brain go not together: »'') she's a good sign,
but I have seen small reflection of her wit. *^)

2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the reflec-
tion should hurt her. [Aside.

Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there had
been some hurt done!
2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the fall

of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside.

Clo. You'll go with us?

1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship.
Clo. Nay, come, let's go together.

2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Cymbeline'« Palace,

Enter Imogen and Pisanio.

Imo.

I would thou grew'st unto the shores o'the
haven.

And question'dst every sail: if he should write,
An I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
As offer'd mercy is. '') What was the last
That he spake to thee?

Pis. 'Twas, His queen, his queen !

Imo. Then wav'd his handkerchief?

Pis. And kiss'd it, madam.

Imo. Senseless linen! happier therein than I! —
And that was all?

Pis. No, madam; for so long

As he could make me with this eye or ear
Distinguish him from others, he did keep
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief.
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.

Imo. Thou should'st have made him

As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.

Pis. Madam, so I did.

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings ; crack'd
them, but
To look upon him; till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle:
Nay, foUow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air; and then
Haveturn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?

Pis. Be assur'd, madam.

With his next vantage. -")

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him.
How I would think on him, at certain hours.
Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him swear
The shes of Italy should not betray
Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him.
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight.
To encounter me with orisons, ^') for then
I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. The queen, madam.

Desires your highness' company.

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them de-
spatch'd. —
I will attend the queen.

Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Rome. An Apartment in Philario'« House.

Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a
Dutchman, and a Spaniard.

lach. Believe it, sir: I have seen him in Britain:
he was then of a crescent note; expected to prove
so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name
of: but I could then have looked on him without
the help of admiration; though the catalogue of his
endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to
peruse him by items.

Phi. You speak of him when he was less furnished,

XRKI.

Act I.

C Y M B E L I N E

707

than now he is, with that which makes him -^) both
without and within.

French. I have seen him in France: we had very
many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes
as he.

lack. This matter of marrying his king's daughter,
(wherein he must be weighed rather by her value,
than his own,) words him, I doubt not, a great
deal from the matter. ^*)

French. And then his banishment:

lach. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep
this lamentable divorce, under her colours, -■*) are
wonderfully to extend him; be it but to fortify her
judgment, which else an easy battery might lay
flat, for taking a beggar without more quality. -*}
But how comes it, he is to sojourn with you? How
creeps acquaintance?

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; to
whom I have been often bound for no less than my
life:

Enter Posthuhds.

Here comes the Briton: Let him be so entertained
amongst you, as suits, with gentlemen of your know-
ing, to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech you
all, be better known to this gentleman; whom I
commend to you, as a noble friend of mine: How-
worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather
than story him in his own hearing.

French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans.

Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet
pay still.

French. Sir, yon o'er-rate my poor kindness : I
was glad I did atone my countryman and you; -')
it had been pity, you should have been put together
with so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon
importance of so slight and trivial a nature. ^')

Poit. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young
traveller: rather shunned to go even with what 1
heard, than in my every action to be guided by

lieve she excelled many : but I have not seen the
most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

Post. I praised her as I rated her: so do I my
stone.

lach. What do you esteem it at!

Post. More than the world enjoys.

Jack. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead,
or she's outprized by a trifle.

Post. You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or
given; if there were wealth enough for the pur-
chase, or merit for the gift: the other is not a
thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.

lach. Which the gods have given you?

Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep.

lach. You may wear her in title yours: but, you
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds.
Your ring may be stolen too: so, of your brace of
nnprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, aad
the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-
accompHshed courtier, would hazard the winning
both of first and last.

Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished a
courtier, to convince^-) the honour of my mistress;
if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail.
I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves; not-
withstanding I fear not my ring.

Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen.

Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior,
I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are fa-
miliar at first.

lach. With five times so much conversation, I
should get ground of your fair mistress : make her
go back, even to the yielding; had I admittance,
and opportunity to friend.

Post. No, no.

lach. I dare, thereupon, pawn the moiety of my
estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, o'er-
values it something: But I make my wager rather
against your confidence, than her reputation: and,
to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it
against any lady in the world.

Post. You are a great deal abused '^) in too bold
others' experiences:-*) but, upon my mended judg- ! a persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what
ment, (if I offend not to say it is mended,) my ; you're worthy of, by your attempt,
quarrel was not altogether slight. j! lack. What's that?

French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement j! Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you
of swords; and by such two, that would, by all ; call it, deserve more; a punishment too

likelihood, have confounded one the other, -') or
have fallen both.

lach. Can we, writh manners, ask what was the
difference ?

French. Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in
public, which may, without contradiction,^") suffer
the report. It was much like an argument that fell
out last night, where each of us fell in praise of
our country mistresses : This gentleman at that time
vouching, (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,)
his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant-
qualified, and less attemptible, than any the rarest
of our ladies in France.

lach. That lady is not now living; or this gentle-
man's opinion, by this, worn out.

Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.

lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours
of Italy.

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France,
I would abate her nothing; though I profess myself!
her adorer, not her friend. ^ ' )

lach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in-
hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and
too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went

Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too
suddenly ; let it die as it was- born, and, I pray
you, be better acquainted.

lach. 'Would I had put my estate, and my neigh-
bour's, on the approbation^*) of what I have spoke.

Post. What lady would you choose to assail?

lach. Yours ; whom in constancy, you think, stands
so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your
ring, that, commend me to the court where your
lady is, with no more advantage than the oppor-
tunity of a second conference, and I will bring
from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine
so reserved. ^

Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it:
my ring I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it-

Jach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If
you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you can-
not preserve it from tainting: But, I see, you have
some religion in you, that you fear.

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue; you
bear a graver purpose, I hope.

Jach. 1 am the master of my speeches; and would

undergo what's spoken, I swear.
Post. Will you? — I shall but lend my diamond
before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours ■' till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn j
outlustres memy I have beheld, I could not but be- j' between us: My mistress exceeds in goodness the

SKKX. 45

708

CYMBELINE

Act I.

hugeness of your unworthy thinking: I dare you to
this match : here's my ring.

PA». I will have it no lay.

lacli. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no
sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand du-
cats are yours; so is your diamond too. If I come
off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust
in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold
are yours: — provided, I have your commendation,
for my more free entertainment.

Poit. I embrace these conditions; let us have ar-
ticles betwixt us: — only, thus far you shall answer.
If you make your voyage upon her, and give me
directly to understand you have prevail'd, 1 am no
further your enemy, she is not worth our debate :
if she remain unseduced, (you not making it appear
otherwise,) for your ill opinion, and the assault you
have made to her chastity, you shall answer me
with your sword.

lacli. Your hand ; a covenant : We will have these
things set down by lawful counsel, and straight
away for Britain; lest the bargain should catch
cold, and starve: I will fetch my gold, and have
our two wagers recorded.

Post. Agreed. [Exeunt Posthumcs and Iachimo.

French. Will this hold, think you?

Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. Pray, let
us follow 'em.

SCENE VI.

Britain. A Room in Cymbellne's Palace.

Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius.

Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those
flowers ;
Make haste: Who has the note of them?

1 Lady. I, madam.

Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies.

Now, master doctor; have you brought those drugs?

Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are,
madam: [Presenting a small Box.

But I beseech your grace, (without offence;
My conscience bids me ask;) wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds.
Which are the movers of a languishing death;
But, though slow, deadly?

Queen. I do wonder, ^^}. doctor,

Thou ask'st me such a question: Have I not been
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not leam'd me how
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so.
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,
(Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meet
That I did amplify my judgment in
Other conclusions? ^<') I will try the forces
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,)
! To try the vigour of them, and apply
AUayments to their act: and by them gather
Their several virtues, and effects.

Cor. " Your highness

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart :
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noisome and infectious.

Queen. O, content tliee. —

Enter Pisanio.

[Mide.

Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him

Will I first work : he's for his master.

And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio ? —

Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
Take your own way.

Cor. I do suspect you, madam;

But you shall do no harm. [Aside.

Queen. Hark thee, a word. —

[To Pisanio,

Cor. [Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think,
she has
Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit.
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such damn'd nature: Those, she has,
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile:
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats, and dogs;
Then afterward up higher; but there is
No danger in what show of death it makes.
More than the locking up the spirits a time.
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a most false effect; and I the truer,
So to be false with her.

Queen. No further service, doctor,

Until I send for thee.

Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou
think, in time
She will not quench; ^') and let instructions enter
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work;
When thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son,
I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then
As great as is thy master: greater; for
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
Is at last gasp : Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is: to shift his being, '^)
Is to exchange one misery with another;
And every day, that comes, comes to decay
A day's w ork in him : What shalt thou expect,
To be depender on a thing that leans? ^')
Who cannot be new-built; nor has no friends,

[The Queen drops a Box: Pisanio takes it up.
So much as but to prop him? — Thou tak'st up
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
It is a thing I made, which hath the king
Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know
What is more cordial: — Nay, I pr'ythee, take it;
It is an earnest of a further good
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
The case stands with her: do't, as from thyself.
Think what a chance thou changest on ; ■* ") but think
Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son.
Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly.
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
Think on my words. [Exit Pisa.] — A sly and con-
stant knave;
Not to be shak'd: the agent for his master:
And the remembrancer of her, to hold
The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that,
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of liegers for her sweet;'*') and which she, after.
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd

Re-enter Pisanio, and Ladies.

To taste of too. — So, so ; • — well done, well done :
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses.
Bear to my closet: — Fare thee well, Pisanio;
Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

Pig. And shall do:

But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. [Exit.

XUUI.

Act J.

CYMBELINE.

709

Scene VII.

Another Room in the same.

Enter Imogen.

Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady.
That hath her husband banish'd ; — O, that husband !
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen,
As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable
Is the desire that's glorious: Blessed be those.
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills.
Which seasons comfort.. — Who may this be ? Fye !

Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.

Pi*. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome;
Comes from my lord with letters.

lack. Change you, madam?

The worthy Leonatus is in safety.
And greets your highness dearly. [Presenu a Letter.

Imo. Thanks, good sir:

You are kindly welcome.

Jack. All of her, that is out of door, most rich!

[Aside.
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
She is alone the Arabian bird; and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
Rather, directly fly.

Imo. [Reads.] He it one of the noblest note, to
whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect
upon him accordingly, as you value your truest **-}

Leonatl's.
So far I read aloud:
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. —
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
Have words to bid you; and shall find it so.
In all that I can do.

lach. Thanks, fairest lady. —

What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul ?

Imo. Wiiat makes your admiration?

lach. It cannot be i'the eye; for apes and jnonkeys,
'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mows the other: Nor i'the judgment;
For idiots, in this case of favour, would
Be wisely definite: Nor i'the appetite;
Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd,
Should make desire vomit emptiness.
Not so allur'd to feed.

Imo. What is the matter, trow?

lach. The cloyed will,

(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire.
That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first
The lamb, longs after for the garbage.

imo. What, dear sir.

Thus raps you? Are you well?

lach. Thanks, madam; well: — Beseech you, sir,
desire [To Pisanio.

My man's abode where I did leave him: he
Is strange and peevish. *^)

Pi*- I was going, sir.

To give him welcome. [Exit Pisanio.

Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech
you?

lach. Well, madam.

Imo. Is he dlspos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.

lach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
The Briton reveller.

Imo. When he was here.

He did incline to sadness; and oft-times
Not knowing why.

lach. I never saw him sad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton
(Your lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries, 01
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must be, — will his free hours languish for
Assured bondage?

Imo. Will my lord say so?

lach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with
laughter.
It is a recreation to be by.
And liear him mock the Frenchman: But, heavens

know,
Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.

lach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards
him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ;
In you, — which I count his,**} beyond all talents, —
W^hilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imo. W'hat do you pity, sir?

lach. Two creatures, heartily.

Imo. Am I one, sir?

You look on me; What wreck discern you in me.
Deserves your pity?

lach. Lamentable! What!

To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I'the dungeon by a snuff?

Imo. I pray yon, sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?

lack. That others do,

I was about to say, enjoy your But

It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imo. Yoii do seem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me ; 'pray you,
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be sure they do : For certainties
Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing.
The remedy then born,) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.**)

lach. Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch.
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here: should I (dainn'd then,)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood, eis
With labour;) then lie peeping in an eye.
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit.
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo. My lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britain.

lach. And himself. Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

XKKI.

710

CYMBELINE.

Act JL

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue.
Charms this report out.
Imo. Let me hear no more.

lach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an erapery, ^')
Would make the great'st king double ! to be partner'd
With tomboys,'*') hir'd with that self-exhibition *»)
Which your own coffers yield ! with diseas'd ventures.
That play with all infirmities for gold
Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff,
As well might poison poison ! Be reveng'd :
Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.

Into. Reveng'd !

How should I be reveng'd? If this be true,
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true.
How should I be reveng'd?

lack. Should he make me

Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets;
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps.
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure;
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue fast to your affection.
Still close, as sure.
Imo. What ho, Pisanio !

Jack. Let me my service tender on your lips.
Imo. Away ! — I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. — If thou wert honourable.
Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange.
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains
Thee and the devil alike. — What ho, Pisanio ! —
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault: if he shall think it tit,
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart
As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all. — What ho, Pisanio! —
lach. O happy Leonatus! I may say;
The credit, that thy lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit! — Blessed live you long!
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord
That which he is, new o'er: And he is one
The truest manner'd; such a holy witch.
That he enchants societies unto him:
Half of all men's hearts are his.
Imo. You make amends.

lach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god:
He hath a kind of honour sets him off.
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry.
Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking a false '*') report; which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
In the election of a sir so rare.
Which you know, cannot err: The love I bear him
Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you.
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i'the court

for yours.
lach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
To entreat your grace but in a small request,

And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your lord; myself, and other noble friends,
Are partners in the business.

Into. Pray, what is't?

lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord,
(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums.
To buy a present for the emperor;
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France: 'Tis plate, of rare device; and jewels,
Of rich and exquisite form; their value's great;
And I am something curious, being strange, *'*)
To have them in safe stowage; May it please you
To take them in protection?

Imo. Willingly ;

And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

lack. They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men: I Avill make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboard to-morrow.

Imo. O, no, no.

lach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word,
By length'ning my return. B'rom Gallia
T cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise
To see your grace.

Imo. I thank you for your pains;

But not away to-morrow?

lach. O, I must, madam:

Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
I have outstood my time; which is material
To the tender of our present.

Imo. I will write.

Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
And truly yielded you: You are very welcome.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Court before Cymbeline'* Palace.

Enter Clotbn a7id two Lords.

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck! when I
kissed the jack upon an up-cast, ' ) to be hit away !
I had a hundred pound on't : And then a whoreson
jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I
borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend
them at my pleasure.

1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke
his pate with your bowl.

2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke
it, it would have ran all out. [Aside.

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is
not for any standers by to curtail his oaths: Ha?

2 Lord. No, my lord ; nor [aside] crop the ears
of them.

Clo. Whoreson dog! — I give him satisfaction?
'Would, he had been one of my rank?

2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Jside.

Clo. I am not more vexed at any thing in the
earth, — A pox on't! I had rather not be so noble
as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of
the queen my mother: every jack-slave hath his
belly full of fighting, and I must go up and dowli
like a cock that nobody can match.

2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too ; and you
crow, cock, with your comb on. [Aside.

Clo. Sayest thou?

1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should under-
take every companion ^) that you give offence to.

RBKI.

Act II.

CYMBELINE.

711

Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit, I should com-
mit offence to my inferiors.
2 hord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
Clo. Why, so I say.

1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger, that's come
to court to-night?

Clo. A stranger! and I not know on't!

2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows
it not. [Atide.

1 Lord. There's an Italian coooe; and, 'ds thought,
one of Leonatus' friends.

Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal ; and, he's another,
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger ?

1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages.

Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon hiui? Is there
no derogation in't?

1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord.
Clo. Not easily, I think.

2 Lord. You are a fool granted; therefore your
issues being foolish, do not derogate. [Aside.

Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian : What I have lost
to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.

2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship.

[Exeunt Clotex and first Lord.
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! a woman, that
Bears ail down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart.
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess.
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st!
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd;
A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer.
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'd make? The heavfens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd
That temple, thy fair mind ; that thou may'st stand,
To enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land!

[Exit.

SCENE IT.

A Bed -chamber; in one part of it a Trunk,

Imogen reading in her Bed; a Lady attending.

Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen?

Lady. Please you, madam.

Imo. What hour is it?

Lady. Almost midnight, madam.

Imo. I have read three hours then: noine eyes are
weak: —
Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed:
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock,
I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly.

[Exit Ladj.
To your protection I commend me, gods!
From fairies, and the tempters of the night,
Guard me, beseech ye!

[Sleeps. lACHino from the Trunk.

Inch. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ') ere he wakeu'd
The chastity he wounded. — Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily !
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! — Rubies unparagon'd.
How dearly they do't — 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o'the taper
Bows toward her; and would under -peep her lids.
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows : ■♦) White and azure, lac'd
With blue of heavens own tinct. — But my design?

To note the chamber : — I will write all down : —
Such, and such, pictures : — There the w indow : —

Such
The adornment of her bed; — The arras, figures.
Why, sQch and such: — And the contents o'the

story, —
Ah, but some natural notes about her body.
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory:
O sleep, thou ape of death. He dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument.
Thus in a chapel lying! — Come off, come off;

[Taking bff her Bracelet.
As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard! —
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly.
As strongly as the conscience does within.
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque -spotted, like the crimson drops
I'the bottom of a cowslip. *) Here's a voucher.
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
W'ill force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what end ?
Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory ? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leafs turn'd down.
Where Philomel gave up; — I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! — *) that

dawning
May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

[Clock Uriia.
One, two, three, — Time, time !

[Goes into the Trunk. The Scene dote*.

SCENE III.

An Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen'« Apartment.

Enter Clotbn and Lords.

1 Lord. YoMi lordship is the most patient man in
loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose.

1 Lord. But not every man patient after the noble
temper of your lordstup; You are most hot, and
furious, when you win.

Clo. Winning would put any man into courage:
If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have
gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clo. I would this music would come: I am ad-
vised to give her music o' mornings; they ^ay, it
will penetrate.

Enter Musicians.

Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your
fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after,
a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words
to it, — and then let her consider.

Song.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven'* gate singt.

And Phoebus 'gins arise.
His steeds to water at those spring*

On chalic'd flowers that lies; '')
And tpinking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes; «)
With every thing that pretty bin:

My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise.

HXXI.

712

CYMBELINE.

Act II.

So, get you gone; If this penetrate, I will consider
your music the better: ') if it do not, it is a vice
in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor
the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never
amend. [Exeunt Musicians.

Enter Cymbblinb and Qubbn.

ZLord. Here comes the king.

Cto. I am glad, I was up so late; for that's the
reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but
take this service 1 have done, fatherly. — Good mor-
row to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern
daughter ?
Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she vouch-
safes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new!
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out.
And then she's yours.

Queen. You are most bound to the king;

Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself
To orderly solicits; "*) and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem, as if
You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her.
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Clo. Senseless? not so.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome ;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cyin. A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that's no fault of his : We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself his goodness forespent on us
We must extend our notice. — *^) Our dear son.
When you have given good morning to your mistress.
Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our
queen.

[Exeunt Cym. Qoeen, Lords, and Mess.

Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not.
Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho! —

[Knocks.
I know her women are about her; What
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
Which buys admittance ; oft it doth ; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, ^^) yield up
Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man : What
Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me; for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave. [Knocks.

Enter a Lady.
Lady. Who's there that knocks ?

A gentleman.

No more?

Clo.

Lady.

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady. That's more

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours.
Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's pleasure?

Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready?

Lady. Ay,

To keep her chamber.

Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good report.

Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you

What I shall think is good ? — The princess

Enter Imogbn.

Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister : Your sweet hand.

/mo. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.

Clo. Still, I swear, I love you.

Lno. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me :
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.

Clo. This is no answer.

Jmo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: i'faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness ; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin :
I will not.

Jmo. Fools are not mad folks.

Clo. Do you call me fool ?

Itno. As I am mad, I do:
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir.
You put me to forget a lady's manners.
By being so verbal: ^^) and learn now, for all.
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
And am so near the lack of charity,
(To accuse myself) I hate you ; which I had rather
You felt, than make't my boast.

Clo. You sin against

Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract ^'') you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of aims, and foster'd with cold dishes.
With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allowed in meaner parties,
(Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls
(On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary) in self-figured knot; ^ ')
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o'the crown ; and must not soil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hllding for a livery, ^ ^) a squire's cloth,
A pantler, not so eminent.

lino. Profane fellow!

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more.
But Avhat thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough.
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, ^') to be styi'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clo. The south-fog rot him !

Jmo. He never can meet more mischance, than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment.
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee.
Were they all made such men. — How now, Pisanio ?

Enter Pisanio.

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil -

Jmo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently : —

Clo. His garment?

Jmo. I am sprighted with a fool; ' ®)

Frighted, and anger'd worse: — Go, bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually
Hath left mine arm; it was my master's: 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king's in Europe. I do think,

BBXI.

Act II.

CYMBELINE.

713

I saw't this morning: confident I am,
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd itj
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.

Pit. 'Twill not be lost.

Jmo. I hope so: go, and search. [Exit Pis.

Clo. You have abas'd me : —

His meanest garment?

Jmo. Ay; I said so, sir.

If you will mak't an action, call witness to't.

Clo. I will inform your father.

Imo. Your mother too:

She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir.
To the worst of discontent. [Exit.

Clo. I'll be reveng'd: —

His meanest garment? — Well. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Rome. An Apartment in Philario'« House.

Enter Posthdmus and Philaiuo.

Post Fear it not, sir; I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.

Phi. What means do you make to him ?

Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time ;
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
That warmer days would come : In these fear'd hopes,
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phi. Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
Will do his commission throughly: And, I think,
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages.
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post. I do believe,

(Statist ^ ') though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Caesar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline
(Now mingled with their courages) will make known
To their approvers, ^°) they are people, such
That mend upon the world.

Enter Iachiho.

Phi. See! lachimo?

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land :
And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails.
To make your vessel nimble.

Phi. Welcome, sir.

Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.

lach. Your lady

Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon.

Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts.
And be false with them.

lack. ^ Here are letters for you.

Post. Their tenoor good, I trust.

Jack. 'Tis very like.

Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court.
When you were there?

lach. He was expected then,

But not approach'd.

Post. All is well yet —

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not

Too dull for your good wearing?
lack. If I have lost it,

I should have lost the worth of it in gold.

I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy

A second night of such sweet shortness, which

Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

Post. The stone's too hard to come by.

lack. Not a whit,

Your lady being so easy.

Post. Make not, sir,

Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we

Must not continue friends.

lack. Good sir, we must.

If you keep covenant: Had I not brought

The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant

We were to question further: but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour.

Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.

Post. If you can mak't apparent

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand,
And ring, is yours: If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses.
Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both
To Avho shall find them.

lach. Sir, my circumstances,

Being so near the truth, as I will make them.
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.

Post. Proceed.

lack. First, her bed-chamber,
(Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess.
Had that was well worth watching,) It was hang'd
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats, or pride: -') A piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship and value; which, I wonder'd.
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life on't was

Post. This is true;

And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.

lach. More particulars

Must justify my knowledge.

Post. So they must.

Or do your honour injury.

lack. The chimney

Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece,
Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves: ^-) the cutter
Was as another nature, dumb ; ^ ^) outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.

Post. This is a thing.

Which you might from relation likewise reap.
Being, as it is, much spoke of.

lach. The roof o'the chamber

With golden cherubins is fretted: Her andirons
(I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands. **)

Post. This is her honour ! —

Let it be granted you hav^ seen all this, * *) (and praise
Be given to your remembrance,) the description
Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves
The wager you have laid.

lacTs. Then, if you can,

[Pulling out the Bracelet.

Bxm.

714

CYMBELINE.

Act J J J.

Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath*')
He hath against himself.
Jack. With all my heart. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The same. Another Room in the same.

Enter Posthumus.

Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half-workers V We are bastards all; -")
And that most venerable man, which I
Did call my father, was I know not where
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit: Yet ray mother seem'd
The Dian of that time : so doth ray wife
The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance !
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd.
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance : did it with
A pjudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils ! —
This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was't not? —
Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not; but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cry'd, oh ! and mounted : found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is Ihe woman's part: Be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers ; revenges, hers ;
Ambitions, covetings, chance of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, slandei's, mutability,
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all;
For ev'n to vice

They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them.
Detest them, curse them: — Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit.

Be pale; I beg but leave to air this jewel: See! —
And now 'tiS up again: It must be married
To that your diamond; I'll keep them.

Post. Jove! —

Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her?

lach. Sir, (I thank her,) that:

She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and said,
She priz'd it once.

Post. May be, she pluck'd it off,

I'o send it me.

lach. She writes so to you? doth she?

Post. O, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too;

[Gives the Ring.
It is a basilisk unto mine eye.
Kills me to look on't: — Let there be no honour.
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Where there's another man: The vows of women
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
Than they are to their virtues ; which is nothing : —
O, above measuie false!

Phi. Have patience, sir.

And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
It may be probable, she lost it; or.
Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her.

Post. Very true;

And so, I hope, he came by't: — Back my ring; —
Render to me some corporal sign about her.
More evident than this; for this was stolen.

lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
'Tis true; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true : I am sure,
She would not lose it: her attendants are
All sworn, and honourable: — They induc'd to

steal it!
And by a stranger! — No, he hath enjoy 'd her:
The cognizance ^^) of her incontinency
Is this, — she hath bought the name of whore thus

dearly. —
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you!

Phi. Sir, be patient:

This is not strong enough to be believ'd
Of one persuaded well of

Post. Never talk on't;

She hath been colted by him.

lach. If you seek

For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging: By ray life,
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm

Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

lach. Will you hear more?

Post. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns;
Once, and a. million!

lach. J'll be sworn, —

Post, No swearing.

If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
Thou hast made me cuckold.

lach. I will deny nothing.

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her llmbmeal !
I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before
Her father: — I'll do something [Exit.

Phi. Quite besides

The government of patience! — You have won:

ACT III.

SCENE I. Britain. A Room of State in
Cymbeline'* Palace.

Enter Cymbklinb, Queen, Clotbn, and Lords,

at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius,

and Attendants.

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

Luc. When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance yet
Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues.
Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, ')
(Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deser- ing it,) for him,
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute.
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.

Queen. And, to kill the marvel,

Shall be so ever.

Clo. There be many Caesars,

Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay,
For wearing our own noses.

Queen. That opportunity.

Which then they had to take from us, to resume
We have again. — Remember, sir, my liege,

Act IJL

C Y M B E L I N E.

715

The kings your ancestors; together with
The natural bravery of your isle; which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters;
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats.
But suck thein up to the top-roast. A kind of conquest
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
Of, came, and saw, and overcame: with shame
(The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping,
(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks: For joy whereof.
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(O, giglot fortune!) -) to roaster Ca;sar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright.
And Britons strut with courage.

Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid :
Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time;
and, as I said, there is no more such Caesars : other
of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such
straight arms, none.
Cym. Son, let your mother end.
Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as
hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but 1
have a hand. — Why tribute? why should we pay
tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with
a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will
pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute,
pray you now.

Cym. You must know.
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free ; Caesar's ambition,
(Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o'the world,) against all colour,^) here
Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off,
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be. VVe do say then to Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws ; (whose use the sword of Caesar
Hath too much mangled: whose repair, and franchise,
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed.
Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Mulmutius, "*)
Who was the first of Britain, which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar
(Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy:
Receive it from roe, then : — War, and confusion,
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted ; — Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius.

Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce.
Behoves me keep at utterance; *) I am perfect, ^)
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent
Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold:
So Caesar shall not find them.
Lvc. ^ ^ Let proof speak.

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime
with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us after-
wards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-
water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours;
if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare
the better for you; and there's an end.
Luc, So, sir.

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine :
All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt.

KXKI

SCENE II.

Another Room in the same.

Enter Pisanio.

Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write yoa not
What monster's her accuser? — Leonatus!
O, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian
(As poisonous tongue'd, as handed,) ') hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing? — Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes.
More goddess-like than wife-life, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. — *) O, roy master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, ') as were
Thy fortunes. — How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command? — I, her? — her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity.
So much as this fact comes too? Do't: The letter

[Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity: — O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, "*) and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.

Enter Imogen.

0

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo, How now, Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

Jmo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus?
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer.
That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open. — You good gods.
Let what is here contain'd relish of love.
Of my lord's health, of his content, — yet not,
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him, —
(Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them,
For it doth physic love; — '-) of his content.
All but in that! — Good wax, thy leave : — Bless'd be.
You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables. — Good news, gods !

[Reads.
Justice, and your father's wralh, should he take
me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me,
as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even
renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am
in Cambria, at Milfjurd-Haven : What your own
love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he
wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to
his vow, and your, increasing in love,

Leonatus Posthumus.
O, for a horse with wings ! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio ?
He is at Mi I ford-Haven: Read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day ? — Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st, —
O, let me 'bate, — but not like me: — yet long'st, —
But in a fainter kind — O, not like me;
For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick, *')
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as

To inherit such a haven: But, first of all.

How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap

That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,

716

CYMBELINE.

Act JIl

And our return, to excuse : — but first, how get hence :
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? "*)
We'll talk of that hereafter. 'Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour ?

Pit, One score, 'twixt sun and sun.

Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man.
Could never go so slow : 1 have heard of riding, wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands.

That run i'the clock's behalf: But this is foolery :

Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say

She'll home to her father ; and provide me, presently,

A riding suit; no costlier than would fit

A franklin's housewife. ■ ^)

Pis. Madam, you're best consider.

Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them.
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee;
Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.

Enter Belarius, Guidbrius, and Arviragus.

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such
Whose roofs as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate
Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows you
To morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet"") through
And keep their impious turbands on, ") without
Good morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven !
We house i'the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Gui. Hail, heaven!

Arv. Hail, heaven!

Bel. Now for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill.
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow.
That it is place, which lessens, and sets off.
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done.
But being so allow'd: "^) To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see:
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle •^) in a safer hold
Than is the fuU-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check; *")
Richer, than doing nothing for a babe; *')
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk :
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine.
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours, -^)

Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un-
fledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest ; nor know not
What air's from home. Haply, this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age: but, uuto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit. 2^)

Arv. What should we speak of, *"*)

When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how.
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey:
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eatt
Our valour is, to chase what files; our cage

KXXI.

We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly: the art o'the court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery, that
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i'the

search.
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph.
As record of fair act; nay, many times.
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse.
Must court'sey at the censure: — O, boys, this story
The world may read in me : My body's mark'd
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note; Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: Then was I as a tree.
Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but, in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will.
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Gui. Uncertain favour!

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft,)
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans: so.
Folio w'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world :
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven, than in all
The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the mountains ;
This is not hunters' language: — He, that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o'the feast;
To him the other two shall minister;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

\Exeunt Goi. and Akv.
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little, they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up

thus meanly
I'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, —
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius, — Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say, — Thus mine enemy fell:
And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats.
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure.
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark! tlie game is rous'd! —
O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows.
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon.
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes; *^)
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their

mother,
And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd.
They take for natural father. The game is up.

[Exit.

Act III.

CYMBELINE.

717

SCENE IV.

fiear Milford-Haven,

Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse,
the place
Was near at hand: — Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now: — Pisanio! Man!
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind.
That makes thee stare thus V Wherefore breaks that

sigh
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Bej ond self-explication : Put thyself
Into a haviour-'') of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish'd my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news.
Smile to't before: If winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still. — My husband's hand !
That drug-damn'd ^") Italy hath out-craftied him.
And he's at some hard point. — Speak, man; thy

tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

Pis. Please you, read;

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.

Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played
the strumpet in m.y bed; the testimonies whereof
lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak sur-
mises; but from proof as strong as my grief and
as certain as I expect my revenge. That part,
thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not
tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own
hands take away her life: I shall give thee oppor-
tunities at IMillord-Haven : she hath my letter for
the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and
to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander
to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.

Pit. What shall I need to draw my sword V the
paper
Hath cut her throat already. — No, 'tis slander;
W hose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outveuoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, ^ ^)
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, madam?

Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge

nature.
To break it with a fearful dream of him.
And cry myself awake? that's false to hia bed?
Is it?

Pis. Alas, good lady !

Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness: — lachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ;
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks.
Thy favour's good enough. — Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, ^9) hath betray'd

him :
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ripp'd : — ^ o) ^^ pieces with me ! — O,
Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good seeming.
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy; not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

■Pw- Good madam, hear me.

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false ^neas.

Were, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity

From most true w retchedness : So, thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; ^')

Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd.

From thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest:

Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him,

A little Avitness my obedience : Look !

I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit

The innocent mansion of my love, my heart:

Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief:

Thy master is not there; who was, indeed,

The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike.

Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause;

But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pit. Hence, vile iistrument!

Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imo. Why, I must die;

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine.
That cravens my weak hand. ^*) Come, here's my

heart;
Something's afore't: — Soft, soft; we'll no defence)
Obedient as the scabbard. — What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
Coirupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers : Though those that are betray'd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in v^orse case of woe.
And thou, Posthumus, thou that did'st set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself.
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st on, *^) how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me. — 'Pr'ythee, despatch :
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Pis. O gracious lady.

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

Imo. Wherefore then

Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court.
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far.
To be unbent, *'*) when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee?

Pis. But to win time;

To lose so bad employment: in the which
I have conslder'd of a course; Good lady.
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary; speak t

I have heard, I am a strumpet; and mine ear.
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound.
Nor tent, to bottom that. But speak.

Pis. Then, madam,

I thought you would not back again.

Imo. Most like;

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pis, Not so, neither:

But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,

XKBI.

718

CYMBELINE.

Act III.

But that my master is abus'd:

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.

Hath done you both this cursed injury.

Jmo. Some Roman courtezan.

Pis. No, on my life.

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it: for 'tis commanded
I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court.
And that will well confirm it.

Jmo. Why, good fellow,

What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Pis. If you'll back to the court, —

Jmo. No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing:
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege^

Pis. If not at court.

Then not in Britain must you bide.

Jmo. Where then?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night.
Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest; 'Pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

Pis. I am most glad

You think of other place. The ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow; Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Jmo. O, for such means!

Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.

Pis. Well then, here's the point:

Y"ou must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear, and niceness,
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly.
Woman its pretty self,) to ^*) a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel: ^') nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Jmo. Nay, be brief:

I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

I'is. First, make yourself but like one.

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them : Would you, in their serving.
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you are happy, *') (which you'll make him

know,
If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless
With joy he will embrace you ; for he's honourable,
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad ^ •*)
You have me, rich; and I will never fail

Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo. Thou art all the comfort

The gods will diet me with. 'Pr'ythee, away:

There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us: This attempt
I'm soldier to, ^') and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell;
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress.
Here is a box : I had it from the queen ;
What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper. — To some shade.
And fit you to your manhood; — May the gods
Direct you to the best !

Jmo. Amen : I thank thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Room in Cymbeline'* Palace.

Enter CrMBBLiNE, Queen, Cloten, Lucius,
and Lords.

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell.

Luc. Thanks, royal sir.

My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.

Cym. Our subjects, sir.

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

LdUC. So, sir, I desire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. —
Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you!

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit: —
So, farewell, noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my lord.

Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.

Luc, Sir, the event

Is jet to name the winner: Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords.
Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness !

[Exeunt Lucius, and Lords.

Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us.
That we have given him cause.

Clo. 'Tis all the better ;

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely.
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness :
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business;

But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.

Cy7H. Our expectation that it would be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen.
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: She looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it. — Call her before us; for
We have been too slight in sufferance.

[Exit an Attendant.

Queen. Royal sir.

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty.
Forbear sharp speeches to her: She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes.
And strokes death to her.

XKXI.

Act hi.

CYMBELINE.

719

Re-enter an Attendant.

Cym. Where is she, sir? How

Can her contempt be answer'd?

Alien. Please you, sir,

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.

Queen. My lord, when last I went to risit her.
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity.
She should that duty leave unpaid to you.
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd roe to make known ; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.

Cym. Her doors lockM?

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear.
Prove false! [-Bxi*.

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
I have not seen these two days.

Queen, Go, look after. —

[Exit Clotes.
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus! —
He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her;
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown
To her desir'd Posthumus: Gone she is
To death, or to dishonour; and my end
Can make good use of either: She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.

Re-enter Clotbn.
How now, my son?

Clo. Tis certain, she Ls fled:

Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better: May

This night forestall him of the coming day! *")

[Exit QCBEN.

Clo. I love, and hate her : for she's fair and royal ;
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman;**) from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded.
Outsells them all: I love her therefore; But,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment.
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed.
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools

Enter Pisasio.

Shall — Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! Villain,
Where is thy lady! In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.

Pi'' O, good my lord !

Clo. Where is thy lady! or, by Jupiter,
I wiU not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

P'*' Alas, mv lord.

How can she be with him? When was she uuss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer;

No further halting: satisfy me home.
What is become of her?

Pit. O, my all -worthy lord!

Clo. All-worthy villain!

Discover where thy mistress is, at once.

At the next word, — No more of worthy lord, —
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pit. Then, sir.

This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight. [Pretenting a Letter,

Clo. Let's see't : — I will pursue her

Even to Augustus' throne.

Pit. Or this, or perish. 1

She's far enough; and what he learns by this, > [Ande.
May prove his travel, not her danger. )

Clo. Humph!

Pit. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again! [Atide.

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pit. Sir, as I think.

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. — Sirrah,
if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true
service; undergo those employments, wherein I should
have cause to use thee, with a serious industry, —
that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to per-
form it, directly and truly, — I would think thee
an honest man; thou shouldest neither want my
means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pit. Well, my good lord.

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course
of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine.
Wilt thou serve me?

Pit. Sir, I wUl.

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast
any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?

Pit. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit
he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
hither: let it be thy first service; go.

Pit. I shall, my lord. [ExU.

Clo. Meet thee- at Milford-Haven : — I forgot to
ask him one thing; I'll reraember't anon: — Even
there thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee. — I
would, these garments were come. She said upon
a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my
heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthumus
in more respect than my noble and natural person,
together with the adornment of my qualities. With
that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: First
kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my
valour, which will then be a torment to her con-
tempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment
ended on his dead body, — and when my lust hath
dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute
in the clothes that she so praised,) to the court I'll
knock her back, foot her home again. She hath
despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my
revenge.

Re-enter Pisakio, with the Clothet.
Be those the garments?

Pit. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went tolVIilford-Haven?

Pit. She can scarce be there yet.

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is
the second thing that 1 have commanded thee: the
third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my
design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall
tender itself to thee. — My revenge is i ow at Mil-
ford; 'Would I had wings to follow! — Come, and
be true. [Exit.

Pi*. Thou bidd'st me to my loss : for, true to thee.
Were to prove false, which I will never be.
To him that is most true. **) To Milford go.
And find not her whom thou porsu'st. Flow, flow.

720

CYMBELINE.

Act III

You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Be cross'd with slowness: labour be his meed!

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

Before the Cave o/Belarlus.

Enter Imogen, in Boy'« Clothes.

Into. I see, a man's life is a tedious one:
I have tlr'd myself; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick.
But that my resolution helps me. — Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean.
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss m'y way: Will poor folks lie.
That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce teU true: To lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings, than beggars. — My dear lord!
Thou art one o'the false ones : Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food. — But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'Tis some savage hold: ^
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. — Ho! who's here?
If any thing that's, civil, *^) speak; if savage.
Take or lend. — Ho ! — No answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens! [She goes into the Cave.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragcjs.

Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman,'**)
and
Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I,
Will play the cook, and servant; 'tis our match:**)
The sweat of industry would dry, and die.
But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs
Will make what's homely, savoury: Weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth*')
Finds the down pillow hard. — Now, peace be here.
Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

Gui. I am throughly weary.

Arp. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

Gui. There is cold meat i'the cave; we'll browze
on that
Whilst what we have kili'd be cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in:

[Looking in.
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
Here were a fairy.

Gui. What's the matter, sir.

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
An earthly paragon! — Behold divineness
No elder than a boy!

Enter Imogen,
Itno. Good masters, harm me not:
Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took : Good

troth,
I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had

found
Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my meat :
I would have left it on the board, so soon
As I had made my meal; and parted
With prayers for the provider.

Gui. Money, youth?

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.

Into. I see, you are angry:

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have died, had I not made it.

Bel. Whither bound?

Jmo. To Milford-Haven, sir.*')

Bel. What is your name?

Imo. Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy: he embark'd at Milford;
To whom, being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fallen in this off'ence. **)

Bel. 'Pr'ythee, fair youth.

Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
Ere you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it. —
Boys, bid him welcome.

Gui. Were you a woman, youth,

I should woo hard, but be your groom. — In honesty,
I bid for you, as I'd buy.

Arv. I'll mak't ray comfort,

He is a man; I'll love him as my brother: —
And such a welcome as I'd give to him,
After long absence, such is yours : — Most welcome !
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

Jmo. ' 'Mongst friends !

If brothers ? — Would it had been so, that

they
Had been my father's sons! then had my. ^^.^^

prize
Been less; and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthiimus.

Bel. He wrings at some distress.*')

Gui. 'Would I could free't!

Arv. Or I; whate'er it be.

What pain it cost, what danger ! Gods !

Bel. Hark, boys.

[JF hispering.

Into. Great men.
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by
That nothing gift of difi'ering multitudes.) ^")

Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
I'd change my sex to be companion with them.

Since Leonatus false.

Bel. It shall be so:

Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. — Fair youth, come in :

Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd.

We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story.

So far as thou wilt speak it.
Gui. Pray, draw near.

Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark,

less welcome.
Imo. Thanks, sir,
Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Rome.

Enter two Senators and Tribunes.

1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ;
That since the common men are now in action
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians;
And that the legions now in Gallia are
Full weak to undertake our wars against
The fallen-off Britons; that we do incite
The gentry to this business: He creates
Lucius pro-consul; and to you tlve tribunes,

XKRI.

Act IV.

CYMBELINE.

721

For this immediate levy, he commands

His absolute commission. *') Long live Caesar!

Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces?

2 Sen. Ay.

Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ?

1 Sen. With those legions

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
Must be supplyant: The words of your commission
Will tie you to the numbers, and the time
Of their despatch.

Tri. We will discharge our duty. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Forest, near the Cave.

Enter Clotbn.

Clo. I am near to the place where they should
meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his
garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who
was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit
too? the rather (saving reverence of the world)
for ') 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits.
Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak
it to myself, (for it is not vain-glory, for a man
and his glass to confer; in his own chamber, I mean,)
the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no
less young, more strong, not beneath him in for-
tunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time,
above him in birth, alike conversant in general ser-
vices, and more remarkable in single oppositions: ^)
yet this imperseverant ^) thing loves him in my
despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head,
which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall
within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy
garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all this
done, spurn her home to her father : who may, haply,
be a little angry for my so rough usage: but my
mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn
all into my commendations. My horse is tied up
safe: Out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune,
put them into my hand ! This is the very descrip-
tion of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares
not deceive me. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Before the Cave.

Enter, from the Cave, Bklarius, Guidekius,
Arviragus, and Imogen.

Bel. You are not well : [to Iuogek] remain here in
the cave;
We'll come to you after hunting.
Arv. Brother, stay here :

[To ImOGEN.

Are we not brothers?

Jmo. So man and man should be;

But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.

Imo. So sick I am not; — yet I am not well:
But not so citizen a wanton, as
To seem to die, ere sick : So please you, leave me ;
Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
Is breach of all, '•) I am ill; but your being by me
Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort
To one not sociable: I'm not very sick.
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.

HXKI.

Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it:

How much the quaatity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father.

Bel. What? how? how?

Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
I love this youth; and I have heard you say.
Love's reason's without reason; the bier at door,
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say.
Ml/ father, not this youth.

Bel. O noble strain! [J$ide.

0 worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base :
Nature hath meal, and bran; contempt, and grace.

1 am not their father; yet who this should be,
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. —
'Tis the ninth hour o'the morn.

■^rv. Brother, farewell.

hno. I wish ye sport.

■Arv. You health. — So please you, sir.

Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods, what
lies I have heard!
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report!
The imperious seas*) breed monsters; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
I am sick still; heart-sick: — Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug.

Gui. I could not stir him : ')

He said, he was gentle, ') but unfortunate ;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arv. Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
I might know more.

Bel. To the field, to the field: —

We'll leave you for this time; go in, and rest.

Arv. We'll not be long away.

Bel. Pfay, be not sick.

For you must be our housewife.

Imo. Well, or ill,

I am bound to y6u.

Bel. And so shalt be ever. [Exit Iuogen.

This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears, he hath had
Good ancestors.

Arv. How angel-like he sings!

Gui. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in
characters ;
And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick,
And he her dieter.

Arv. Nobly he yokes

A smiling with a sigh: as if the sigh
Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix
With winds that sailors rail at.

Gui. I do note.

That grief and patience, rooted in him both.
Mingle their spurs together. ^)

Arv. Grow, patience!

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
His perishing root, with the increasing vine!

Bel. It is great morning. ') Come ; away. — Who's
there?

Enter Cloten.

Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villaia
Hath mock'd me : — I am faint.
Bel. Those runagates!

Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
Cloten, the son o'the queen. I fear some ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know 'tis he: — We are held as outlaws: —
Hence.

46

722

CYMBELINE.

Act IV.

Gui. He is but one: You and my brother search
What companies are near: pray you, away;
Let me alone with him.

[Exeunt Belabius and Aevibacus.

Clo. Soft! What are you

That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
I have heard of such. — What slave art thou?

Gui. A thing

More slavish did I ne'er, than answering
A slave without a knock.

Clo. Thou art a robber,

A law-breaker, a villain : Yield thee, thief.

Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have
not I
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art;
Why I should yield to thee?

Clo. Thou villain base,

Know'st me not by my clothes?

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal.

Who is thy grandfather ; he made those clothes.
Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clo. Thou precious varlet.

My tailor made them not.

Gui. Hence then, and thank

The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool ;
I am loath to beat thee.

Clo. Thou injurious thief.

Hear but my name, and tremble.

Gui. What's thy name ?

Clo. Cloten, thou villain.

Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it ; were't toad, or adder, spider,
'Twould move me sooner.

Clo, To thy further fear,

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I'm son to the queen.

Gui. I'm sorry for't; not seeming

So worthy as thy birth.

Clo. Art not afeard?

Gui. Those riiat I reverence, those I fear; the wise:
At fools I laugh, not fear tliem.

Clo. Die the death:

When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence.
And -on the gates of Lud's town set your heads :
Yield, rustic mountaineer. ^°) [Exeunt, fighting.

Enter Bblarius and Arviragus.

Bel. No company's abroad.

Arv. None in the world : You did mistake him, sure.

Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him.
But time bath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking, ^ ») were as his : I am absolute,
'Twas very Cloten.

Arv. In this place we left them:

I wish my brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

Bel. Being scarce made up,

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for the efl'ect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear: *^) But see, thy brother.

Re-enter Guidekius, with Cloten'* Head.

Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse,
There was no money in't: not Hercules
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head, as I do his.

Bel. What hast thou done?

CrM». I am perfect, what: *^) cut off one Cloten's
head.
Son to the queen, after his own report;
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore,
With his own single hand he'd take us in, **)
Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they

grow.
And set them on Lud's town.

Bel. We are all undone.

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose.
But, that he swore to take, our lives? The law
Protects not us: Then why should we be tender.
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us;
Play judge, and executioner, all himself;
B'or we do fear the law? '*) What company
Discover you abroad?

Bel. No single soul

Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason.
He must have some attendants. Though his humour
Was nothing but mutation; ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have rav'd.
To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps,
It may be heard at court, that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head : the which he hearing,
(As it is like him,) might break out, and swear
He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable
To come alone, either he so undertaking,
Or they so suffering : then on good ground we fear.
If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.

Arv. Let ordinance

Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er.
My brother hath done well.

Bel. I had no mind

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth. * '')

Gui. With his own sword.

Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea.
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten :
That's all I reck. [Exit.

Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:

'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though

valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't.

So the revenge alone pursued me ! — Polydore,
I love thee brotherly; but envy much.
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed : I would, revenges.
That possible strength might meet, would seek us

through.
And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done: —

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock:
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Arv. Poor sick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, ")
I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
And praise myself for charity. [Exit.

Bel. O thou goddess.

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet.
Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafd, as the rud'st wind.
That by the top doth take the mountain pine.
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful.

BKXI.

Act IV.

CYMBELINE.

723

That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other: valour.
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it's strange,
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter Guidkkius.

Gui. Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoU down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return. [Solemn Music.

Bel. My ingenious instrument!

Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark!

Gui. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st
mother
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys, ' *)
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead,
in his Arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for!

Arv. The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen tliis.

Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one-half so well.
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare •')
Might easiliest harbour in ? — Thou blessed thing !
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy!
How found you him?

Arv. Stark, *") as you see:

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber.
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

Gui. Where?

Arv. O'the floor;

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put
My clouted brogues *') from off my feet, whose

rudeness
Answer'd my steps too loud.

Gui. Why, he but sleeps:

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.

Arv. With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock ^ ^) would
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none.
To winter-ground thy corse. *^)

XXXI,

Gui. 'Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him.
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. — To the grave.

Arv. Say, where shall's lay him ?

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.

Arv. Be't so:

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground.
As once our motiier; use like note, and words.
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,
I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee:
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv. We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for
Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:
And, though he came our enemy, remember.
He was paid for that: ^*) Though mean and mighty,

rotting
Together, have one dust; yet reverence,
(That angel of the world,) ^ ^) doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe \vas princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Gui. Pray yon, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv. If you'll go fetch him.

We'll say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin.

[Exit Belarius.

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east :
My father hath a reason for't.

Arv. 'Tis true.

Gui. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So, — Begin.

Song.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun.
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great.
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;

Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.

Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the alt-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish' d joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, -^) and come to dust.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee! -'')
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy gravel

Re-enter Bblarius, with the Body 0/ Clotbn.
Gut. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay him

down.
Bel Here's a few flowers; but about midnight,
more:

46*

724

CYMBELINE.

Act IV.

The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night,
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their faces : —
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. —
Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
The ground, that gave them first, has them again:
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

^Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Ab.viragtj8.
Imo. [Jieaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haveu ; Which
is the way?
I thank you. — By yon bush? — Pray, how far

thither?
'Ods pittikins! — 2*) can it be six miles yet? —
I have gone all night: — 'Faith, I'll lie down and

sleep.
But, soft ! no bedfellow : — O, gods and goddesses !

[Seeing the Body.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care on't. — I hope, I dream ;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper.
And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
I tremble still with fear: But if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it !
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man ! — The garments of Posthumus !
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot mercurial: his Martial thigh;
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face — ^')
Murder in heaven? — How? — 'Tis gone. — Pisanio.
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, ^'') Cloten,
Hast here cut off ray lord. — To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous ! — Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio —
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top ! — ^ ' ) O, Posthumus ! alas.
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's

that?
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. — How should this be?

Pisanio?
'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, preg-
nant! ^2)
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O! —
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers,
and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending
You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships:
They are here in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome ?

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the cdnfiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold lachimo.
Sienna's brother. ^^)

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind.

Luc. This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present numbers

Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. — Now, sir.

What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's

purpose ?

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a
vision :
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus: —
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spungy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends,
(Unless my sins abuse my divination,)
Success to the Roman host.

Luc. Dream often so.

And never false. — Soft, ho ! what trunk is here.
Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building. — How! a page! —
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather;
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. —
Let's see the boy's face.

Cap. He is alive, my lord.

Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. — Young
one.
Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems,
They crave to be demanded: Who is this,
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he.
That, otherwise than noble nature did.
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou?

Imo. I am nothing: or if not.

Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good.
That here by mountaineers lies slain: — Alas!
There are no more such masters: I may wander
From east to Occident, cry out for service.
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than
Thy master in bleeding; Say his name, good friend.

Lno. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
They'll pardon it. [Aside.] Say you, sir?

Luc. Thy name ?

Imo. Fidele.''*}

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say.
Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure,
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters.
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee; Go with me.

Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes ^*) can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd

his grave.
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh;
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

Luc. Ay, good youth;

And rather father thee, than master thee. —
My friends.

The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can.
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave: Come; arm him. — ^^) Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd,
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt.

SBKI.

Act V.

CYMBELINE.

725

SCENE III.

A Room in Cymbeline'* Palace.

Enter Cymbelinb, Lords, and Pisanio.

Ci/m. Again; and bring me word, how 'tis with her.
A tever with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her life's in danger: — Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a desperate bed; and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone.
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pis. Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will : But, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone.
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your high-
ness,
Hold me your loyal servant.

1 Lord. Good my liege.

The day that she was missuig, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
For Cloten, —

There wants no diligence in seeking him.
And will, no doubt, be found.

Cym. The time's troublesome:

We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy

[To Pisanio.
Does yet depend.

1 Lord. So please your majesty.

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn.
Are landed on your coast; with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen! —
I am amaz'd with matter. ^')

1 Lord. Good my liege.

Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of: ^ «) come more, for more

you're ready:
The want is, but to put those powers in motion.
That long to move.

Cym. I thank you: Let's withdraw:

And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here. — Away. [Eseuia.

Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was slain: 'Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings: Neither know I
What is betid to Cloten; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work:
Wherein I am false, I am honest; nor true to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country.
Even to the note o'the king,^') or I'll fall in them.
All other doubu, by time let them be clear'd:
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd.

[Exit,

SCENE IV.

Before the Cave.
Enter Belarius, Guidbrius, and Arviragds.
Gui. The noise is round about us.
^'^- Let us from it.

Are. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
From action and adventure?
J^"»- Nay, what hope

Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans

Must or for Britons slay us; or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts *°)
During their use, and slay us after.

Bfl- ^ Sons,

We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
To the king's party there's no going: newness
Of Cloten's death (we being not knoWn, not muster'd
Among the bands) may drive us to a render
Where we have liv'd; *') and so extort from us
That which we've done, whose answer would be

death
Drawn on with torture.

G^w*- This is, sir, a doubt.

In such a time, nothing becoming you.
Nor satisfying us.

^rv. It is not likely.

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh.
Behold their quarter'd fires, '»-) have both their eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now.
That they will waste their time upon our note.
To know from whence we are.

-^^'- , O, I am known

Of many in the army: many years.
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves ;°
Who find in my exile the want of breeding.
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd.
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

G«t. Than be so.

Better to cease tfi be. Pray, sir, to the army:
I and my brother are not known; yourself.
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.

■^rv. By this sun that shines,

I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never
Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood.
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison?
Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
NoE iron on his heel? I am asham'd
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remalnin''
So long a poor unknown.

Gui. By heavens, I'll go:

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care; but if you v«ll not.
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romans !

Arv. So say I; Amen.

Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set
So slight a valuation, should reserve
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys :
If in your country wars you chance to die.
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie:
Lead, lead. — The time seems long: their blood
thinks scorn, [Jside.

Till it fly out, and show them princes bom. [Exeuiu.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Field between the British and
Roman Camps.

Enter Posthumus, with a bloody Handkerchief. *)

Posf. Yea, bloody cloth,-) I'll keep thee; for I wish'd
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones.
If each of you would take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves.

XKRI.

726

CYMBELINE.

Act V.

For wrying but a little? — O, Pisanio!

Every good servant does not all commands;

No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods! if you

Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never

Had liv'd to put on ^) this : so had you saved

The noble Imogen to repent; and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But,

alack,
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse;
And make them dread it to the doers' thrift. *)
But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills,
And make me bless'd to obey! — I am brought

hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom : 'Tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose; I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death; and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habits show.
Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me !
To shame the guise o'the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The same.

Enter, at one side, Lucius, lAciniwo, and the Ro-
man Army; at the other side, the British Army;
Lkonatus Posthumus following it, like a poor
Soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums.
Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo and Post-
humus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo,
and then leaves him.

lach. The heaviness and guilt within ray bosom
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me; Or, could this carl, 5)
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me.
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [IHxit.

The Battle continues; the 'QrMons fly ; Cymbelinb

is taken; then enter, to his rescue, Bklarius,

GuiDERius, and Arviragus.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the
ground ;
The lane is guarded; nothing routs us, but
The villainy of our fears.

Gui. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight !

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They

rescue Cymbblinb, and exeunt. Then, enter

Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hood-wink'd.

Jach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes
Let's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another part of the Field.

Enter Posthumus and a British Lord.

Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand ?
Post. I did;

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord. I did.

Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
But that the heavens fought: The king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken.
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord. Where was this lane?

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with
turf:
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, —
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to.
In doing this for his country ; — athwart the lane,
He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run
The country base,') than to commit such slaughter;
With faces fit for masks, or leather fairer
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) ')
Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled,
Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men;
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards ! Stand;
Or we are Romans, and will give you that
Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may save,
But to look back in frown: stand, stand. — These

three.
Three thousand confident, in act as many,
(For three performers are the file, when all
The rest do nothing,) with this word, stand, stand.
Accommodated by the place, more charming.
With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd
A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks.
Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd ; that some, turn'd

coward
But by example (O, a sin in war,
Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o'the hunters. Then began
A stop i'the chaser, a retire; anon,
A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves.
The strides they victors made : And now our cowards
(Like fragments in hard voyages,) became
The life o'the need; having found the back-door open'
Of the unguarded hearts. Heavens, how they wound !
Some slain before; some, dying; some, their friends
O'er-borne i'the former wave : ten, chas'd by one.
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs ^) o'the field.
Lord. This was strange chance :

A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys!
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : ') You are made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear.
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't.
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Prescrv'd the Britons, was the Roman's bane.
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
Post. 'Lack, to what end?

Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend:

KXKI.

Act V.

CYMBELINE.

727

For if he'll do, as he is made to do,

I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too.

You have put me into rhyme.

Lord. Farewell ; you are angry. \I!xit.

Pott. Still going? — This is a lord! O noble misery!
To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me!
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't.
And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd, '")
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
Nor feel him, where he struck : Being an ugly monster,
'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds.
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives i'the war. — Well, I will

find him:
For being now a favourer to the Roman,
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
The part I came in: Fight I will no more.
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
Here made by the Roman; great the answer be")
Britons must take; For me, my ransome's death;
On either side I come to spend my breath ;
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.

Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers.

1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken:
'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels.

2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, '■ -)
That gave the affront with them. ^ ^)

1 Cap. So 'tis reported :
But none of them can be found. — Stand ! who is

there?
Poit. A Roman;
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
Had answer'd him.

2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog !
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell

What crows have peck'd them here: He brags his

service
As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

Enter Cymbelinb, **) attended; Belarius, Gui-
DKRius, Arviragus, Pisanio, c«rf Romau Captives.
The Captains present Posthumus to CyMBKT.iNK,
who delivers him over to a Goaler: after which,
all ga out.

SCENE IV.

A Prison.

Enter Posthumus, and two Gaolers.

1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have

locks upon you;
So, graze as you find pasture.

2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach.

\_Exeunt Gaolers.
Post. Most welcome, bondage ! for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty: Yet am I better
Than one that's sick o'the gout: since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd
By the sure physician, death; who is the key
To unbar these locks. My conscience ! thou art fetter'd
More than my shanks and wrists: You good gods,

give me
The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt.
Then, free for ever! Is't enough, I am sorry?
So children temporal fathers do appease;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desir'd, more than constrain'd: to satisfy,

If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take

No stricter render of me, than my all.

I know, you are more clement than vile men.

Who of their broken debtors take a third,

A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again

On their abatement; that's not ray desire:

For Imogen's dear life, take mine; and though

'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:

'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp :

Tbough light, take pieces for the figure's sake:

You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers,

If you will take this audit, take this life.

And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!

I'll speak to thee in silence. [He »leep$.

Solemn Music. ^^) Enter, as an Apparition, Sici-
LiDs Lkonatus, Father to Posthumus, an old Man,
attired like a Warrior ; leading in his hand an
ancient Matron, his Wife, and Mother to Posthu-
mus, with Music before them. Then, after other
Music, follow the two young Leonati, Brothers to
Posthumus, with wounds, as they died in the wart.
They circle Posthumus round, as he lies
sleeping.

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show
Thy spite on mortal flies:
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide.
That thy adulteries

Rates and revenges.

Hath my poor boy done aught but well.

Whose face I never saw ?
I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd

Attending nature's law.
Whose father then (as men report.

Thou orphan's father art,)
Thou should'st have been, and shielded him

From this earth-vexing smart.

Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid.
But took me in my throes;
That from me weis Posthumus ript.
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!

Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair.
That he deseiVd the praise o'the world.
As great Sicilius' heir.

1 Bro. When once he was mature for man.

In Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel;

Or fruitful object be
In eye of Imogen, that best

Could deem his dignity?

Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
To be exil'd, and thrown
From Leonati's seat, and cast

From her his dearest one.
Sweet Imogen?

Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo, "-

Slight thing of Italy,.
To taint his nobler heart and brain

With needless jealousy;
And to become the geek '*) and scorn

O'the other's villainy?

ZBroi For this,, from stiller seats we came^

Our parents, and us twain.
That, striking in our country's cause,

Fell bravely, and were slain;
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right.

With honour to maintain.

KXKT.

728

CYMBELINE.

Act V.

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumua hath

To Cymbeline perform'd:
Then Jupiter, thou king of gods,

Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
The graces for his merits due;

Being all to dolours turn'd?

Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise,
Upon a valiant race, thy harsh
And potent injuries :

Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good.
Take off his miseries.

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry
To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity.

2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal.

And from thy justice fly.

Jupiter descends in Thunder and Lis^htning, sit-
ting upon an Eagle; he throws a Thunder-bolt.
The Ghosts Jail on their knees.

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low.

Offend our hearing; hush! — How dare you ghosts.
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know.

Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest

Upon your never- withering banks of flowers;
Be not with mortal accidents opprest;

No care of yours it is; you know, 'tis ours.
Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift.

The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in

Our temple was he married. — Rise, and fade ! —
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,

And happier much by his affliction made.
This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;
And so, away: no further with your din

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. —

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Jtcenda.
Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
Stoop'd, as to foot us: ^'') his ascension is
More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,
As when his god is pleas'd.
All. Thanks, Jupiter!

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
His radiant roof: — Away! and, to be blest,
Let us with care perform his great behest.

[Ghosts vanish.
Post. [JFaking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire,
and begot
A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother, and two brothers: But (O scorn!)
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born.
And so I am awake. — Poor wretches that depend
On greatness' favour, dream as I have done;
Wake and find nothing. — But, alas ! I swerve :
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steep 'd in favours: so am J,
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare

one!
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that it covers: let thy efl'ects
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers.
As good as promise.

[Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced
by a piece of tender air; and when from a
stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which,
being dead many years, shall after revive, be
jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow;
then shall Posthunuis end his miseries, Britain
be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing:
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is.
The action of my life is like it, which
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Re-enter Gaolers.

Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death?

Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago.

Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready
for that, you are well cooked.

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the specta-
tors, the dish pays the shot.

Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the
comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments,
fear no more tavern bills ; which are often the sad-
ness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you
come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with
too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much,
and sorry that you are paid too much; '8) purse
and brain both empty: the brain the heavier for
being too light, the purse too light, being drawn
of heaviness : ^ ') O ! of this contradiction you shall
now be quit. — O, the charity of a penny cord!
it sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true
debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and
to come, the discharge: — Your neck, sir, is pen,
book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.

Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.

Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-
ache: But a man that were to sleep your sleep,
and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he
would change places with his officer: for, look you,
sir, you know not which way you shall go.

Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow.

Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have
not seen him so pictured: you must either be di-
rected by some that take upon them to know; or
take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do
not know; or jump the after-enquiry -") on your
own peril: and how you shall speed in your jour-
ney's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes
to direct them the way I am going, but such as
wink, and will not use them.

Gaol. What an infinite ipock is this, that a man
should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of
blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Knock oif his manacles; bring your prisoner
to the king.

Post. Thou bringest good news; — I am called to
be made free.

Gaol. I'll be hanged then.

Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no
bolts for the dead. [Exeunt Posthubivs and Messenger.

Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and
beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. ^ ' )
Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de-
sire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be
some of them too, that die against their wills; so
should I, if I were one. I would we were all of

HXKI.

Act V.

C Y M B E L I N E

729

one mind, and one mind good; O, there were deso-
lation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against
my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment
in't. lExeunt.

SCENE V. 22)

Cymbeline'* Tent.

Enter Ctmbblinb, Bblarius, Guidbrics, Ahviha-
Gus, PisAMO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.

C^. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have
made
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart.
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought.
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

Bel. I never saw.

Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
Such precious deeds in one that promised nought
But beggary and poor looks.

Cym. No tidings of him?

i^. He hath beea search'd among the dead and

li^-ing.
But no trace of him.

Cym. To my grief, I am

The heir of his reward; which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,

[To Belarics, Guidebics, and Akvibacus.
By whom, I grant, she lives: 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are: — report it.

Bel. Sir,

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest.
Unless I add, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees:

Arise, my knights o'the battle; I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter Cornelids and Ladies.
There's business in these faces : — Why so sadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o'the court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great king!

To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym. Whom worse than a physician

Would this report become? But I consider.
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. — How ended she?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you: These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks.
Were present when she finish'd.

Cym. 'Pr'ythee, say.

Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.

Cym. She alone knew this:

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to

love' J)
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life.

But that her flight prevented it, she had

Ta'en off by poison.

Cym. O most delicate fiend!

Who is't can read a woman? — Is there more?

Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she had
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took.
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring.
By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time,
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her son into the adoption of the crown.
But failing of her end by his strange absence.
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatcb'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, died.

Cym. Heard you all this, her women?

Lady. We did so, please your highness.

Cym, Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart.
That thought her like her seeming: it had been

vicious.
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say.
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

Enter Locius, Iachiko, the Soothsayer, und

other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthdhcs

behind, and Imogbn.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit.
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us.
We should not, when the blood was cool, have threat-

en'd
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransome, let it come : sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born.
Let him be ransom'd : never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent.
So tender over his occasions, true.
So feat, 2"*) so nurse-like: let his virtue join
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your highness
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm.
Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir.
And spare no blood beside.

Cym. I have surely seen him :

His favour is familiar * ^) to me. —
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace.
And art mine own. — I know not why, nor where-
fore.
To say, live, boy:-*) ne'er thank thy master; lire:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt.
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.

Imo. I humbly thank your highness.

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
And yet, I know, thou wilt.

Imo. No, no: alack.

There's other work in hand; I see a thing
Bitter to me as death; your life, good master.
Must shuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy disdains me,

HXHI.

730

CYMBELINE

Act V.

He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their joys,

That place them on the truth of girls and boys. —
Why stands he so perplex'd ?

Cym. What would'st thou, boy?

I love thee more and more; think more and more
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on?

speak.
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

Into. He is a Roman; No more kin to me.
Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
Am something nearer.

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?

Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.

Cym. Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

Imo. Fidele, sir.

Cym. Thou art, my good youth, my page ;

I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely.

[Cymbelinb and Imogen converge apart.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv. One sand another

Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele: — What think you?

Gui. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not;
forbear;
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.

Gui. But we saw him dead.

Bel. Be silent; let's see further.

Pis. It is my mistress : [Jside.

Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.

[CvMBELiNE and Imogen come forward.

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side;

Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [to Iach.] step you

forth ;
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
Winn«w the truth from falsehood. — On, speak
to him.

Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.

Post. What's that to him ? [Jaide.

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say.
How came it yours?

Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

Cym. How! me?

lack. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which
Torments me to conceal. By villainy
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:
Whom thou didst banish; and (which more, may

grieve thee,
As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my
lord?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach. That paragon, thy daughter, —

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember, — *') Give me leave; I faint.

Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy
strength :
I had rather thou should'st live while nature will.
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.

Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would
Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least.
Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthiimus,
(What should I say? he was too good, to be

Where ill men were; and was the best of all

Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly.

Hearing us praise our loves of Italy

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast

Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming

The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,

Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,

A shop of all the qualities that man

Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving.

Fairness which strikes the eye :

Cym. 1 stand on fire :

Come to the matter.

Iach. All too soon I shall.

Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. — This Post-
humus,
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover,) took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we prals'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.

Cy7n. Nay, nay, to the purpose.

Iach. Your daughter's chastity — There it begins.
He spake of her, as Dian^^) had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold : Whereat, I, wretch !
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight.
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: Well may you, sir.
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with similar proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad.
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes *')
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(O, cunning, how 1 got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, —
Methinks I see him now,

Post. Ay, so thou dost,

[Coming forward.
Italian fiend ! — Ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being.
To come ! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison.
Some upright justicer! *") Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I
That all the abhorred things o'the eartb amend.
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter: — villain-like, I lie;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't : — the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. ^')
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o'the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus; and
Be villainy less than 'twas ! — O Imogen !

KRKI.

Act V.

CYMBELINE

731

My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,

Imogen, Imogen!
lino. Peace, my lord; hear, hear —

Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful

page>
There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls.

Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help

Mine, and your mistress: — O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kili'd Imogen till now: — Help, help! —
Mine honour'd lady !

Cym. Does the world go round?

Post. How come these staggers ^ ^) on me?

Pis. Wake, my mistress !

Cy7n. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with laoital joy.

Pis. How fares my mistress!

Imo. O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.

Cym. The tune of Imogen !

Pis. Lady,
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing; I had it from the queen.

Cym. New matter still ?

Jmo. It poison'd me.

Cor. O gods ! —

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.

Cym. What's this, Cornelius?

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
To temper poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time.
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it?

Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.

Bel. My boys.

There was our error.

Gui. This is sure, Fidele.

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from
you?
Think, that you are upon a rock; ^^) and now
Throw me again. [Embracing him.

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul,

Till the tree die!

Cym. How now, my flesh, my child?

What, mak'st thou me a dullard ^'') in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?

Imo. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling.

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
You had a motive for't.

[To GuiDERius and Arviracus.

Cy7n. My tears, that fall,

Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.

Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord.

Cym. O, she was naught ; and 'long of her it was,
That we meet here so strangely: But her son
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pis. My lord.

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and

swore,
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,

It was my instant death: By accident,

I had a feigned letter of my master's

Then in my pocket; which directed him

To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;

Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments.

Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts

With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate

My lady's honour: what became of him,

I further know not.

Gui. Let me end the story:

I slew him there.

Cym. Marry, the gods forefend!

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: 'pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.

Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a prince.

Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me: I cut ofTs head;
And am right glad, he is not standing hei'e
To tell this tale of mine.

Cym. I am sorry for thee:

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
Endure our law: Thou art dead.

Imo. That headless man

I thought had been my lord.

Cym. Bind the offender,

And take him from our presence.

Bel. Stay, sir king:

This man is better than the man he slew,
As Avell descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone;

[To the Guard.
They were not born for bondage.

Cym. Why, old soldier,

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?

Arv. In that he spake too far.

Cym. And thou shalt die for't.

Bel. We will die all three:

But I will prove, that two of us are as good
As I have given out him. — My sons, I must.
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech.
Though, haply, well for you.

Arv. Your danger is

Ours.

Gui. And our good his.

Bel. Have at it then. —

By leave; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who
Was call'd Belarius.

Cym. What of him? he is

A banish'd traitor.

Bel. He it is, that hath

Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd manj
I know not how, a traitor.

Cym. Take him hence;

The whole world shall not save him.

Bel. Not too hot:

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.

Cym. Nursing of my sons?

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee;
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege.
And blood of your begetting.

XXXI.

732

CYMBELINE.

Act V.

Cytn. How! my issue?

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
Your pleasure was my mere offence, ^ *) my punish-
ment
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd.
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before.
For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty,
Excited me to treason: Their dear loss.
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world : —
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. ^^)

The service, that you three have done, is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children;
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while. —

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.

Cym. Guiderius had

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. This is he;

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise nature's end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.

Cym. O, what am I

A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more: — Bless'd may you be.
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now! — O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

Imo. No, my lord;

I have got two worlds byt. — O my gentle bro-
thers.
Have we thus met? O never say, hereafter.
But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers.
When you were so indeed.

Cym. Did you e'er meet?

Art). Ay, m^ good lord.

Gui. And at first meeting lov'd ;

Continued so, until we thought he died.

Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.

Cym. O rare instinct!

When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge-
ment, ^ ' )
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. — ^^) Where? how

lived you?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met

them ?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, ^') with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;

And all the other by-dependancies.

From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,

Will serve our long intergatories. See,

Posthiimus anchors upon Imogen;

And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye

On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting

Each object with a joy; the counterchange

Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground.

And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. —

Thou art my brother; So we'll hold thee ever.

[To UELABlUa.

Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.

Cym. All o'erjoyed.

Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too.
For they shall taste our comfort.

Imo. My good master !

I will yet do you service.

Luc. Happy be you!

Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought.
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
The thankings of a king.

Post. I am, sir.

The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd; — That I was he.
Speak, lachimo: I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.

lack. I am down again: \Kneeling.

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee.
As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you,
Which 1 so often owe: but, your ring first;
And here the bracelet of the truest princess,
That ever swore her faith.

Post. Kneel not to me;

The power that I have on you, is to spare you;
The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live,
And deal with others better.

Cym. Nobly doom'd;

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.

Arv. You holp us, sir.

As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we, that you are.

Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord of
Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought.
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows ^°)
Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; '*^) let him show
His skill in the construction.

Luc. Philarmonus,

Sooth. Here, my good lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.

Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to
himself unknown, without seeking find, and be
embraced by a piece offender air ; and when from
a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which,
being dead many years, shall ajler revive, be jointed
to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall
Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate,
and flourish in peace and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much:
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,

\To CVMBELINE.

Which we call mollis aer ; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine.
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,

XKKI.

Act V,

CYMBELINE.

733

Answering the letter of the oracle.

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about

With this most tender air.

Cym. This hath some seeming.

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeiine,
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cym. Well,

My peace we will begin: — And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen:
Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,)
Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision

Which I taade known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd : For the Roman eagle.
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle.
The imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeiine,
Which shines here in the west.

Cym. Laud we the gods ;

And let our crooked smokes dimb to their nostrils
From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud's town march:
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts, —
Set on there: — Never was a war did cease.
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

[^Exeunt.

i|^

XXXII.

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

SATUftNiNUs, Son to the late Emperor of Rome,

and afterwards declared Emperor himself.
Bassianus, Brother to Saturnlnus; in love with

Lavinia.
Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, General against

the Goths.
Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People; and

Brother to Titus.
Lucius, \

i^ui T s, » g, ^ Titus Andronicus.
Martius, (

MUTIUS, '

Young Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius.

PuBLius, Son to Marcus the Tribune. I

Scene — Rome, and

iEirtiLius, a noble Roman,

Alarbus, I

Chiron, > Sons to Tamora.

Demetrius, j

Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora.

A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Romans.

Goths and Romans.

Tamora, Queen of the Goths.

Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus,

A Nurse, and a black Child.

Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers,
Soldiers, and Attendants.

the Country near it.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol.

The Tomb of the Andronici appearing ; the Tri-
bunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. Enter,
below, Saturninus awrf /m Followers, on one side;
and Bassianus and his Followers, on the other;
with Drum and Colours.

Saturninus.
jNoBLB patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms;
And, countrymen, my loving followers.
Plead my successive title ') with your swords:
I am his first-born son, that was the last
That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;
Then let my father's honours live in me.
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favourers of

my right, —
If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son.
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol;
And suffer not dishonour to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
To justice, continence, and nobility:
But let desert in pure election shine;
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the Crown.
Mar. Princes — that strive by factions, and by
friends.
Ambitiously for rule and empery, —
Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
A special party, have, by common voice,
In election for the Roman empery.
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius,
For many good and great deserts to Rome;
A nobler man, a braver warrior,

Lives not this day within the city walls:

He by the senate is accited home.

From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;

That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,

Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.

Ten years are spent, since first he undertook

This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms ^)

Our enemies' pride: Five times he hath return'd

Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons

In coffins from the field;

And now at last, laden with honour's spoils.

Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,

Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.

Let us entreat. — By honour of his name.

Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed.

And in the Capitol and senate's right.

Whom you pretend to honour and adore, —

That you withdraw you, and abate your strength;

Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,

Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my
thoughts !

Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so do I affy
In thy uprightness and integrity.
And so I love and honour thee and thine,
Thy nobler brother Titus, and his sons.
And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all.
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament.
That I will here dismiss my loving friends;
And to my fortunes, and the people's favour,
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.

[Exeunt the Followers of Basbiancs.

Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my
right,
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all;
And to the love and favour of my country
Commit myself, my person, and the cause.

[Exeunt the Followers of Satubninds,
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me.

XXKH. >

Act 1.

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

735

As I am confident and kind to thee. —
Open the gates, and let me in.
Ba$. Tribunes! and me, a poor competitor.

[Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and extant
vitb Senators, Ma&cds, ^c.

SCENE n.

The same.

Enter a Captain and others.

Cap. Romans, make way; The good Andronicos,
I'atron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
Successfol in the battles that he fights.
With honour and with fortune is return'd,
I'rora where he circumscribed with his sword.
And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.

Flourish of Trumpets, ^c. Enter Mutics and Mab-
Ls: after them, two Men bearing a Coffin co-
red with black ; then QviHTvs and Ljjcivs. After
them, Titus Andsomcus; and then, Tamor\, ir»7A
Alabbus, Chiron, Dbmetrils, Aarox, and other
Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and People following.
The Bearers set down the Coffin, and Titos
speaks.
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy monming weeds !
Lo, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught.
Returns with precious lading to the bay.
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs.
To re-salute his country with his tears;
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. —
Thou great defender of this Capitol, ')
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! —
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons.
Half of the number that king Priam had.
Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead!
riiese, that survive, let Rome reward with love;
1 hese, that I bring unto their latest home.
With burial amongst their ancestors:
Kere Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword.
1 itus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet.
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx! — *)
^lake way to iay them by their brethren.

\The Tomb is opened.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont.
And sleep in peace, slaia in your country's warsi
O sacred receptacle of my joys.
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility.
How many sons of mine hast thou in store.
That thou wilt never render to me more?
Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile.
Ad mane* fratntm sacrifice his flesh.
Before this earthly prison of tlieir bones;
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd.
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. *)

Tit. I give him yoa; the noblest that survives.
The eldest son of this distressed queen.

Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren ; — Gracious conqueror.
Victorious Titus, me the tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion for her son:
And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
O, think my son to be as dear to me.
Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy triumphs, and return.
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke;
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets.
For valiant doings in their country's cause?
01 if to fight for king and common weal
Were piety in thine, it is in these.

Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood:
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful:
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge:
Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.

Tit. Patient yourself, *) madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld
Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain.
Religiously they ask a sacrifice:
To this your son is mark'd; and die he must.
To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

Luc. Away with him; and make a fire straight;
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood.
Let's hew his limbs, till they be cleain consum'd.

^Exeunt Lccics, Qdixtcs, Maktius, and
MuTins, with AilAKbcs.

Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety!

Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening look.
Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal.
The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thradan tyrant in his tent.
May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,)
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

Re-enter Lbcids, Qointus, Mabtics, and MoTnrs,
4piih their Swords bloody.

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd.
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire.
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren.
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.

TYl. Let it be so, and let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

[Trumpet* founded, and the Coffin laid in the Tomb.
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, ') .
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells.
Here grow no damned grudges : here, are no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:

Enter Lavikia.
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons !

Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long;
My noble lord and father, live in fame!
Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears
I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome;
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand.
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.

Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! —
Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days.
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! ')

Enter Makcds Ahdkokicds, SAXORifiKDs, BAssuJius,
and others.

Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother.
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.

Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars.
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame.
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all.
That in your country's service drew your swordss
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness, ')

BXKII.

736

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Act I.

And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed. —
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust.
This palliament of white and spotless hue;
And name thee in election for the empire.
With these our late deceased emperor's sons :
Be candidatus then, and put it on.
And help to set a head on headless Rome.

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits,
Than his, that shakes for age and feebleness:
What! should I don this robe,*") and trouble you?
Be chosen with proclamations to-day;
To-morrow, yield up rule, resign my life.
And set abroad new business for you all?
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, *')
And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms.
In right and service of their noble country;
Give me a staff of honour for mine age,
But not a sceptre to control the world:
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.

Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. * ^)

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?

Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine.

Sat. Romans, do me right; —

Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not
Till Saturniiius be Rome's emperor: —
Andronicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell,
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts.

Ltic. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
That noble-minded Titus means to thee!

Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves,

Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
But honour thee, and will do till I die;
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men
Of noble minds, is honourable meed.

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,
I ask your voices, and your suffrages;
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus,
And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits.

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I make,
That you create your emperor's eldest son.
Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope.
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth,
And ripen justice in this common-weal:
Then if you will elect by my advice,
Crown him, and say, — Long live our emperor 1

Mar. With voices and applause of every sort,
Patricians, and plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor;
And say, — Long live our emperor Saturnine!

\A long Flourish.

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done
To us in our election this day,
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts.
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness:
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance
Thy name, and honourable family,
Lavinia will I make my emperess,
Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse:
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?

Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and, in this match,
I hold me highly honour'd of your grace :
And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, —
King and commander of our common-weal.
The wide world's emperor^ — do I consecrate
My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners;

Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord:
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe.
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts,
Rome shall record ; and when I do forget
The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Romans, forget your fealty to me.

Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor;

[To Tamora.
To him, that for your honour and your state,
Will use you nobly, and your followers.

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue
That I would choose, were I to choose anew. —
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance;
Though chance of war hath wrought this change

of cheer.
Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome:
Princely shall be thy usage every way.
Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your hopes; Madam, he comforts you.
Can make you greater than the queen of Goths. —
Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this?

Lav. Not I, my lord; *^) sith true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.

Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go :
Ransomeless here we set our prisoners free:
Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.

jEfa«. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.

[Seizing' Lavinia.

Tit. How, sir ? Are you in earnest then, my lord ?

Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal.
To do myself this reason and this right.

[The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb show.

Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:
This prince in justice seizeth but /his own.

Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's
guard ?
Treason, my lord; Lavinia is surpriz'd.

Sat. Surpriz'd! by whom?

Bas. By him that justly may

Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.

[Exeunt Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia.

Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away.
And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

[Exeunt Lticics, Qdintus, and Mahtius.

Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.

Mut. My lord, you pass not here.

Tit. What, villain boy!

Barr'st me my way in Rome? [Titos fcjV/« Muxiua.

Mut. Help, Lucius, help!

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than so,
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your soo.

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine:
My sons would never so dishonour me:
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.

Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife.
That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit.

Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not,
Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock:
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once;
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons.
Confederates all thus to dishonour me.
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale of, * *)
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands.

Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are these ?

Sat. But go thy ways; go, give that changing
piece ^*)

xKxn.

Act I.

TITUS ANDRONICUS

737

To him that flourish'd for her with his sword:
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. '*)

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of
Goths, —
That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs.
Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, —
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice.
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride.
And will create thee emperess of Rome.
Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice ?
And here I swear by all the Roman gods, —
8ith priest and holy water are so near.
And tapers bum so bright, and every thing
In readiness for Hymeneus stand, —
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place
I lead espous'd my bride along with me.

Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I
swear,
If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid be to his desires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

Sat. Ascend, feiir queen. Pantheon: — Lords, ac-
company
Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride.
Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine,
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered:
There shall we consummate our spousal rites.

\Exeunt Satcrmmis, and bit Followers ; Taxoea,
and her Sons ; Aaron and Goths.

Tit. I am not bid '') to wait upon this bride; —
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
Uishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs?

Re-enter Mascds, Ldcius, Qdintds, and Mabtids.

Mar. O, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done!
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine, —
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed
That hath dishonour'd all our family;
Lnworthy brother, and unworthy sons!

Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes;
Give Mutius burial with our brethren.

Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb.
This monument five hundred years hath stood.
Which I have sumptuously re-edified:
Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors.
Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: —
Burj- him where you can, he comes not here.

Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you:
INIy nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him;
He must be buried with his brethren.

Quia. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany.

Tit. And shall? What villain was it spoke that
word?

Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here.

Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite?

Mar. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.
; Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest.
And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded :
My foes I do repute you every one;
So trouble me no more, but get you gone.

Mart. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.

Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.

Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all, —

Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest.
That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous.
The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
Did graciously plead for his funerals.
Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy.
Be barr'd his entrance here.

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise : —

The dismall'st day is this, that e'er I saw.
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome! —
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

[Menus is put into the Tomb.

Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy
friends.
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb ! —

All. No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

Mar. My lord, — to step out of these dreary
dumps, —
How comes it, that the subtle queen of Goths
Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?

Tit. I know not, Marcus; but, I know, it is;
Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell:
Is she not then beholden to the man
That brought her for this high good turn so fiur?
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, Satubninus,

attended; Tamora, Chiron, DBMBTR(us,an(f Aaron:

at the other, Bassiakcs, Lavima, and others.

Sat. So, Baissianus, you have play'd your prize; ^^)
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride.

Bas. And you of yours, my lord : I say no more.
Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.

Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power.
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own.
My true-betrothed love, and now my wife?
But let the laws of Rome determine all;
Mean while I am possess'd of that is mine.

Sat. 'Tis good, sir: You are very short with us;
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.

Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may.
Answer I must, and shall do with my life.
Only thus much I give your grace to know.
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This noble gentleman, lord Titus here.
Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd;
That, in the rescue of Lavinia,
With his own hand did slay his youngest son.
In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath
To be controU'd in that he frankly gave:
Receive him then to favour. Saturnine;
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds,
A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome.

Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds;
'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me:
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge.
How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine!

Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,
1 Then hear me speak indifferently for all;
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.

Sat. What! madam! be dishonour'd openly.
And basely put it up without revenge?

Tarn. Not so, my lord; The gods ofRomeforefend,
I should be author to dishonour you!
But, on mine honour, dare I undertake

[Marcds and the Sons of Titus kneel.
Mar. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead.

IQitin. Father, and in that name doth nature speak.
Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. '; For good lord Titus' innocence in all.
Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul, — ' Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs:
. KKKH. 47

738

TITUS ANDRONICUS

Act II.

Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ;

Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose.

Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.

My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last.

Dissemble all your griefs and discontents :

You are but newly planted in your throne ;

Lest then the people, and patricians too,

Upon a just survey, take Titus' part.

And so supplant us for ingratitude,

(Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,)

Yield at entreats, and then let me alone; ^ Aside.

V\\ find a day to massacre them all.

And raze their faction, and their family,

The cruel father, and his traitorous sons.

To whom I sued for my dear son's life;

And make them know, what 'tis to let a queen

Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in

vain. —

Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicus,
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd.

Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord:
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.

Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily.
And must advise the emperor for his good.
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; —
And let it be mine honour, good my lord.
That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. —
For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd
My word and promise to the emperor,
That you will be more mild and tractable. —
And fear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia; —
By my advice, all humbled on your knees,
You shall ask pardon of his majesty.

hue. We do; and vow to heaven, and to his
highness.
That, what we did, was mildly, as we might,
Tend'ring our sister's honour, and our own.

Mar. That on mine honour here I do protest.

Sat. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. —

Tam. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be
friends:
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace;
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here,
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats,
I do remit these young men's heinous faults.
Stand up.

Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a friend: and sure as death I swore,
I would not part a bachelor from the priest.
Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides.
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends:
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.

Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty.
To hunt the panther and the hart with me.
With horn and hound, we'll give your grace ben-jour.

Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. The same. Before the Palace.

Enter Aaron.

Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft.
Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash;
Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn.

And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach,
And overlooks the highest-peering hills;

So Tamora.

Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait.
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts.
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress.
And mount her pitch ; whom thou in triumph long
Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains ;
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes.
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts!
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold,
To wait upon this new-made emperess.
To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen,
This goddess, this Semiramis; — this queen, ')
This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
And see his shipwreck, and his commonweal's.
Holla! what storm is this?

Enter Chiron and Demetrius, braving.

Dem. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants
edge.
And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd:
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be.

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
And so in this to bear me down with braves.
'Tis not the difference of a year, or two.
Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate:
I am as able, and as fit, as thou.
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace;
And that my sword upon thee shall approve.
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.

Aar. Clubs, clubs! ^) these lovers will not keep
the peace.

Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,
Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side.
Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends?
Go to: have your lath glued within your sheath.
Till you know better how to handle it.

Chi. Mean while, sir, with the little skill I have.
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.

Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw.

Aar. Why, how now, lords?

So near the emperor's palace dare you draw,
And maintain such a quarrel openly?
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge;
I would not for a million of gold.
The cause were known to them it most concerns:
Nor would your noble mother, for much more,
Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome.
For shame, put up.

Dem. Not I, till I have sheath'd

My rapier in his bosom, and, withal,
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat,
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here.

Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, —
Foul-spoken coward ! that thunder'st with thy tongue.
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.

Aar. Away, I say. —
Now by the gods, that warlike Goths adore.
This petty brabble will undo us all. —
Why, lords, — and think you not how dangerous
It is to jut upon a prince's right?
What, is Lavinia then become so loose,
Or Bassianus so degenerate,

That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd.
Without controlment, justice, or revenge?
Young lords, beware! an should the empress know
This discord's ground, the music would not please.

Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world;
I love Lavinia more than all the world.

KXKn.

Act II.

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

739

Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner
choice :

Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope.
Aar. Why, are ye mad ? or know ye not, in Rome

How furious and impatient they be.

And cannot brook competitors in love?

I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths

By this device.
Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths

Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love.

Aar. To achieve her ! — How ?

Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ?

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;

She is a woman, therefore may be won:

She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.
What, man! more water glideth by the mill
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, ^) we know:
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother.
Better than he have yet worn "*) Vulcan's badge.

Aar. Ay, and as good as Satuminus may. [^Aside.

Dem. Then why should he despair, that knows to
court it
With words, fair looks, and liberality?
What, hast thou not full often struck a doe.
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose?

Aar. Why then, it seems, some certain snatch or so
Would serve your turns.

Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd.

Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it.

Aar. 'Would you had hit it too;

Then should not we be tir'd with this ado.
Why, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such fools,
To square for this? *) Would it offend you then
That both should speed?

Chi. I'faith, not me.

Dem. Nor me,

So I were one.

Aar. For shame, be friends; and join for that
you jar.
'Tis policy and stratagem must do
That you affect; and so must you resolve;
That what you cannot, as you would, achieve,
You must perforce accomplish as you may.
Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.
A speedier course than lingering languishment
Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop :
The forest walks are wide and spacious;
And many unfrequented plots there are.
Fitted by kind *) for rape and villainy:
Single you thither then this dainty doe.
And strike her home by force, if not by words;
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit, ')
To villainy and vengeance consecrate.
Will we acquaint with all that we intend;
And she shall file our engines with advice, ^)
That will not suffer you to square yourselves,
But to your wishes' height advance you both.
The emperor's court is like the house of fame.
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears:
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull;
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your

turns:
There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye.
And revel in Lavinia's treasury.

Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.

Dem. Sit fat aut nefas, till I find the stream
To cool this heat, a chann to cahn these fits.
Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt.
KKKII.

SCENE n.

A Forest near Rome. A Lodge seen at a distance.

Horns, and cry of Hounds heard.

Enter Titus Akdronicus, with Hunters, ^c. Mak-
cus, Lucius, QoiNTus, and Martius.

Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey.
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green:
Uncouple here, and let us make a bay.
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride,
And rouse the prince; and ring a hunter's peal.
That all the court may echo with the noise.
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours.
To tend the emperor's person carefully:
I have been troubled in my sleep this night.
But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd.

Horns wind a Peal. Enter Satdrninus, Tamora,

Bassianus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetrius, and

Attendants.

Tit. Many good morrows to your majesty; —
Madam, to you as many and as good ! —
I promised your grace a hunter's peal.

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords,
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.

Bas. Lavinia, how say you?

Lav. I say, no;

I have been broad awake two hours and more.

Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have.
And to our sport : — Madam, now shall ye see
Our Roman hunting. [To Tahora.

Mar. I have dogs, my lord.

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase.
And climb the highest promontory top.

Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.

Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor
hound.
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

A desert part of the Forest.

Enter Aaron, with a Bag of Gold.

Aar. He that had wit, would think that I had none,
To bury so much gold under a tree,
And never after to inherit it. ')
Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly.
Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem;
Which, cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent piece of villainy:
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest, *°)

[Hide» the Gold.
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. ' ^)

Enter Tamora.
Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad.
When every thing doth make a gleeful boast?
The birds chaunt melody on every bush;
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun;
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind.
And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground:
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit.
And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the bounds.
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns.
As if a double hunt were heard at once, — -
Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise:
And — after conflict, such as was suppos'd
The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd.
When with a happy storm they were surpriz'd.
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, —

47*

I

740

TITUS ANDRONICUS

Act II.

We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber;
Whiles hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious birds.
Be unto us, as is a nurse's song
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. •*)

Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
Saturn is dominator over mine:
What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
My silence, and my cloudy melancholy?
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls^
Even as an adder, when she doth umoU
To do some fatal execution ?
No, madam, these are no venereal signs;
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand.
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul.
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, —
This is the day of doom for Bassianus;
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day:
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity.
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee,
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll; —
Now question me no more, we are espied;
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty.
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.

Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor! sweeter to me than life!

Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes:
Be cross with him ; and I'll go fetch thy sons
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit.

Enter Bassianus and Lavinia.

Bas. Who have we here? Rome's royal emperess,
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop ?
Or is it Dian, habited like her.
Who hath abandoned her holy groves.
To see the general hunting in this forest?

Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps!
Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had,
Thy temples should be planted presently
With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds
Should drive '^) upon thy new-transformed limbs,
Unmannerly intruder as thou art!

Lav. Under your patience, gentle emperess,
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning;
And to be doubted, that your Moor and you
Are singled forth to try experiments :
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day !
'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.

Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian * *)
Doth make your honour of his body's hue,
Spotted, detested, and abominable.
Why are you sequester'd from all your train?
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed,
And Avander'd hither to an obscure plot.
Accompanied with ' ^) a barbarous Moor,
If foul desire had not conducted you?

Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport,
Great reason that my noble lord be rated
For sauciness. — I pray you, let us hence.
And let her 'joy her raven-colour'd love;
This valley fits the purpose passing well.

Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of this.

Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long :
Good king! to be so mightily abus'd!

Tam. Why have I patience to endure all this?

Enter Chiron and Dbmbtrius.
Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious
mother,
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?

Tam. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place,

Kxxn

A barren detested vale, you see, it is :

The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,

O'ercome with moss, and baleful misletoe.

Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds.

Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.

And, when they show'd me this abhorred pit.

They told me, here, at dead time of the night,

A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes.

Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, '^)

Would make such fearful and confused cries.

As any mortal body, hearing it.

Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. *')

No sooner had they told this hellish tale.

But straight they told me, they would bind me here

Unto the body of a dismal yew;

And leave me to this miserable death.

And then they call'd me, foul adulteress.

Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms

That ever ear did hear to such effect.

And, had you not by wond'rous fortune come.

This vengeance on me had they executed:

Revenge it, as you love your mother's life.

Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.

Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son.

[Stabs Bassianos.

CM. And this for me, struck home to show my
strength. [Stabbing him likewise.

Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous Ta-
mora!
For no name fits thy nature but thy own!

Tam. Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my
boys.
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.

Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;
First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw:
This minion stood upon her chastity,
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty.
And with that painted hope braves your mightiness : * ')
And shall she carry this unto her grave?

CJd. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole.
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.

Tam. But when you have the honey you desire,
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.

Chi. I warrant you, madam; we will make that
sure. —
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's face, —

Tam. I will not hear her speak; away with her.

Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.

Dem. Listen, fair madam: Let it be your glory
To see her tears; but be your heart to them,
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the
dam?
O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee:
The milk thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble :
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. —
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike;
Do thou entreat her show a woman pity.

[To Chikon.

Chi. What! would'st thou have me prove myself
a bastard ?

Lav. 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark:
Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now!)
The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure
To have his princely paws par'd all away.
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children.
The Avhilst their own birds famish in their nests:
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no.
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!

Tam. I know not what it means: away with her.

Act II.

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

741

hav. O, let me teach thee : for my father's sake,
That gave thee life, whea well he might have slain

thee,
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.

Tarn. Had thou in person ne'er offended me.
Even for his sake am I pitiless: —
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain,
To save your brother from the sacrifice;
But fierce Andronicus would not relent.
Therefore away with her, and use her as you will;
The worse to her, the better lov'd of me.

Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen.
And with thine own hands kill me in this place:
For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long;
Poor I was slain, when Bassianus died.

Tarn. What begg'st thou then? fond woman, let
me go.

Lav. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more.
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell :
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,
And tumble me into some loathsome pit ;
Where never man's eye may behold my body;
Do this, and be a charitable murderer.

Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee :
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.

Dem. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long.

Lav. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly
creature !
The blot and enemy to our general name!
Confusion fall

Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth: — Bring thou
her husband; [Dragging off Lavinia.

This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.

[Exeunt.

Tarn. Farewell, my sons: see, that you make her
sure:
Ne'er let my heart knoAv merry cheer indeed,
Till all the Andronici be made away.
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

The same.

Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martids.

Aar. Come on, my lords; the better foot before:
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit,
Where I espy'd the panther fast asleep.

Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.

Mart. And mine, I promise you; wer't not for
shame.
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.

[Martiub falls into the Pit.

Quin. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole
is this.
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars;
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood,
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers?
A very fatal place it seems to me: —
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest object ^')
That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament.

Aar. [Aside.] Now will I fetch the king to find
them here;
That he thereby may give a likely guess,
How these were they that made away his brother.

[Exit Aabon.

Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole?

Quin. I am surprized with an uncouth fear:
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints;
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.

Mart. To prove thou hast a true divining heart,
Aaron and thou look down into this den.
And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

Quin. Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise:
O, tell me how it is; -"} for ne'er till now
Was I a child, to fear I know not what.

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here,
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb.
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?

Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, ^ ') that lightens all the hole.
Which, like a taper in some monument.
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks.
And shows the ragged entrails of this pit:
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus,
When he by night lay batli'd in maiden blood.

0 brother, help me with thy fainting hand, —
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, —
Out of this fell devouring receptacle.

As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.
Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee
out;
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,

1 may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.

I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.

Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again.
Till thou art here aloft, or I below :
Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee.

[Falls in.

Enter Saturninus and Aaron.

Sat. Along with me: — I'll see what hole is here,
And what he is, that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus;
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

Sat. My brother dead? I know, thou dost but jest:
He and his lady both are at the lodge,
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;
'Tis not an hour since I left him there.

Mart. We know not where you left him all alive.
But, out alas! here have we found him dead.

Enter Tamora, with Attendants; Titus Androni-
cus, and Lucius.
Tarn. Where is my lord, the king?
Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing

grief.
Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus?
Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my
wound ;
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Tain. Then all too late I bring thid fatal writ,

[Giving a Letter.
The complot of this timeless --) tragedy;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
Sat. [Reads.] An if we miss to vieet him hand-

sameltf, —
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'lis, we mean, —
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him;
Thou knowest our meaning: Look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder tree,
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit.
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.

maai.

742

TITUS ANDRONICUS

Act in.

0 Tamora! was ever heard the like?
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree:
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out,
That should have murder'd Bassianus here.

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.

[Showing it.
Sat. Two of thy whelps, [to Tit.] fell curs of
bloody kind.
Have here bereft iny brother of his life : —
Sirs, drag thein from the pit unto the prison;
There let them bide, until we have devis'd
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tarn. What, are they in this pit? O wond'rous
thing !
How easily murder is discover'd!
Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee

1 beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
That this fell fault of my accursed sons.
Accursed, if the fault be proved in them,

Sat. If it be proved! you see, it is apparent, —
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up.

Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail:
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow,
They shall be ready at your highness' will.
To answer their suspicion with their lives.

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them ; see, thou follow me.
Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers :
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain;
For by my soul, were there worse end than death.
That end upon them should be executed.

Tain. Andronicus, I will entreat the king;
Fear not, thy sons, they shall do wdl enough.

TSt. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with
them. [Exeunt severally,

SCENE V.

The same.

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ra-
vished; her Hands cut off, and her Tongue
cut out.

Dent. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee.

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so ;
And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe.

Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can
scowl. *^)

Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash ;
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself.

Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.
[Exeunt Dejhetbius and Guikon.

Enter Marcus.

Mar. Who's this, — my niece, that flies away so

fast?
Cousin, a word ; Where is your husband ? —
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake

me! 2*)
If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! —
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments.
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in ;
And might not gain so great a happiness.
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? —
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood.
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,

Coming and going with thy honey breath.

But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee;

And, lest thou should'st detect him, cut thy tongue.

Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!

And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, —

As from a conduit with three iss<iing spouts, —

Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face.

Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.

Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so?

O, that 1 knew thy heart; and knew the beast.

That I might rail at him to ease my mind!

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd.

Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.

Fair Philomela, she but lost a tongue.

And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:

But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;

A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal, ^*)

And he hath cut those pretty fingers off.

That could have better sew'd than Philomel.

O, had the monster seen those lily hands

Tremble, like aspen leaves upon a lute.

And make the silken strings delight to kiss them;

He would not then have touch'd them for his life;

Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony.

Which that sweet tongue hath made.

He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,

As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's *^) feet.

Come, let us go, and make thy father blind:

For such a sight will blind a father's eye:

One houi-'s storm will drown the fragrant meads;

What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee;

O, could our mourning ease thy misery! [Exeunt,

ACT III.

SCENE I. Rome. A Street.

Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice,

with Martius and Quintcs, bound, passing on

to the place of Execution; Titus going before,

pleading.

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay!
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed;
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd;
And for these bitter tears, which now you see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
Be pitiful to my condemned sons.
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought!
For two and twenty sons I never wept.
Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
For these, these, tribunes, *) in the dust I write

[Throwing himself on the ground.
My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears.
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.

[Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, ^c. with the
Friijoners.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall distil from these two ancient urns.
Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow,
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face.
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.

Enter Lucius, with his Sword drawn,
O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men!
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death :

XKKn.

Act III.

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

743

And let me say, that never wept before.
My tears are now prevailing orators.

Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain:
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by.
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead:
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you.

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, ^]
They would not mark me; or, if they did mark.
All bootless to them, they'd not pity me.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
Who, though they cannot answer my distress.
Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes,
For that they will not intercept my tale:
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones,
A stone is silent, and offendeth not;
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death :
For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd
My everlasting doom of banishment.

Tit. O happy man! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive,
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
Tigers must prey; and Rome affords no prey,
But me and mine: How happy art thou then,
From these devourers to be banished?
But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

Enter Marcus and Lavinia.

Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble ^} eyes to weep;
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break;
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it then.

Mar. This was thy daughter.

Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is.

Luc. Ah me', this object kills me!

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her : —
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
What fool hath added water to the sea?
Or brought a faggot to bright burning Troy?
My grief was at the height, before thou cam'st,
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too;
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life;
In bootless prayer have they been held up.
And they have serv'd me to effectless use:
Now, all the service I require of them
Is, that the one will help to cut the other. —
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.

Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence.
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage;
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!

Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

Mar. O, thus I found her, straying in the park,
Seeking to hide herself; as doth the deer.
That hath receiv'd some unrecnring wound.

Tit. It was my deer; and he, that wounded her.
Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead:
For now I stand as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea;
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave.

! Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes;
But that, which gives my soul the greatest spurn,
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. —
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight.
It would have madded me; What shall I do
Now I behold thy lively body so?
Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears;
Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee;
Thy husband he is dead; and, for his death.
Thy brothers are condeinn'd, and dead by this:
Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her!
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they killed
her husband:
Perchance, because she knows them innocent.

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful,
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. —
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. —
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips;
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease:
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain;
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks
How they are stain'd; like meadows, yet not dry
With miry slime left on them by a flood?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long.
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues
Plot some device of further misery.
To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your
grief,
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.

Mar. Patience, dear niece: — good Titus, dry
thine eyes.

Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot.
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine.
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.

Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I Avill wipe thy cheeks.

Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her signs :
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
That to her brother which I said to thee;
His napkin, with his true tears "*) all bewet,
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
O, what a sympathy of woe is this?
As far from help as limbo is from bliss! ')

Enter Aabon.

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor
Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons.
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
Or any one of you, chop off your hand.
And send it to the king: he, for the same,
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive;
And that shall be the ransome for their fault.

Tit. O gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaron!
Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
With all my heart, I'll send the emperor
My hand;
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

Luc. Stay, father: for that noble hand of thine,

XUHil.

744

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Act III.

That hath thrown down so many enemies,
Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn:
My youth can better spare my blood than you:
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.

Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe.
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
O, none of both but are of high desert:
My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
To ransome my two nephews from their death ;
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.

Mar. My hand shall go.

Luc. By heaven, it shall not go.

Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as
these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

Luc. Sweet father, if 1 shall be thought thy son.
Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

Mar. And, for our father's sake, and mother's care.
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.

Tit. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.

Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe.

Mar. But I will use the axe.

[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.

Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both;
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so : —
But I'll deceive you in another sort.
And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass, [Aside.
[He cuts off Titus'* Hand.

Enter Lucius and Marcus.

Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is de
spatch'd. —
Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand:
Tell him, it was a hand that warded him
From thousand dangers; bid him bury it;
More hath it merited, that let it have.
As for my sons, say, I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price;
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand,
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee: —
Their heads, I mean. — O, how this villainy [Jside.
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit.

Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
If any power pities wretched tears.
To that I call: — What, wilt thou kneel with me?

[To Lavinia.
Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our

prayers :
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

Mar. O ! brother, speak with possibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.

Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
Then be my passions bottomless with them.

Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament.

Tit. If there were reason for these miseries.
Then into limits could I bind my woes:
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow!
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:

Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
Then must my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd:
For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes.
But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
Then give me leave; for losers will have leave
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

Enter a Messenger, with two Heads and a Hand.

Mess. Worthy Andronicus ill art thou repaid
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;
And here's thy hand in scorn to thee sent back;
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd:
That woe is me to think upon thy woes.
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit.

Mar. Now let hot iEtna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
These miseries are more than may be borne!
To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal.
But sorrow flouted at is double death.

Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a
wound.
And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
That ever death should let life bear his name.
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!

[Lavima kisses him.

Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless.
As frozen water to a starved snake.

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end?

Mar. Now, farewell, flattery: Die, Andronicus;
Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads;
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here;
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
Ah! now no more will 1 control thy griefs:
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes!
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

Tit. Ha, ha, ha!

Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this
hour.

Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed:
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy.
And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes.
And make them blind with tributary tears;
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave?
For these two heads do seem to speak to me;
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss.
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again.
Even in their throats that have committed them.
Come, let me see what task I have to do. —
You heavy people, circle me about; —
That I may turn me to each one of you.
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
The vow is made. — Come, brother, take a head;
And in this hand the other will I bear:
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things;
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay :
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:
And, if you love me, as I think you do.
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

[Exeunt Titus, Mabcus, and Lavinia.

Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome!
Farewell, proud Rome! till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been!

L

KKKII.

Act IV.

TITUS ANDRONICUS

745

But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives,

But in oblivion, anJ hateful griefs.

If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;

And make proud Saturninus and his empress

Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.

Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power,

To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit.

SCENE II.

A Room in Titus'* House. A Banquet set out.

Enter Titos, Mabcus, Lavinia, and young
Lucius, a Boy.

Tit. So, so; now sit: and look, you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that sorrow- wreathen knot;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands.
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon ray breast;
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down. —
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!

[To Lavinia.
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth.
And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall,
May run into that sink, and soaking in.
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

Mar, Fye, brother, fye! teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.

Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote already ?
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
What violent hands can she lay on her life!
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;
To bid ^neas tell the tale twice o'er.
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
Lest we remember still, that we have none.
Fye, fye, how franticly I square my talk!
As if we should forget we had no hands.
If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! —
Come, let's fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this ; —
Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; —
I can interpret all her raartyr'd signs; —
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd w ith her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks : — *)
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven.
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
But I, of these, will rest an alphabet,
And, by still practice, ') learn to know thy meaning.

Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep la-
ments :
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd.
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.

Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears.
And tears will quickly melt thy life away. —

[Marcus strike* the dish with a knife.
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?

Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.

Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny :
A deed of death, done on the innocent.

Becomes not Titus' brother: Get thee gone;
I see thou art not for my company.

Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? »)
How would he hang his slender gilded wings.
And buz lamenting doings in the air?
Poor harmless fly !

That with his pretty buzzing melody.
Came here to make us merry ; and thou hast kill'd
him.

Mar. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly,
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.

Tit. O, O, O,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee.
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me. —
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. —
Ah, sirrah! ')

Yet I do think we are not brought so low.
But that, between us, we can kill a fly.
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

Mar. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought on him.
He takes false shadows for true substances.

Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me:
I'll to thy closet ; and go read with thee
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. —
Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young.
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Thesame. Before Titus'' s House.

Enter Titos and Marcus. Then enter young Lu-
cius, Lavinia running after him.

Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia
Follows me every where, I know not why : —
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes!
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
Mar. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thine aunt.
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did.
Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : — Somewhat doth she
mean:
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee:
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee.
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?

Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess.
Unless some fit or phrenzy do possess her:
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
I Extremity of griefs would make men mad ;
I And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy
I Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear;
Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,
I And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
! Which made me down to throw my books, and fly;
Causeless, perhaps: But pardon me, sweet aunt:
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
Mar. Lucius, I will.

[Lavima tuma over the Bookt which LnciDS
ha» let fall.
Tit. How now, Lavinia ? — Marcus, what means
this?

XXXII.

746

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Act IV.

Some book there is, that she desires to see : —
Which is it, girl, of these? — Open them, boy. —
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. —
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
Mar. I think, she means, that there was more
than one
Confederate in the fact; — Ay, more there was: —
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis;
My mother gave't me.

Mar. For love of her that's gone,

Perhaps she culi'd it from among the rest.

Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves!
Help her : —

What would she find? — Lavinia, shall I read?
This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape;
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Mar. See, brother, see ; note, how she quotes the

leaves. *)
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, sweet girl,
Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? —

See, see!

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt,
(O, had we never, never, hunted there!)
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes.
By nature made for murders, and for rapes.

Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a den,
Unless the gods delight in tragedies!
Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none
but friends, —
What Roman lord it was' durst do the deed:
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst.
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?
Mar. Sit down, sweet niece ; — brother, sit down
by me. —
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I may this treason find ! —
My lord, look here; — Look here, Lavinia:
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
This after me, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.

[He writes his name with his staff, and guides
it with his feet and mouth.
Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift ! —
Write thou, good niece, and here display, at last,
What God will have discover'd for revenge:
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth !

\_She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it
with her stumps, and writes.
Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ?
Stuprunt — Chiron — Demetrius.

Mar. What, what! — the lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?
Tit. Magne Dominator poli, ^)
Tarn lentus audia gcelera? tarn lentus vides?
Mar. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although, I
know.
There is enough written upon this earth.
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
And swear with me, — as with the woful feere, *)
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, —
That we will prosecute, by good advice.

Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.

Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
But if you hurt these bear whelps, then beware:
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
She's with the lion deeply still in league,
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back.
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone;
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
And with a gad of steel *) will write these words,
And lay it by: the angry northern wind
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad.
And where's your lesson then? — Boy, what say you?

Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man.
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome.

Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
For this ungrateful country done the like.

Boy. And uncle, so will I, an if I live.

Tit, Come, go with me into mine armoury;
luucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the empress' sons
Presents, that I intend to send them both:
Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not?

Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.

Tit. No, boy, not so ; I'll teach thee another course.
Lavinia, come : — Marcus, look to my house ;
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court;
Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on.
[Exeunt Titub, Lavinia, and Boy.

Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan.
And not relent, or not compassion him?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy;
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart.
Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield:
But yet so just, that he will not revenge : —
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus ! [Exit.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Dbmetrius, at one

Door; at another Door, young Lucius, arid an

Attendant, with a Bundle of Weapons, and

Verses writ upon them.

Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius;
He hath some message to deliver to us.

Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand-
father.

Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
I greet your honours from Andronicus; —
And pray the Roman gods, confound you both.

[jiside.

Dem. Gramercy, *) lovely Lucius : What's the news ?

Boy. That you are both decipher'd, that's the news.
For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.'] May it

please you,
My grandsire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me
The goodliest weapons of his armoury,
To gratify your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say;
And so I do, and with his gifts present
Your lordships, that whenever you have need,
You may be armed and appointed well:
And so I leave you both, [Aside] like bloody villains.
[Exeunt Boy and Attendant.

Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written round
about ?
Let's see;

Integer vita, scelerisque purus,
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu.

KKXII.

Act IV.

TITUS ANDRONICUS

747

Aside.

Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well:
I read it in the grammar long ago.
Aar. Ay, just! — a verse in Horace; — right, you
have it.
Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
Here's no sound jest! the old man hath

found their guilt;
And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with

lines.
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the

quick.
But were our witty empress well a-foot,
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
But let her rest in her unrest awhile. —
And now, young lords, was't not a happy star.
Led us to Rome, strangers, and, more than so.
Captives, to be advanced to this height?
It did me good, before the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.

Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius?
Did you not use his daughter very friendly?

Dein. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.

Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love.

Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.

Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more.

Dem. Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods
For our beloved mother in her pains.

Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us
o'er. ^Aside, Flourish.

Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus ?

Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.

Dem. Soft; who comes here?

Enter a Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child in
her Arms.

Nur. Good morrow, lords:

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor.

Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?

Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!

Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?

ISur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye,
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace ; —
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd.

Aar. To whom?

Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed.

Aar. Well, God

Give her good rest! What hath he sent her?

Nur, A devil.

Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam ; a joyful issue.

Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue :
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.

Aar. Out, out, *•) you whore! is black so base a
hue? —
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.

Dem. Villain, what hast thou done?

Aar. Done! that which thou

Canst not undo.

Chi. Thou hast undone our mother.

Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother.

Dem, And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone.
Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice!
Accurs'd the ofTspring of so foul a fiend!

Chi. It shall not live.

Aar, It shall not die.

Nur. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.

Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man, but I,
Do execution on my flesh and blood.

Dem. I'll broach the tadpole ') on my rapier's
point ;
Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it.

Aar. Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up.

[Takes the Child from the Nurse, and draws.
Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your brother ?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky.
That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point.
That touches this my first-born son and heir!
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood.
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!
Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs!
Coal-black is better than another hue.
In that it scorns to bear another hue:
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn a swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
Tell the eraperess from me, I am of age
To keep mine own ; excuse it how she can.

Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?

Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself;
The vigour, and the picture of my youth:
This, before all the world, do I prefer;
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe,
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.

Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.

Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. ')

Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death.

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignoray. ')

Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears :
Fye, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the heart!
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer: *<*)
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father;
As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own.
He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you;
And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were,
He is enfranchised and come to light:
Nay, he's your brother by the surer side.
Although my seal be stamped in his face.

Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?

Dem, Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy advice;
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.

Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult.
My son and I will have the wind of you:
Keep there: Now talk at pleasure of your safety.
[They sit on the ground.

Dem, How many women saw this child of his?

Aar, Why, so, brave lords; When we all join in
league,
I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor,
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness.
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. —
But, say again, how many saw the child?

Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself.
And no one else, but the deliver'd empress.

Aar, The emperess, the midwife, and yourself:
Two may keep counsel, when the third's away:
Go to the empress ; tell her, this I said ; —

[Stabbing her.
Weke, weke ! — so cries a pig, prepar'd to the spit.

Dem, What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst
thou this?

Aar, O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy :

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TITUS ANDRONICUS

\

Act IV.

Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours?
A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no.
And now be it known to you my full intent.
Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman.
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;
His child is like to her, fair as you are:
Go pack with him, ' ' ) and give the mother gold,
And tell them both the circumstance of all;
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd,
And be received for the emperor's heir,
And substituted in the place of mine,
To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
And let the emperor dandle him for his own.
Hark ye, lords ; ye see, that I have given her physic,

\_Pointing to the Nurse.
And you must needs bestow her funeral;
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms:
This done, see that you take no longer days,
But send the midwife presently to me.
The midwife, and the nurse, well made away,
Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

Chi. Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air
With secrets.

Dem. For this care of Tamora,

Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee.

[Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing off the Nurse.

Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow
flies;
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
And secretly to greet the empress' friends. —
Come on, you thick-Hpp'd slave, I'll bear you hence ;
For it is you that puts us to our shifts:
I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots,
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat.
And cabin in a cave; and bring you up
To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit.

SCENE m.

The same. A public Place.

Enter Titus, bearing Arrows, with Letters at the

ends of them; with him Marcus, young Lucius,

and other Gentlemen, with Bows.

Tit. Come, Marcus, come; — Kinsmen, this is the
way:
Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight :
Terras Astreea reliquit:

Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
Happily you may find her ^^) in the sea;
Yet there's as little justice as at land: —
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
'Tis you must dig with mattock, and with spade,
And pierce the inmost center of the earth :
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition.
Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid:
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. —
Ah, Rome! — Well, well; 1 made thee miserable,
What time I threw the people's suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. —
Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all.
And leave you not a man of war uiisearch'd;
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case.
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns,
By day and night to attend him carefully;

And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.

Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude.
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters?
What,
Have you met with her?

Pub. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word.
If you will have revenge from hell, you shall:
Marry, ior Justice, she is so employ'd,
He thinks with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else.
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays.
I'll dive into the burning lake below.
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. —
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we;
No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size:
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back;
Yet wrung with wrongs, ' ^) more than our backs

can bear:
And, sith there is no justice in earth nor bell.
We will solicit heaven; and move the gods.
To send down justice for to wreak ' *) our wrongs :
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.

[He gives them, the Arrows.
Ad Jovem, that's for you: — Here, ad Apallinem : -
Ad Martem, that's for myself: —
Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury :
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, —
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy. Marcus, loose '*) when I bid:
O' my word, I have written to effect;
There's not a god left unsolicited.

Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court :
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said,
Lucius!
Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas.

Mar. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

Tit. Hal Publius, Publius, what hast thou done!
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns.

Mar. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius
shot.
The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock
That down fell both the ram's horns in the court;
And who should find them but the empress' villain ?
She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose
But give them to his master for a present.

Tit. Why, there it goes : God give your lordship joy.

Enter a Clown, with a Basket and two Pigeons.
News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is come.
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath
taken them down again, for the man must not be
hanged till the next week.

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank
with him in all my life.

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.

Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there:
God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven
in my young days. Why, I am going with my
pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter
of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the empe-
rial's men.

Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve

KKXn.

Act IV.

TITUS ANDRONICUS

749

for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons
to the emperor from you.

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the
emperor with a grace?

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in
all my life.

Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado.
But give your pigeons to the emperor :
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; — mean while, here's money for thy

charges.
Give me a pen and ink. —
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?

Clo. Ay, sir.

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And
when you come to him, at the first approach, you
must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your
pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll be at
hand, sir; see you do it bravely.

Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone.

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
B'or thou hast made it like an humble suppliant: —
And when thou hast given it to the emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

Clo. God be with you, sir; I will.

Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go : — Publius, follow me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The tame. Before the Palace.

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius,

Lords, an(/ others: Saturninus with the Arrows

in hi* hand, that Titus shot.

Sal. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was
ever seen
An emperor of Rome thus overborne.
Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods,
However th^e disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd.
But even with law, ^*) against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks.
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
And now he writes to heaven for his redress:
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury;
This to Apollo; this to the god of war:
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
What's this, but libelling against the senate.
And blazoning our injustice every where?
V goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
As who would say, in Rome "no justice were.
But, if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
But he and his shall know, that justice lives
In Saturninus' health; whom if she sleep.
He'll so awake, as she in fury shall
Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.

Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts.
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons.
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his

heart;
And rather comfort his distressed plight.
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best.
For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all: [Aside.

But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick.
Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise.
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. —

Enter Clown.

How now, good fellow? would'st thou speak with us?

Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial.

Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

Clo. 'Tis he. — God, and Saint Stephen , give
you good den: I have brought you a letter, and a
couple of pigeons here. [Saturninus readu the Letter.

Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently.

Clo. How much money must I have?

Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.

Clo. Hang'd! By'r lady, then I have brought up
a neck to a fair end. [J5?xit, guarded.

Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
Shall I endure this monstrous villainy ?
I know from whence this same device proceeds;
May this be borne? — as if his traitorous sons,
That died by law for murder of our brother.
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully. —
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;
Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege: —
For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man;
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great.
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

Enter iEsiiLius.

What news with thee, ilimilius?
JEmil. Arm, arm, my lords; Rome never had more

cause !
The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil.
They hither march amain, under conduct
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?
These tidings nip me; and I hang the head
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach :
'Tis he, the common people love so much;
Myself hath often over-heard them say,
(When I have walked like a private man,)
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully.
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor.

Tarn. Why should you fear ? is not your city strong ?

Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius;
And will revolt from me, to succour him.

Tam. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy
name. ")
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it?
The eagle suffers little birds to sing,
And is not careful what they mean thereby;
Knowing that, with the shadow of his wings.
He can at pleasure stint their melody: '*)
Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome.
Then cheer thy spirit: for know thou, emperor,
I will enchant the old Andronicus,
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous.
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep; *')
When as the one is wounded with the bait.
The other rotted with delicious feed.

Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us.

Tam. If Tamora entreat him, then he will:
For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear
With golden promises: that were his heart
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf.
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.—
Go thou before, be our ambassador : [To J^uiLiirs.
Say, that the emperor requests a parley

XXKII.

750

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Act V.

Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting,
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.

Sat. iSmilius, do this message honourably:
And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.

jiEmil. Your bidding shall I do eifectually.

[Exit iEanLivs.

Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus;
And temper him, with all the art I have,
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again,
And bury all thy fear in my devices.

Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Plains near Rome.

Enter Lucius, and Goths, with Drum and
Colours.

Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends,
I have received letters from great Rome,
Which signify, what hate they bear their emperor.
And how desirous of our sight they are.
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness.
Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs:
And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath, *)
Let him make treble satisfaction.

1 Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andro-

nicus,
Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort;
Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds,
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt.
Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st, —
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day.
Led by their master to the flower'd fields, —
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.

Goths. And, as he salth, so say we all with him.

Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?

Enter a Goth, leading Aabon, with his Child
in his Arms.

2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd.
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; ^)

And as I earnestly did fix mine eye
Upon the wasted building, suddenly
I heard a child cry underneath a wall ;
I made unto the noise; when soon I heard
The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:
Peace, tawny slave; half me, and half thy dam!
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art.
Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look.
Villain, thou might'st have been an emperor:
But where the bull and cow are both milk-white.
They never do beget a coal-black calf.
Peace, villain, peace! — even thus he rates the

babe, —
For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth;
Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe.
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.
With this, my weapou drawn, I rush'd upon. him,
Surpriz'd him suddenly; and brought him hither.
To use as you think needful of the man.
Luc. O worthy Goth! this is the incarnate devil,
That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand:
This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye; ^)
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. —
Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither would'st thou convey
This growing image of thy fiend-like face?

Why dost not speak? What! deaf? No; not a word?
A .halter, soldiers; hang him on this tree,
And by his side his fruit of bastardy.

Aar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.

Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. —
First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl;
A sight to vex the father's soul withal.
Get me a ladder.

[A Ladder brought, which Aabon is obliged
to ascend.

Aar. Lucius, save the child ;

And bear it from me to the emperess.
If thou do this, I'll show thee wond'rous things,
That highly may advantage thee to hear:
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
I'll speak no more; But vengeance rot you all!

Luc, Say on; and, if it please me which thou
speak'st.
Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.

Aar. An if it please thee ? why, assure thee, Lucius,
'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;
For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,
Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
Complots of mischief, treason; villainies
Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd :
And this shall all be buried by my death,
Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live.

Luc. Tell on thy mind; I say, thy child shall live.

Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin.

Luc. Who should I swear by? thou believ'st no god;
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?

Aar. What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not:
Yet, — for I know thou art religious,
And hast a thing within thee, called conscience;
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies.
Which I have seen thee careful to observe, —
Therefore I urge thy oath ; — For that, I know
An idiot holds his bauble for a god.
And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears;
To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vow
By that same god, what god soe'er it be,
That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, —
To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up;
Or else I will discover nought to thee.

Luc. Even by my god, I swear to thee, I will.

Aar. First, know thou, I begot him on the empress.

Luc. O most insatiate, luxurious woman! *)

Aar. Tut, Lucius ! this was but a deed of charity.
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.
'Twas her two sons, that murder'd Bassianus;
They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her.
And cut her hands; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st.

Luc. O, detestable villain! call'st thou that trim-
ming?

Aar. Why she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd;

and 'twas
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it.

Luc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself!

Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them;
That codding spirit had they from their mother,
As sure a card as ever won the set;
That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me,
As true a dog as ever fought at head. *)
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole,
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay:
I wrote the letter that thy father found.
And hid the gold within the letter mention'd.
Confederate with the queen, and her two sons;
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand;
And, when I had it, drew myself apart.

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Act V.

TITUS ANDRONICUS

751

And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall,
When, for his hand, he had his two sons heads;
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily,
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his;
And when I told the empress of this sport,
She swounded almost at my pleasing tale.
And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses.

Goth. What! canst thou say all this, and never
blush ?

Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.

hue. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?

Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Kven now I curse the day, (and yet, I think.
Few come within the compass of my curse,)
Wherein I did not some notorious ill:
As kill a man, or else devise his death;
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself:
Set deadly enmity between two friends;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night.
And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees.
Have with my knife carded in Roman letters,
het not your torrow die, though I am dead.
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things,
As willingly as one would kill a fly;
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed.
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

Luc. Bring down the devil; '') for he must not die
So sweet a death, as hanging presently.

Aar. If there be devils, 'would I were a devil.
To live and burn in everlasting fire;
So I might have your company in hell,
But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no
more.

Enter a Goth.

Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome,
Desires to be admitted to your presence.
Luc. Let him come near. —

Enter ^Emilius.

Welcome, iSmilius, what's the news from Rome?

jEmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths,
The Roman emperor greets you all by me:
And, for he understands you are in arms.
He craves a parley at your father's house.
Willing you to demand your hostages.
And they shall be immediately deliver'd.

1 Goth. What says our general?

Luc. jl5milius, let the emperor give his pledges
Unto my father and my uncle Marcus,
And we will come. — March away. [Exeunt.

SCENE n.

Rome. Before Titus'* Home.

Enter TAMORi, Chihon, and Dbmbthius, disguised.

Tain. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,
I will encounter with Andronicus;
And say, I am Revenge, sent from below.
To join Avith him, and right his heinous wrongs.
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps,
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;
Tell him. Revenge is come to join with him.
And work confusion on his enemies. {They knock.

Enter Titus above.

Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation?
Is it your trick, to make me ope the door;
That so my sad decrees may fly away.
And all my study be to no elTect?

You are deceiv'd: for what I mean to do.
See here, in bloody lines I have set down;
And what is written shall be executed.

Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.
Tit. No ; not a word : How can I grace my talk,
Wanting a hand to give it action?
Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more.

Tarn. If thou did'st know me, thou would'st talk
with me.

Tit. I am not mad; I know thee well enough:
Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines;
Witness these trenches, made by grief and care;
Witness the tiring day, and heavy night;
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora;
Is not thy coming for my other hand?
t Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora;
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend:
I am Revenge; sent from the infernal kingdom.
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind.
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light;
Confer with me of murder and of death:
There's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place.
No vast obscurity, or misty vale,
Where bloody murder, or detested rape.
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out;
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name.
Revenge, which makes the foul off'ender quake.

Tit. Art thou revenge? and art thou sent to me,
To be a torment to mine enemies?

Tarn. I am; therefore come down, and welcome me.

2V/. Do me some service, ere I come to thee.
Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stand;
Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge,
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;
And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner.
And whirl along with thee about the globes.
Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet.
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away.
And find out murderers in their guilty caves t
And when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel
Trot, like a servile footman, all day long;
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east.
Until his very downfall in the sea.
And day by day I'll do this heavy task.
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.

Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me.

Tit. Are they '} thy ministers? what are they call'd?

Tarn. Rapine, and Murder; therefore called so,
'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.

Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons they are !
And you the empress ! But we worldly men
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.

0 svveet Revenge, now do I come to thee:
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee,

1 will embrace thee in it by and by.

[Exit TiTCs, from above.
Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy:
Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits.
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches.
For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;
And, being credulous in this mad thought,
I'll make him send for Lucius, his son;
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,
I'll find some cunning practice out of hand.

WM^^Hf,

752

TITUS ANDRONICUS

Act V

To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,
Or, at the least, make them his enemies.
See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.

Enter Titos.

Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee;
Welcome, dread fury, to my woeful house; —
Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too : —
How like the empress and her sons you are !
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor: —
Could not all hell afford you such a devil?
For, well I wot, the empress never wags,
But in her company there is a Moor;
And would you represent our queen aright,
It were convenient you had such a devil:
But welcome, as you are. What shall we do?

Tarn. What would'st thou have us do, Andronicus?

Dem, Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him.

Chi. Show me a villain, that hath done a rape,
And I am sent to be reveng'd on him.

Tarn. Show me a thousand, that have done thee
wrong,
And I will be revenged on them all.

Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome;
And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself,
Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. —
Go thou with him; and, when it is thy hap,
To find another that is like to thee,
Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. —
Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court
There is a queen, attended by a Moor;
Well may'st thou know her by thy own proportion,
For up and down she doth resemble thee;
I pray thee, do on them some violent death,
They have been violent to me and mine.

Tam. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do.
But would it please thee, good Andronicus,
To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son,
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,
And bid him come and banquet at thy house :
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,
I will bring in the empress and her sons.
The emperor himself, and all thy foes;
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel.
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
What says Andronicus to this device? —

Tit. Marcus, my brother! — 'Tis sad Titus calls.

Enter Marcus.
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius:
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths;
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him
Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are:
Tell him, the emperor and the empress too
Feast at my house : and he shall feast with them.
This do thou for my love: and so let him,
As he regards his aged father's life.

Mar. This will I do, and soon return again. [Exit.

Tam. Now will I hence about thy business.
And take my ministers along with me.

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me ;
Or else I'll call my brother back again,
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.

Tam. What say you, boys? will you abide with him.
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor,
How I have govern'd our determin'd jest?
Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair.

[Aside.
And tarry with him, till I come again.

Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad;
And will o'er-reach them in their own devices,
A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Aside.

Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here.

Tam. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now goes
To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Exit Tamora.

Tit. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.

Cki. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd?

Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. —
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine!

Enter Publius, and others.

Puh. What's your will?

Tit. Know you these two?

Pub. Th' empress' sons,

I take them, Chiron and Demetrius.

Tit. Fye, Publius, fye ! thou art too much deceiv'd ;
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name:
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius;
Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them:
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
And now I find it; therefore bind them sure;
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry.

[Exit Titus. — Publius, ^c. lay hold on
Chiron and Demetrius.

Chi. Villains, forbear; we are the empress' sons.

Pub. And therefore do we what we are commanded. —
Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word :
Is he sure bound? look, that you bind them fast.

Re-enter Titus Andronicus, with Lavinia; she
bearing a Bason, and he a Knife.
Tit. Come, come, Lavinia: look, thy foes are
bound : —
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ;
But let them hear what fearful words I utter. — -
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with

mud:
This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.
Your kill'd her husband; and, for that vile fault,
Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death:
My hand cut off, and made a merry jest:
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more dear
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity.
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd.
What would you say, if I should let you speak?
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you.
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats;
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold
The bason that receives your guilty blood.
You know, your mother means to feast with me.
And calls herself. Revenge, and thinks me mad, —
Hark, villains; I will grind your bones to dust.
And with your blood and it, I'll make a paste;
And of the paste a coffin ') I will rear.
And make two pasties of your shameful heads;
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam.
Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. ')
This is the feast that I have bid her to.
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter.
And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd:
And now prepare your throats. — Lavinia, come,

[He cuts their throats.
Receive the blood ; and, when that they are dead.
Let me go grind their bones to powder small.
And with this hateful liquor temper it;
And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd.
Come, come, be every one officious
To make this banquet: which I wish may prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.
So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook.
And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes.

[Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies

xKxn.

Act V.

TITUS A N D R O N I C U S.

753

The tame.

SCENE III.
A Pavilion, with Tablet, ^c.

Enter Lucils, Mahcus, and Goths, with Aaron,
Prisoner.

Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's miod.
That I repair to Rome, I am content

1 Goth. And ours, with thine, ' °) befall what for-
tune will.

Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him.
Till he be brought unto the empress' face.
For testimony of her foul proceedings:
And see the ambush of our friends be strong:
1 fear, the emperor means no good to us.

Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear.
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth
The venomous malice of my swelling heart!

Luc. Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave! —
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. —

[Exeunt Goths, iriVA Aarok. Flourisk.
The trumpets show, the emperor is at hand.

Enter Satdrnimts and Tamoka, with Tribunes,

Senators, and others.
Sat. What, hath the iirmaraent more suns than one?
Luc. What boots it thee, to call thyself a sunV
Mar. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the
parle; ' ')
These quarrels must be quietly debated.
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end.
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome :
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places.
Sat. Marcus, we will.

[Hautboys lound. The Company tit down at Table.

Enter Titus, dretted like a cook, Lavinia, veiled,
young Lucius, and others. Titus placet the

Dithet on the Table.
Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread

queen ;
Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;
And welcome, all: although the cheer be poor,
'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.

Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus?

Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well.
To entertain your highness, and your empress.

Tarn. We are beholden to you, good Andronicas.

Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were.
My lord the emperor, resolve me this ;
Was it well done of rash Virginius,
To slay his daughter with his own right hand.
Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflour'd?

Sat. it was, Andronicus.

Tit. Your reason, mighty lord!

Sal. Because the girl should not survive her shame.
And by her presence still renew his sorrows.

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant.
For me, most wretched to perform the like: —
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee;

[He killa Lavihm.
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die!

Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural, and unkind?

Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me
blind.
I am as woful as Virginius was:
And have a thousand times more cause than he
To do this outrage ; — and it is now done.

Sat. What, was she ravish'd ? tell, who did the deed.

■SaiOLVL

Tit, Will't please you eat? wili't please yo«r
highness feed?

Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus ?

Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius :
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue.
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.

Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.

Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pye;
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed.
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
'Tis true, 'tis true; witness ray knife's sharp point.

[KilUng Taxoka.

Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed.

[Killing Titos.

Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?
There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.
[KilU Satdkninus. A great Tumult. The Peaple
in eoafution disperse. Marcus, LdciD8, and
their Partisans ascend the Step* before Titus'*
House.

Mar. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome,
By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl
Scatter 'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts,
O, let me teach you how to knit again
This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf,
These broken limbs again into one body.

Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself;
And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to.
Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away.
Do shameful execution on herself.
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age.
Grave witnesses of true experience,
Cannot induce you to attend my words, —
Speak, Rome's dear friend; [to Lucius] as erst oar

ancestor.
When with his solemn tongue be did discourse.
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear.
The story of that baleful burning night.
When subtle Greeks surpriz'd king Priam's Troyy
Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears.
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in.
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. —
My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel;
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief.
But floods of tears will drown my oratory.
And break my very utterance; even i'the time
When it should move you to attend me most,
Lending your kind commiseration:
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale:
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.
Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you.
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother;
And they it were that ravished our sister:
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded;
Our father's tears despis'd ; and basely cozen'd ' ^)
Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out,
And sent her enemies unto the grave.
Lastly, myself unkindly banished.
The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out.
To beg relief among Rome's enemies ;
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears.
And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend :
And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you,
That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood;
And from her bosom took the enemy's point.
Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body.
Alas! you know, 1 am no vaunter, I;
My scars can witness, dumb although they are.
That my report is just, and full of truth.
But, soft; methinks, I do digress too much.
Citing my worthless praise: O, pardon me.
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.

48

754

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

Act V.

Mar. Now is my turn to speak; Behold this child,
[Pointing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant.
Of this was Tamora delivered;
The issue of an irreligious Moor,
Chief architect and plotter of these woes;
The villain is alive in Titus' house,
Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true.
Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience,
Or more than any living man could bear.
Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Romans ?
Have we done aught amiss ? Show us wherein,
And, from the place where you behold us now,
The poor remainder of Andronici
Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down.
And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains,
And make a mutual closure of our house.
Speak, Romans, speak; and, if you say, we shall,
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and 1 will fall.

j^mil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,
Lucius, our emperor; for, well I know,
The common voice do cry, it shall be so.

Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail; Rome's royal
emperor !

Lucius, ^-c. detcend.

Mar. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house;

[To an Attendant.
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor,
To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death.
As punishment for his most wicked life.

Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail ; Rome's gra-
cious governor!

Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans; May I govern so,
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe!
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, —
For nature puts me to a heavy task ; —
Stand all aloof; — but, uncle, draw you near.
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk : —
O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips.

[Xis«e« TiTrs.
These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face.
The last true duties of thy noble son!

Mar. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss.
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips:
O, were the sum of these that I should pay
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!

Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn of us
To melt in showers: Thy grandsire lov'd thee well:
Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee.
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow:
Many a matter hath he told to thee.
Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy;
In that respect then, like a loving child.
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring,
Because kind nature doth require it so :
Friends should associate friends in grief and woe:
Bid him farewell; conunit him to the grave;
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.

Boy. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all my heart
Would I were dead, so you did live again!

0 lord, f cannot speak to him for weeping;
My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.

Enter Attendants, with Aaron.

1 Rom. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;
Give sentence on this execrable wretch,
That hath been breeder of these dire events.

Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him ;
There let him stand, and rave and cry for food :
If any one relieves or pities him.
For the offence he dies. This is our doom.
Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. ' ')

Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury
dumb?

1 am no baby, I, that, with base prayers,
I should repent the evils I have done ;
Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did.
Would I perform, if I might have my will;
If one good deed in all my life I did,

I do repent it from my very soul.
Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor hence.
And give him burial in his father's graves
My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith
Be closed in our household's monument.
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora,
No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds.
No mournful bell shall ring her burial;
But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey:
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity;
And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
See justice done to Aaron, that damn'd Moor,
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning;
Then, afterwards, to order well the state;
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt.

ICRKn.

XXXIII.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

PEBSONS BEPBESENTED.

Antiochds, King of Antioch.
Periclbs, Prince of Tyre.

EscANBs, ]t""> Lords of Tyre.
SiMONiDBs, King of Pentapolis. ' )
Clbon, Governor of Tharsus.
Lysimachus, Governor of Mitylene.
Cbhimon, a Lord of Ephesus.
Thaliard, a Lord of Antioch.
Philemon, Servant to Cerimon.
Lbomnb, Servant to Dionyza.
Marshal.

A Pander, and his Wife.
BoBLT, their Serva7it.
GowER, as Chorus.

The Daughter of Antiochus.

DioxrzA, Wife to Cleon.

Thaisa, Daughter to Siinonides.

Marina, Daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.

Lychorida, Nurse to Marina.

Diana.

Lords, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates,
Fishermen, and Messengers, ^c.

Scene — ditpersedly in various Countries.

ACT I.

Enter Gowbb.
Before the Palace o/" Antioch.

Xo sing a song of old ^) was sung.

From ashes ancient Gower is come;

Assuming man's infirmities.

To glad your ear, and please your eyes

It hath been sung at festivals.

On ember-eves, and holy-ales; ^)

And lords and ladies of their lives

Have read it for restoratives:

'Purpose to make men glorious; '*)

Et quo antiquius, eo melius.

If you, born in these latter times.

When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.

And that to hear an old man sing.

May to your wishes pleasure bring,

I life would wish, and that I might

Waste it for you, like taper-light. —

This city then, Antioch the great, *)

Built up for his chiefest seat;

The fairest in all Syria;

(I tell you what mine authors say;)

This king unto him took a pheere, ^)

Who died and left a female heir.

So buxom, blithe, and full of face, ')

As heaven had lent her all his grace;

With whom the father liking took.

And her to incest did provoke;

Bad father! to entice his own 8)

To evil, should be done by none.

By custom, what they did begin.

Was, with long use account no sin. ')

The beauty of this sinful dame

Made many princes thither frame, *")

To seek her as a bed-fellow,

In marriage-pleasures play- fellow;

Which to prevent, he made a law,

(To keep her still, and men in awe,)

That whoso ask'd her for his wife,

His riddle told not, lost his life;

So for her many a wight did die.

As yon grim looks do testify. ^ ^ )

What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye

I give, my cause who best can justify. \TSxit.

SCENE I.

Antioch. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Antiochus, Pbriclbs, and Attendants.

Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large receiv'd
The danger of the task you undertake.

Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise.
Think death no hazard, in this enterprize. [Music.

Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
For the embracements even of Jove himself;
At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'd,)
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence.
The senate-house of planets all did sit.
To knit in her their best perfections.

Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.

Per. See, where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
Of every virtue gives renown to men!
Her face, the book of praises, where is read
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.*-)
Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love,
That have inflam'd desire in my breast.
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree.
Or die in the adventure, be my helps.
As I am son and servant to your will.
To compass such a boundless happiness!

Ant. Prince Pericles,

Per. That would be son to great Antiochus.

Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,

xxKm. 48

756

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act I.

With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard :
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view
A countless glory, '^) which desert must gain:
And which, without desert, because thine eye
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. **)
Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself.
Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire,
Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale.
That, without covering, save yon field of stars.
They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist.
For going on death's net, whom none resist.

Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
My frail mortality to know itself.
And by those fearful objects to prepare
This body, like to them, to what I must: '*)
For death remember'd, should be like a mirror,
Who tells us, life's but breath; to trust it, error.
I'll make my will then; and as sick men do,
Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe, ' ')
Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did;
So I bequeath a happy peace to you.
And all good men, as every prince should do;
My riches to the earth from whence they came;
But my unspotted fire of love to you.

[To the Daughter of Antiochus.
Thus ready for the way of life or death,
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, *')
Scorning advice.

Ant. Read the conclusion then;

Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed.
As these before thee, thou thyself shalt bleed.

Daugh. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros-
perous I
In all, save that, I wish thee happiness !

Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the lists.
Nor ask advice of any other thought
But faithfulness, and courage.

[He reads the Riddle.]

/ am no viper, yet I feed
On another's flesh, which did me bretd:
I sought a husband, in which labour,
I found that kindness in a father.
He's father, son, and husband mild,
I mother, wife, and yet his child.
How they may be, and yet in two.
As you will live, resolve it you.

Sharp physic is the last: '*) but O you powers!
That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts,
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually.
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?
Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still,

[Takes hold of the hand of the Princess.
Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill:
But I must tell you, — now, my thoughts revolt;
For he's no man on whom perfections wait, •')
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.
You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings;
Who, finger'd to make man*") his lawful music.
Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to

hearken ;
But, being play'd upon before your time,
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime:
Good sooth, I care not for you.

Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life,
F'or that's an article within our law.
As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd;
Either expound now, or receive your sentence.

Per. Great king.
Few love to hear the sina they love to act;

'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
Who has a book of all that monarchs do.
He's more secure to keep it shut, than shoWn;
For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind,
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself;
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear.
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:
To stop the air would hurt them. -») The blind

mole casts
Copp'd hills 2 2) towards heaven, to tell, the earth

is wrong'd *^)
By man's oppression ; and the poor worm doth die for't.
Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law's their will ;
And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill?
It is enough you know; and it is fit.
What being more known grows worse, to smother it.
All love the womb that their first beings bred.
Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.
Ant. Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found

the meaning; —
But I will gloze with him. [Ande."] Young prince

of Tyre,
Though by the tenour of our strict edict.
Your exposition misinterpreting, **)
We might proceed to cancel of your days;
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:
Forty days longer we do respite you ;
If by which time our secret be undone.
This mercy shows, we'll joy in such a son:
And until then, your entertain shall be.
As doth befit our honour, and your worth.

[Exeunt Antiochus, his Daughter, and Attendants.
Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin !
When what is done is like an hypocrite.
The which is good in nothing but in sight.
If it be true that I interpret false.
Then were it certain, you were not so bad.
As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
Where **) now you're both a father and a son.
By your untimely claspings with your child,
(Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;)
And she an eater of her mother's flesh.
By the defiling of her parent's bed;
And both like serpents are, who though they feed
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men
Blush not in actions blacker than the night.
Will shun no course to keep them from the light.
One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke.
Poison and treason are the hands of sin.
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:
Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear.
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit.

Re-enter Antiochus.
Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which
we mean
To have his head.

He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,
Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin
In such a loathed manner:
And therefore instantly this prince must die;
For by his fall my honour must keep high.
Who attends on us there?

Enter Thaliard. 2«)

Thai. Doth your highness call?

Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our mind
Partakes her private actions to your secresy:
And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;

HUUIII.

Act L

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

757

We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him;
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

Thai. My lord,

'Tis done.

Enter a Messenger.

Ant. Enough;
*') Lest your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

Me»s. My lord, prince Pericles is fled.

[Exit Messenger.

Ant. As thou

Wilt live, fly after: and, as an arrow, shot
From a well-experienc'd archer, hits the mark
His eye doth level at, so ne'er return.
Unless thou say, prince Pericles is dead.

Thai. My lord, if I
Can get him once within my pistol's length,
I'll make him sure: so farewell to your highness.

[Exit.

Ant. Thaliard, adieu! till Pericles be dead,
My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Tyre. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Pericles, Hblicanus, and other Lords.

Per. Let none disturb us: Why this charge of

thoughts? 2 8)
The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy,
By me so us'd a guest is, not an hour.
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,
(The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed

me quiet!
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun

them,
And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch,
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here:
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits.
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.
Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,
That have their first conception by mis-dread.
Have after-nourishment and life by care;
And what was first but fear what might be done.
Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. 2')
And so with me ; — the great Antiochus
('Gainst whom I am too little to contend.
Since he's so great, can make his will his act,)
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;
Nor boots it me to say, I honour him.
If he suspect 1 may dishonour him:
And what may make him blush in being known,
He'll stop the course by which it might be known;
With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land.
And with the ostent of war will look so huge.
Amazement shall drive courage from the state;
Our men be vanquish'd, ere they do resist,
And subjects punish'd, that ne'er thought offence:
Which care of them, not pity of myself,
(Who am no more 3°) but as the tops of trees.
Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend

them,)
Makes both my body pine, and soul to languish.
And punish that before, that he would punish.

1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast !

2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return to us.
Peaceful and comfortable!

Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give experience
tongue.
They do abuse the king, that flatter him:
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark,

To which that breath ^') gives heat and stronger

glowing;
Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order,
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.
When signior Sooth ^') here does proclaim a peace,
He flatters you, makes war upon your life:
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;
I cannot be much lower than my knees.

Per. All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook
What shipping, and what lading's in our haven,
And then return to us. [£xeunt Lords.] Helicanus, thou
Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?

Hel. An angry brow, dread lord.

Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns.
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?

Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from
whence
They have their nourishmeitt?

Per. Thou know'st I have power

To take thy life.

Hel. [Kneeling.'] I have ground the axe myself:
Do you but strike the blow.

Per. Rise, 'pr'ythee, rise;

Sit down, sit down; thou art no flatterer:
I thank thee for it; and high heaven forbid.
That kings should let their ears hear their faults

hid! ^^)
Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince,
Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant,
What would'st thou have me do?

Hel. With patience bear

Such griefs as you do lay upon yourself.

Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus;
Who minister'st a potion unto me.
That thou would'st tremble to receive thyself.
Attend me then : I went to Antioch,
Where, as thou know'st, against the face of death,
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty.
From whence an issue I might propagate,
^^j Bring arms to princes, and to subjects joys.
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;
The rest (hark in thine ear,) as black as incest;
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth : ^ *) but thou know'st

this,
'Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss.
Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled.
Under the covering of a careful night.
Who seem'd my good protector; and being here,
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed.
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrant's fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than their years:
And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,)
That I should open to the listening air.
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed.
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, —
To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms,
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him ;
When all, for mine, if I may call't ofl'ence.
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence:
Which love to all (of which thyself art one.
Who now reprov'st me for it,)

Hel. Alas, sir!

Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my

cheeks,
Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts
How I might stop this tempest, ere it came;
And finding little comfort to relieve them,
I thought it princely charity to grieve them. ^'^)

Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave
to speak,
Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear,
i And justly too, I thuik, you fear the tyrant.

KXKIII.

758

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act I.

Who either by public war, or private treason,

Will take away your life.

Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while.

Till that his rage and anger be forgot.

Or Destinies do cut his thread of life.

Your rule direct to any; if to me.

Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be.

Per. I do not doubt thy faith;
But should he wrong my liberties in absence —

Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth,
From whence we had our being and our birth.

Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tharsus
Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee;
And by whose letters I'll dispose myself.
The care I had and have of subjects' good.
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it.
I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath;
Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both:
But in our orbs ^ ') we'll live so round and safe.
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince, ^ ^)
Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Tyre. An Ante-chamber in the Palace.

Enter Thaliard.

Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here
must I kill king Pericles; and if I do not, I am
sure to be hanged at home : 'tis dangerous. — Well,
I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good
discretion, that being bid to ask what he would of
the king, desired he might know none of his secrets.
Now do I see he had some reason for it: for if a
king bid a man be a villain, he is bound by the
indenture of his oath to be one. — Hush, here come
the lords of Tyre.

Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords.

Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,
Further to question of your king's departure.
His seal'd commission, left in trust with me.
Doth speak sufficiently, he's gone to travel.

Thai. How! the king gone! [Aside.

Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied,
Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves.
He would depart, I'll give some light unto you.
Being at Antioch

Thai. What from Antioch? [Aside.

Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not,)
Took some displeasure at him; at least he judg'd so:
And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd,
To show his sorrow, would correct himself;
So puts himself unto the shipman's toil,
With whom each minute threatens life or death.

Thai. Well, I perceive [Aside.

I shall not be hang'd now, although I would;
But since he's gone, the king it sure must please, ^ ')
He 'scap'd the land, to perish on the seas. —
But I'll present me. Peace to the lords of Tyre!

Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.

Thai. From him I come
With message unto princely Pericles;
But, since my landing, as I have understood
Your lord has took himself to unknown travels,
My message must return from whence it came.

Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since
Commended to our master, not to us:

Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,

As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Tharsus. A Room in the Governor'* House.

Enter Clbon, Dionyza, and Attendants.

Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here.
And by relating tales of other's griefs.
See if 'twill teach us to forget our own?

D»o. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire,
Throws down one mountain, to cast up a higher.
O my distressed lord, even such our griefs;
Here they're but felt, and seen with mistful eyes, *°)
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise.

Cle. O Dionyza,
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,
Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish?
Our tongues and sorrows do*') sound deep our woes
Into the air: our eyes do weep, till lungs
Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; that,
If heaven slumber, while their creatures want,
They may awake their helps to comfort them.
I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years.
And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears.

Dio. I'll do my best, sir.

Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have government,
(A city, on whom plenty held full hand,)
For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets;
Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the

clouds,
And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at;
Whose men and dames so jetted*-) and adorn'd.
Like one another's glass to trim them by:
Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight,
And not so much to feed on, as delight;
AH poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great.
The name of help grow odious to repeat.

Dio. O, 'tis too true.

Cle. But see what heaven can do! By this our
change.
These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air,
Were all too little to content and please.
Although they gave their creatures in abundance.
As houses are defil'd for want of use,
They are now starv'd for want of exercise:
Those palates, who not yet two summers younger,"*^}
Must have inventions to delight the taste.
Would now be glad of bread,- and beg for it;
Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes,
Thought not too curious, are ready now.
To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd.
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife
Draw lots, who first shall die to lengthen life:
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall,
Have scarce strength left to give them burial.
Is not this true?

Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.

Cle. O, let those cities, that of Plenty's cup
And her prosperities so largely taste,
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears!
The misery of Tharsus may be theirs.

Enter a Lord.

Lord. Where's the lord governor?

Cle. Here.
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste.
For comfort is too far for us to expect.

Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring
shore,
A portly sail of ships make hitherward.

Cle. I thought as much.
One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir,

KKKIII.

Act II.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE

759

That may succeed as his inheritor.

And so in ours : some neighbouring nation,

Taking advantage of our misery.

Hath stufTd these hollow vessels with their power, *'•)

To beat us down, the which are down already;

And make a conquest of unhappy me,

Whereas no glory's '**) got to overcome.

Lord. That's the least fear; for, by the semblance
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace.
And come to us as favourers, not as foes.

Cle. Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat, '*^)
Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit.
But bring they what they will, what need we fear? * ')
The ground's the low'st, and we are half way there.
Go tell their general, we attend him here.
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes,
And what he craves.

Lord. I go, my lord. \Exit.

Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist;*^)
If wars, we are unable to resist.

Enter Pericles, with Attendants.

Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are.
Let not our ships and number of our men,
Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes.
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,
And seen the desolation of your streets:
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears,
But to relieve them of their heavy load;
And these our ships you happily may think
Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stufTd within.
With bloody views, expecting overthrow.
Are stor'd with corn, to make your needy bread,
And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half dead.

All. The gods of Greece protect you!
And we'll pray for you.

Per- Rise, I pray you, rise;

We do not look for reverence, but for love.
And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.

Cle. The which when any shall not gratify.
Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought.
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves.
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!
Till when, (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen,)
Your grace is welcome to our town and us.

Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast here a while.
Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

Enter Gowbr.

Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king
His child, I wis, to incest bring;
A better prince, and benign lord,
') Prove awful both in deed and word.
Be quiet then, as men should be.
Till he hath pass'd necessity.
I'll show you those -) in troubles reign.
Losing a mite, a mountain gain.
The good in conversation ^)
(To whom I give my benizon,)
Is still at Tharsus, where each man
Thinks all is writ he spoken can: '*)
And, to remember what he does.
Gild his statue glorious: *)
But tidings to the contrary
Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

Dumb show.

Enter at one door, Pericles, talking with Clkon ;
all the Train with them. Enter at another door.

a Gentleman, with a Letter to Pericles; Pericles
shows the Letter to Cleon; then gives the Mes-
senger a reward, and knights him. Exeunt
Pericles, Cleon, ^c. severally.

Gow. Good Helicane hath staid at home.
Not to eat honey, like a drone.
From others' labours; forth he strive ')
To killen bad, keep good alive;
And, to fulfil his prince' desire.
Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:
How Thaliard came full bent with sin.
And hid intent, to murder him;
And that in Tharsus was not best
Longer for him to make his rest:
He knowing so, put forth to seas,
Where when men been, there's seldom ease;
For now the wind begins to blow;
Thunder above, and deeps below.
Make such unquiet, that the ship
Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split;
And he, good prince, having all lost.
By waves from coast to coast is tost;
All perishen of man, of pelf,
Ne aught escapen but himself;
Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad,
Threw him ashore, to give him glad;
And here he comes: what shall be next.
Pardon old Gower; this long's the text. ^) [Exit.

SCENE I.

Pentapolis. An open Place by the Sea-side.

Enter Pericles, wet.

Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven !
Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man
Is but a substance that must yield to you;
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you.
Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,
Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath
Nothing to think on, but ensuing death:
Let it suffice the greatness of your powers.
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;
And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave,
Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave.

Enter three Fishermen.

1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche!

2 Fish. Ho ! come, and bring away the nets.
1 Fish. What Patch-breech, I say!

3 Fish. What say you, master?

1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now! come away,
or I'll fetch thee with a wannion. *)

3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor
men that were cast away before us, even now.

1 Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to
hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them,
when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves,

3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much, when I
saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled ? »)
they say, they are half fish, half flesh : a plague on
them, they ne'er come, but I look to be washed.
Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land ; the great ones
eat up the little ones: 1 can compare our rich mi-
sers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and
tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at
last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales
have I heard on a'the land, who never leave gaping,
'till they've swallowed the whole parish, church,
steeple, bells and all.
Per. A pretty moral.

HKXIII.

760

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act II.

S Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I
would have been that day in the belfry.

2 Fith. Why, manV

3 Fi»h. Because he should have swallowed me too ;
and when I had been in his belly, I would have
kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should
never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church,
and parish, up again. But if the good king Simo-
nides were of my mind

Per. SimonidesV

3 Fi»h. We would purge the land of these drones,
that rob the bee of her honey.

Per. How from the finny subject of the sea
These fishers tell the infirmities of men;
And from their wat'ry empire recollect
All that may men approve, or men detect! —
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

2 Fish. Honest! good fellow, what's that? if it be
a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, and
no body will look after it.

Per. Nay, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast

2 Fish, What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast
thee in our way !

Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind,
In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball
For them to play upon, entreats you pity him;
He asks of you, that never us'd to beg.

1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's them
in our country of Greece, gets more with begging,
than we can do with working.

2 Fish. Can'st thou catch any fishes then?
Per. I never practis'd it,

2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for here's
nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou can'st
fish for't.

Per. What I have been I have forgot to know;
But what I am, want teaches me to think on;
A man shrunk up » ") with cold : my veins are chill,
And have no more of life, than may suffice
To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help;
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,
For I am a man, ' ' ) pray see me buried.

1 Fish. Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid; I have a
gown here; come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now,
afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, thou shalt go
home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for
fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks; ' ^)
and thou shalt be welcome.

Per. I thank you, sir.

2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could
not beg.

Per. I did but crave.

2 Fish. But crave? Then I'll turn craver too, and
so I shall 'scape whipping.

Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped then?

2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all
your beggars were whipped, I would wish no bet-
ter office, than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go
draw up the net. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen.

Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their
labour !

1 Fish. Hark you, air! do you know where you are?

Per. Not well.

1 Fish. Why, I'll tell you : this is called Pentapolis,
and our king, the good Simonides.

Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him?

1 Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves to be so called,
for his peaceable reign, and good government.

Per. He is a happy king, since from his subjects
He gains the name of good, by his government.
How far is his court distant from this shore? '^)

I Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and I'll
tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow

is her birth-day; and there are princes and knights
come from all parts of the world, to just and tour-
ney for her love.

Per. Did but my fortunes "*) equal my desires,
I'd wish '*] to make one there.

1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may; and
what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for —
his wife's soul.

Re-enter the two Fishermen, drawing up a Net.

2 Fish. Help, master, help; here's a fish bangs in
the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 'twill
hardly come out. Ha! bots on't, ") 'tis come at
last, and 'tis turned to a rusty armour.

Per. An armour, friends! I pray you let me see it.
Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all ray crosses.
Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself:
And, though it was mine own,^ ') part of mine heritage,
Which my dead father did bequeath to me.
With this strict charge, (even as he left his life,)
Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield
'Twixt me and death; (and pointed to this brace :)*^)
For that it snv'd me, keep it; in like necessity,
' '] Which gods protect thee from! it may defend thee.
It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it;
Till the rough seas, that spare not any man.
Took it in rage, though calm'd, they giv't again: ^*')
I thank thee for't; my shipwreck's now no ill,
Since I have here my father's gift by will. ^ ')

1 Fish. What mean you, sir?

Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth.
For it' was sometime target to a king;
I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearly.
And for his sake, I wish the having of it;
And that you'd guide nie to your sovereign's court.
Where with't I may appear a gentleman;
And if that ever my low fortunes better,
I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest your debtor.

1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady?

Per. I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms.

1 Fish. Why, do ye take it, and the gods give thee
good on't!

2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend; 'twas we
that made up this garment through the rough seams
of the waters: there are certain condolements, cer-
tain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remem-
ber from whence you had it.

Per. Believ't, I will.
Now, by your furtherance, I am cloth'd in steel;
And spite of all the rupture of the sea.
This jewel holds his biding ^-) on my arm;
Unto thy value will I mount myself
Upon a courser, whose delightful steps
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. —
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided
Of a pair of bases. ^^)

2 Fish. We'll sure provide: thou shalt have my
best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee
to the court myself.

Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will;
This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A public Way, or Platform, leading

to the Lists. A Pavilion by the side of it, for the

reception of the King, Princess, Lords, ^c.

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, awrf Attendants.

Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? ^'*)
1 Lord. They are, my liege;
And stay your coming to present themselves.

KXKIII.

Act II.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

761

Sim. Return them, we are ready; -*) and our
daughter.
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are.
Sits here, like beautj's child, whom nature gat
For men to see, and seeing, wonder at. [Exit a Lord.

Thai. It pleaseth you, my father, ^^) to express
My commendations great, whose merit's less.

Sim. 'Tis fit it should be so; for princes are
A model, which heaven makes like to itself:
As jewels lose their glory, if neglected.
So princes their renown, if not respected.
'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain
The labour of each knight, in his device.

Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform.

Enter a Knight; he passes over the Stage, and
his Squire presents his Shield to the Princess.

Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself?

Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is a black y£thiop, reaching at the sun;
The word. Lux tua vita mihi. 2')

Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you.
[The tecond Knight patset.
Who is the second, that presents himself^

Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father;
And the device he bears upon his shield
Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady:
The motto thus, in Spanish, Piii per dulzura que
per fuerza. -"*) [The third Kuight passes.

Sim. And what's the third?

Thai. The third of Antioch ;

And his device, a wreath of chivalry:
The word, Me pompa provexit apex.

[The fourth Knight pattet.

Sim. What is the fourth?

Thai. A burning torch, that's turned upside down ;
The word. Quod me alii, me extinguit.

Sim. Which shows, that beauty hath his power
and will.
Which can as well inflame, as it can kill.

[The fifth Knight poMet.

Thai. The fifth, an hand environed with clouds;
Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried:
The motto thus. Sic spectanda fides.

[The sixth Knight pastes.

Sim. And what's the sixth and last, which the kuight
himself
With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd?

Thai. He seems a stranger; but his present is
A wither'd branch, that's only green at top; *'}
The motto, In hac spe vivo.

Sim. A pretty moral;
From the dejected state wherein he is.
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

1 Lord. He had need mean better than his oat-

ward show
Can any way speak in his just commend:
For, by his rusty outside, he appears
To have practis'd more the whipstock,'") than the

lance.

2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes
To an hooour'd triumph, strangely furnished.

3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust
Until this day, to scour it in the dust.

Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan
The outward habit by the inward man. ")
But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw
Into the gallery. [Exeunt.

[Great shouts, and all cry. The mean knight.

8CE1VB III.

The same. A Hall of Slate. A Banquet prepared.

Enter Simomdbs, Thaisa, Lords, Knights,
and Attendants.

Sim. Knights,
To say you are welcome, were superfluous.
To place upon the volume of your deeds.
As in a title-page, your worth in arms.
Were more than you expect, or more than's fit.
Since every worth in show commends itself.
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:
You are my guests. ^^}

Thai. But you, my knight and guest;

To whom this wreath of victory I give.
And crown you king of this day's happiness.

Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than my merit.

Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours;
And here, I hope, is none that envies it.
In framing artists, art hath thus decreed.
To make some good, but others to exceed ;
And you're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'the

feast,
(For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place:
Alarshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.

Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simonides.

Sim. Your presence glads our days; honour we love.
For who hates honour, hates the gods above.

Marsh. Sir, yond's your place.

Per. Some other is more fit.

1 Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen.
That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes.
Envy the great, nor do the low despise.

Per. You are right courteous knights.

Sim. Sit, sit, sir; sit.

Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts.
These cates resist me, she not thought upon. ^■*)

Thai. By Juno, that is queen
Of marriage, ail the viands that I eat
Do seem unsavoury, wishing him my meat!
Sure he's a gallant gentleman.

Sim. He's but

A country gentleman;

He has done no more than other knights bare done;
Broken a staff, or so : so let it pass.

Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass.

Per. Yon king's to me, like to my father's picture.
Which tells me, in that glory once he was;
Had princes sit,, like stars about his throne.
And he the sun, for them to reverence.
None that beheld him, but like lesser lights.
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy;
Where now his son's a glow-worm in the night.
The which hath fire in darkness, none in light;
Whereby I see that Time's the king of men.
For he's their parent, and he is their grave.
And gives them what he will, not what they crare.

Sim. What, are you merry, knights?

1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal presence?

Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim,
(As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,)
We drink this health to you.

Knights. We thank your grace.

Sim. Yet pause a while;
Yon knight, methioks, doth sit too melancholy.
As if the entertainment in our court
Had not a show might countervail his worth.
Note it not you, Thaisa?

Thai. What is it

To me, my father?

Sim. O, attend, my daughter;

Princes, in this, should live like gods above.

KHUmi.

762

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act II.

Who freely give to every one that comes

To honour them; and princes, not doing so,

Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd

Are wonder'd at. ^*)

Therefore to make's entrance ^ ^) more sweet, here say,

We drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.'"')

Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me
Unto a stranger knight to be so bold:
He may my proffer take for an offence,
Since men take women's gifts for impudeHce.

Sim. How!
Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else.

Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me
better. [Aside.

Sim. And further tell him, we desire to know.
Of whence he is, his name and parentage.

Thai. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you.

Per. I thank him.

Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life.

Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him
freely.

Thai. And further he desires to know of you.
Of whence you are, your name and parentage.

Per. A gentleman of Tyre — (my name, Pericles;
My education being in arts and arms;)
Who looking for adventures in the world.
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men.
And, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore.

Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,
A gentleman of Tyre, who only by
Misfortune of the seas has been bereft
Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore.

Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune.
And will awake him from his melancholy.
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles.
And waste the time, which looks for other revels.
Even in your armours, as you are address'd, ^^)
Will very well become a soldier's dance.
I will not have excuse, with saying, this
Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads;
Since they love men in arms, as well as beds.

[The Knights dance.
So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. ^*)
Come, sir;

Here is a lady that wants breathing too:
And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre
Are excellent in making ladies trip ;
And that their measures are as excellent.

Per. In those that practise them, they are, my lord.

Sim. O, that's as much, as you would be denied
[The Knights and Ladies dance.
Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp ;
Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well.
But you the best. [To Pekicles.] Pages and lights,

conduct
These knights unto their several lodgings : Yours, sir.
We have given order to be next our own.

Per. I am at your grace's pleasure.

Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love,
For that's the mark I know you level at:
Therefore each one betake him to his rest;
To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Tyre. A Room in the Governor'* House.

Enter Hblicanus and Escanbs.

Hel. No, no, my Escanes; know this of me, —
Antiochus from incest liv'd not free :
For which, the most high gods not minding longer
To withhold the vengeance that they had in store.
Due to this heinous capital offence;

Even in the height and pride of all his glory.
When he was seated, and his daughter with him.
In a chariot of inestimable value,
A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up
Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk.
That all those eyes ador'd them, ere their fall.
Scorn now their hand should give them burial.

Esca. 'Twas very strange.

Hel. And yet but just; for though

This king were great, his greatness was no guard
To bar heaven's shafts, but sin had his reward.

Esca. 'Tis very true.

Enter three Lords.

1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference.
Or council, has respect with him but he. ^')

2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve, without reproof.

3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it.
ILord. Follow me, then: Lord Helicane, a word.
Hel. With me? and welcome; Happy day, my

lords.
1 Lord. Know, that our griefs are risen to the top.
And now at length they overflow their banks.
Hel. Your griefs, for what ? wrong not the prince

you love.

1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Helicane ;
But if the prince do live, let us salute him.

Or know what ground's made happy by his breath.
If in the world he live, we'll seek him out;
If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there;
And be resolv'd, he lives to govern us, "*")
Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral.
And leaves us to our free election.

2 Lord. Whose death's, indeed, the strongest in our

censure: *')
And knowing this kingdom, if without a head,
(Like goodly buildings left without a roof,)
Will soon to ruin fall, your noble self.
That best knows how to rule, and how to reign.
We thus submit unto — our sovereign.

All. Live, noble Helicane !

Hel. Try honour's cause; forbear your suffrages:
If that you love prince Pericles, forbear.
Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, '*-)
Where's hourly trouble, for a minute's ease.
A twelvemonth longer, let me then entreat you
To forbear choice i'the absence of your king;
If in which time expir'd, he not return,
I shall with aged patience bear your yoke.
But if I cannot win you to this love.
Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects.
And in your search, spend your adventurous worth;
Whom if you find, and win unto return.
You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.

1 Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield ;
And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us.
We with our travels will endeavour it.

Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp
hands ;
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.
Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Simonidbs, reading a Letter, the Knights
meet him.

1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides.

Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know,
That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake
A married life.

Her reason to herself is only known.
Which from herself by no means can I get.

XXXIU.

Act III.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

763

i Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord? i

Sim. 'Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly!
tied her j

To her chamber, that it is impossible. !

One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery;
This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd, *^) I
And on her virgin honour will not break it. \

3 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take i
our leaves. \Exetmt. \

Sim. So. !

They're well despatch'd; now to my daughter's letter: ,
She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight, |
Or never more to view nor day nor light. I

Mistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine; j
I like that well : — nay, how absolute she's in't.
Not minding whether I dislike or no !
Well, I commend her choice;
And will no longer have it be delay'd.
Soft, here he comes : — I must dissemble it.

Enter Periclbs.

Per. All fortune to the good Simonides!

Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden to you,
For your sweet music this last night: my ears,
I do protest, were never better fed
With such delightful pleasing harmony.

Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend;
Not my desert.

iStm. Sir, you are music's master.

Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord.

Sim. Let me ask one thing. What do you think,
sir, of
My daughter?

Per. As of a most virtuous princess.

Sim. And she is fair too, is she not?

Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair.

Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you;
Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master.
And she'll your scholar be; therefore look to it.

Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster.

Sim. She thinks not so; peruse this writing else.

Per. What's here!
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre?
'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. [Jtide.
O, seek not to intra p, my gracious lord,
A stranger and distressed gentleman.
That never aim'd so high to love your daughter.
But bent all offices to honour her.

Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art
A villain.

Per. By the gods, I have not, sir.

Never did thought of mine levy offence;
Nor never did my actions yet commence
A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure.

Sim. Traitor, thou liest.

Per. Traitor I

Sim. Ay, traitor, sir.

Per. Even in his throat, (unless it be the king,)
That calls me traitor, I return the lie.

jSi'jb. Now by the gods, I do applaud his courage.

[Aside.

Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts.
That never relish'd of a base descent.
I came unto your court, for honour's cause,
And not to be a rebel to her state;
And he that otherwise accounts of me, ^

This sword shall prove, he's honour's enemy.

Sim. No! —
Here comes my daughter, she can witness it.

Enter Thaisa.
Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair.
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue

Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe
To any syllable that made love to you?

Thai. Why, sir, say if you had.
Who takes offence at that would make me glad?

Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? —
I am glad of it with all my heart. [Jiide.] I'll tame

you;
I'll bring you in subjection. —
Will you, not having my consent, bestow
Your love and your affections on a stranger?
(Who, for aught I know to the contrary.
Or think, may be as great in blood as I.) [Aside.
Hear therefore, mistress; frame your will to mine, —
And you, sir, hear you. — Either be rul'd by me.
Or I will make you — man and wife. —
Nay, come ; your hands and lips must seal it too. —
And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ; —
And for a further grief, — God give you joy !
What, are you both pleas'd ?

Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir.

Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it.

iS»/rt. What, are you both agreed?

Both. Yes, 'please your majesty.

S»J«. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed;
Then with what haste you can, get you to bed.**)

[Exeutu.

ACT m.

Enter Gower.

Gov>. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout;
No din but snores, the house about.
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast
Of this most pompous marriage feast.
The cat, with eyne of burning coal.
Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole;
And crickets sing at th' oven's mouth.
As the blither for their drouth.
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed,
Where, by the loss of maidenhead,
A babe is moulded; — Be attent.
And time that is so briefly spent.
With your fine fancies quaintly eche; ')
What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech.

Dumb show.

Enter Pericles and Simonides at one door, with
Attendants; a Messenger meett them, kneels, and
gives Pericles a Letter. Pericles shows it to
Simonides; the Lords kneel to the former.^) Then
enter Thaisa with child, and Lychorida. Simo-
mdes shows his Daughter the Letter ; she rejoices;
she and Pericles take leave of her Father, and
depart. Then Simonides, ^c. retire.

Gow. By many a dearn and painful perch, ^)
Of Pericles the careful search
By the four opposing coignes, •*)
Which the world together joins.
Is made, with all due diligence.
That horse, and sail, and high expence.
Can stead the quest. *) At last from Tyre
(Fame answering the most strong inquire,)
To the court of king Simonides
Are letters brought; the tenour these:
Antiochus and his daughter's dead;
The men of Tyrus, on the head
Of Helicanus would set on
The crown of Tyre, but he will none;
The mutiny there he hastes t'appease ; ')
Says to them, if king Pericles

KKKm.

764

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act III.

Come not, in twice six moons, home,

He obedient to their doom, ')

Will take the crown. The sum of this,

Brought hither to Pentapoiis,

Y-ravished the regions round.

And every one with claps, 'gan sound.

Our heir apparent is a king:

Who dream' dy who thought of such a thing ?

Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre:

His queen with child makes her desire

(Which who shall cross V) along to go;

(Omit we all their dole and woe;)

Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,

And so to sea. Their vessel shakes

On Neptune's billow; half the flood

Hath their keel cut; ^) but fortune's mood

Varies again; the grizzled north

Disgorges such a tempest forth,

That, as a duck for life that dives,

So up and down the poor ship drives.

The lady shrieks, and well-a-near ! ')

Doth fall in travail with her fear:

And what ensues in this fell storm,

Shall, for itself, itself perform.

I nill relate, *") action may

Conveniently the rest convey:

Which might not what by me is told. *')

In your imagination hold

This stage, the ship, upon whose deck

The sea-tost^-) prince appears to speak. \_Exit.

SCENE I.

Enter Pbriclbs, on a Ship at Sea.

Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these

surges.
Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou, that hast
Upon the winds command, bind them in brass.
Having call'd them from the deep ! O still thy deaf'ning.
Thy dreadful thunders; gently quench thy nimble,
Sulphureous flashes! — O how, Lychorida,
How does my queen? — Thou storm, thou! venom-
ously
Wilt thou spit all thyself? — '■ The seaman's whistle
Is as a whisper in the ears of death.
Unheard. — Lychorida! — Lucina, O
Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle
To those that cry by night, convey thy deity
Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs
Of my queen's travails! — Now, Lychorida

Enter LrcHoaioA, with an Infant.

Lye. Here is a thing
Too young for such a place, who, if it had
Conceit, *^) would die as I am like to do.
Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen.

Per. How! how, Lychorida!

Lye. Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.
Here's all that is left living of your queen, —
A little daughter; for the sake of it.
Be manly, and take comfort.

Per. O you gods!

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
And snatch them straight away ? We, here below.
Recall not what we give, and therein may
Vie honour with yourselves. • ^)

Lye. Patience, good sir.

Even for this charge.

Per. Now, mild may be thy life!

For a more blust'rous birth had never babe:
Quiet and gentle thy conditions! •*)
For thou'rt the rudeliest welcom'd to this world,

That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows !
Thou hast as chiding a nativity, ' '')
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make.
To herald thee from the womb: even at the first,
Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit, ")
With all thou canst find here. — Now the good gods
Throw their best eyes upon it!

Enter two Sailors.

1 Sail. What courage, sir? God save you.

Per. Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;")
It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love
Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,
I would, it would be quiet.

1 Sail. Slack the bolins there; ") thou wilt not,
wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself.

2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy
billow kiss the moon, I care not.

1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard; the sea
works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till
the ship be cleared of the dead.

Per. That's your superstition.

1 Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still
hath been observed ; and we are strong in earnest.
Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard
straight.

Per. Be it as you think meet. — Most wretched
queen !

Lye. Here she lies, sir.

Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, iny dear;
No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements
F^orgot thee utterly; nor have I time
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;
Where, for a monument upon thy bones.
And aye-remaining lamps, -") the belching whale
And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse.
Lying with simple shells. Lychorida,
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper.
My casket and my jewels ; and bid Nicander
Bring me the sattin coffer: lay the babe
Upon the pillow; hie thee, whiles I say
A priestly farewell to her: suddeiily, woman.

[Exit LVCHORIBA.

2 iSat7, Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches,
caulk'd and bitumed ready.

Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?

2 Sail. We are near Tharsus.

Per. Thither, gentle mariner.
Alter thy course for Tyre. When can'st thou reach it?

2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease.

Per. O make for Tharsus.
There will 1 visit Cleon, for the babe
Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner;
I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon'* House.

Enter Ckrimon, a Servant, and some Persons
who have been shipwrecked.

Cer. Philemon, ho!

Enter Philbmon.

Phil. Doth my lord call?

Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men;
It has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Serv. I have been in many ; but such a night as this,
Till now, I ne'er endur'd.

Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return;
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature,

Bxxin.

Act III.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

765

That can recover him. Give this to the 'potbecary,
And tell me how it works. [To Philexon.

[Exeunt Philesion, Servant, and those who
had been thipwrecked.

Enter two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Good morrow, sir.

2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship.

e'er. Gentlemen,

Why do you stir so early?

1 Gent. Sir,

Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea.

Shook, as the earth did quake;

The very principals did seem to rend.

And all to topple; -') pure surprise and fear

Made me to quit the house.

2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early ;
'Tis not our husbandry. ^2)

e'er. O, you say well.

1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship, having
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours
Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
It is most strange.

Nature should be so conversant with pain.
Being thereto not compell'd.

CVr. I held it ever.

Virtue and cunning ^^) were endowments greater
Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs
May the two latter darken and expend;
But immortality attends the former.
Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever
Have studied physic, through which secret art.
By turning o'er authorities, I have
(Together with my practice) made familiar
To me and to my aid, the blest infusions
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;
And I can speak of the disturbances
That nature works, and of her cures; which gives me
A more content in course of true delight
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour.
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags,
To please the fool and death. -'*)

2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd
forth
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd:
And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even
Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon
Such strong renown as time shall never

Enter two Servants with a Chest.
Serv. So; lift there.
Cer. What is that?

Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest;
'Tis of some wreck.

e^*"- Set 't down, let's look on it. ^S]

2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir.

Cer. Whate'er it be

'Tis wond'rous heavy. Wrench it open straight;
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold,
It is a good constraint of fortune, that
It belches upon us.

2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord.

Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitura'd ! —
Did the sea cast it up ?

Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir.
As toss'd it upon shore.

J^^''- . Come, wrench it open;

Soft, soft ! — it smells most sweetly in my sense.

2 Gent. A delicate odour.

Cer. As ever hit my nostril; so, — up with it.
O you most potent gods! What's here? a corse!

1 Gent. Most strange!

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and en-
treasur'd
With bags of spices full! A passport too!
Apollo, perfect me i'the characters ! [Unfolds a Scroll.

Here I give to understand, [Reads.

(If e'er thit coffin drive a- land,)

/, king Pericles, have lost

This queen, worth all our mundane''-^) cost.

Who finds her, give her burying.

She was the daughter of a king:

Besides this treasure for a fee.

The gods requite his charily!
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart
That even cracks for woe ! — This chanc'd to-night.
2 Gent. Most likely, sir.

Cer. Nay, certainly to-night;

For look, how fresh she looks! — They were too rough.
That threw her in the sea. Make fire within;
Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet.
Death may usurp on nature many hours.
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The overpressed spirits. I have heard
Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead.
By good appliance was recovered.

Enter a Servant, with Boxes, Napkins, and Fire,

Well said, well said; the fire and the cloths. —

The rough and woeful music that we have,

Cause it to sound, 'beseech you.

The vial once more ; — How thou stirr'st, thou block !

The music there. — I pray you, give her airi —

Gentlemen,

This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth

Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranc'd

Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow

Into life's flower again!

1 Gent. The heavens, sir.
Through you, increase our wonder, and set up
Your fame for ever.

Cer. She is alive; behold.

Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels
Which Pericles hath lost,
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold;
The diamonds of a most praised water
Appear, to make the world twice rich. O live.
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature.
Rare as you seem to be! [She move*.

Thai. O deaur Diana,

Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this?

2 Gent. Is not this strange?

1 Gent. Most rare.

Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours;

Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her.
Get linen; now this matter must be look'd to.
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come;
And iSIsculapius guide us!

[Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away.

Tharsus.

SCENE III.
A Room in Cleon'« House.

Enter Pbbiclbs, Clbon, Dionyza, Lycuorida,
and Marina.

Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone;
My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands
In a litigious peace. You, and your lady.
Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods
Make up the rest upon you!

Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you
mortally.
Yet glance full wand'ringly on us.

KXKm.

766

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act IV.

Dion. O your sweet queen !

That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought

her hither,
To have bless'd mine eyes!

Per^ We cannot but obey

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end
Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina (whom.
For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so,) here
I charge your charity withal, and leave her
The infant of your care; beseeching you
To give her princely training, that she may be
Manner'd as she is born.

Cle. Fear not, my lord:

Your grace, ^') that fed my country with your corn,
(For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,)
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
Should therein make me vile, the co-mmon body,
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty:
But if to that my nature need a spur.
The gods revenge it upon me and mine.
To the end of generation!

Per. I believe you;

Your honour and your goodness teach me credit, * 8)
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
By bright Diana, whom we honour all,
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain.
Though I show will in't. So I take ray leave.
Good madam, make me blessed in your care
In bringing up my child.

Dion. I have one myself,

Who shall not be more dear to my respect,
Than yours, my lord.

Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers.

Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge o'the
shore ;
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, ^9) and
The gentlest winds of heaven.

Per. I will embrace

Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — O, no tears,
Lychorida, no tears:

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord.

\Exeunt.

SGEIVE IV.

Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon'* Home.

Enter Cerimon and Thaisa.

Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
Lay with you in your coffer: which are now
At your command. Know you the character?

Thai. It is my lord's.
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember.
Even on my yearning time; but whether there
Delivered or no, by the holy gods,
I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles,
My wedded lord, 1 ne'er shall see again,
A vestal livery will I take me to,
And never more have joy.

Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak,
Diana's temple is not distant far.
Where you may 'bide until your date expire. ^^)
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
Shall there attend you.

Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all;
Yet my good-will is great, though the gift small.

\Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Enter Gower.

Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, '}
Welcom'd to his own desire.
His woful queen leave at Ephess,
To Dian there a votaress.
Now to Marina bend your mind.
Whom our fast growing scene must find
At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd
In music, letters ; who hath gain'd
Of education all the grace.
Which makes her both the heart and place
Of general wonder. ^) But alack!
That monster envy, oft the wrack
Of earned praise, ^) Marina's life
Seeks to take off by treason's knife.
And in this kind hath our Cleon
One daughter, and a wench full grown.
Even ripe for marriage fight; this maid
Hight Philoten: and it is said
For certain in our story, she
Would ever with Marina be:
Be't when she weav'd the sleided silk *)
With fingers, long, small, white as milk;
Or when she would with sharp neeld wound
The cambric, which she made more sound
By hurting it; or when to the lute
She sung, and made the night-bird mute.
That still records with moan; *) or when
She would with rich and constant pen
Vail to her mistress Dian; ^) still
This Philoten contends in skill
With absolute Marina: ') so
With the dove of Paphos might the crow
Vie feathers white. Marina gets
All praises, which are paid as debts.
And not as given. This so darks
In Philoten all graceful marks.
That Cleon's wife, with envy rare,
A present murderer does prepare
For good Marina, that her daughter
Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead;
And curs'd Dionyza hath
The pregnant instrument of wrath *)
Prest for this blow. ') The unborn event
I do commend to your content:
Only I carry winged time
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;
Which never could I so convey.
Unless your thoughts went on my way. —
Dionyza does appear.
With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit.

SCENE I.

Tharsus. An open Place near the Seashore.
Enter Diontza and Lboninb.

Dion. Thy oath remember; thou bast sworn to
do it:
'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon.
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience.
Which is but cold, intlame love in thy bosom.
Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
A soldier to thy purpose.

Leon. I'll do't; but yet she is a goodly creature.

Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her.
Here

Kxxxn.

Act IV,

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

767

Weeping she comes for her old nurse's death.
Thou art resolv'd?
Leon. I am resolv'd.

Enter Marina, with a Btuhet of Flowers.

Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed,
To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows, blues,
The purple violets, and marigolds.
Shall, as a chaplet, '") hang upon thy grave.
While summer days do last. Ah me ! poor maid.
Born in a tempest, when my mother died,
This world to me is like a lasting storm.
Whirring me from my friends. '')

Dion. How now, Marina I why do you keep alone?
How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not
Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have
A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favour's chang'd *^)
With this unprofitable woe! Come, come;
Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea mar it.
Walk forth with Leonine; tlie air is quick there, *^)
Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. ' ^} Come; —
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.

Mar. No, I pray you;
I'll not bereave you of your servant.

Dion. Come, come;

I love the king your father, and yourself.
With more than foreign heart. ^^) We every day
Expect him here: when he shall come, and find
Our paragon to all reports, ^ ') thus blasted.
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage;
Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,
Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve
That excellent complexion, which did steal
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me;
I can go home alone.

Mar. WeU, I wUl go;

But yet I have no desire to it.

Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
Walk half an hour. Leonine, at the least;
Remember what I have said.

Leon. I warrant you, madam.

Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while;
Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood:
What I 1 must have a care of you.

Mar. Thanks, sweet madam. —

[Exit DiONYZA.

Is this wind Mresterly that blows?

Leon. South-west.

Mar. When I was bom, the wind was north.

Leon. Was't so?

Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear.
But cry'd, good seamen! to the sailors, galling
His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes:
And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea
That almost burst the deck, and from the ladder-
tackle
Wash'd off a canvas-climber: ") Ha! says one,
Wilt out? and, with a dropping industry.
They skip from stem to stern : the boatswain whistles,
The master calls, and trebles their confusion.

Leon. And when was this ?

Mar. It was when I was born :

Never was waves nor wind more violent.

Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily. * 8)

Mar. What mean you?

Leon. If you require a little space for prayer,
I grant it: Pray; but be not tedious,
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn
To do my work with haste.

Mar. Why, will you kill me?

Leon. To satisfy my lady.

Mar. Why would she have me kiU'd?

Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
I never did her hurt in all my life;
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn
To any living creature: believe me, la,
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly :
I trod upon a worm against my will.
But I wept for it. How have I offended.
Wherein my death might yield her profit, or
My life imply her danger?

Leon. My commission

Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.

Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope.
You are well-favour'd, and your looks foreshow
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately.
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought;
Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now:
Your lady seeks my life; come you between,
And save poor me, the weaker.

Leon. I am sworn,

And will despatch.

Enter Pirates, widht Marina t« itruggling.

1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! [Lboninb runs away.

2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize !

3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's
have her aboard suddenly.

[Exeunt Pirates with Makiha.

SCENE II.

The same.

Re-enter Lgoninb.

Leon. These roving thieves ^'} serve the great

pirate Valdes;
And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go:
There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead,
And thrown into the sea. — But I'll see further;
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,
Not carry her aboard. If she remain.
Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain.

[Exit.

SCENE III.
Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel,
Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult.

Pand. Boult!

Boult. Sir!

Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene is
full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart,
by being too wenchless.

Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures.
We have but poor three, and they can do no
more than they can do; and with continual action
are even as good as rotten.

Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we
pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be
us'd in every trade, we shall never prosper. -•')

Bawd. Thou say'st true; 'tis not the bringing up
of poor bastards, as I think, I have brought up
some eleven

Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again.
But shall I search the market?

Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong
wind will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully
sodden.

Pand. Thou say'st true; they are too unwhole-
some o'conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead,
that lay with the little baggage.

Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him; she made him
roast meat for worms : — but I'll go search the market.

[Exit Boult,

KKKTTI.

768

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act IV.

Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as
pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over.

Bawd. Why, to give over, I pray youV is it a
shame to get when we are old?

Pand. O, our credit coines not in like the com-
modity ; nor the commodity wages not with the dan-
ger; -') therefore, if in our youths we could pick
up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our
door hatch'd. Besides, the sore terms we stand
upon with the gods, will be strong with us for
giving over.

Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we.

Pand. As well as we ! ay, and better too ; we olfend
worse. Neither is our profession any trade; it's no
calling: — but here comes Boult.

Enter the Pirates, and Boult, dragging in
Mabina.

Boult. Come your ways. [To Mahina.] — My mas-
ters, you say she's a virgin?

1 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not.

Boult. Master, I have gone thorough'-) for this
piece, you see: if you like her, so; if not, I have
lost my earnest.

Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities?

Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has
excellent good clothes; there's no further necessity
of qualities can make her be refused.

Bawd. What's her price, Boult?

Boult. It cannot be bated one doit of a thousand
pieces.

Pand. Well, follow me, my masters ; you shall have
your money presently. Wife, take her in; instruct
her what she has to do, that she may not be raw
in her entertainment. ^^) [Exeunt Panber and Pirates.

Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her; the co-
lour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with war-
rant of her virginity: and cry, He that will give
most, shall have her first. Such a maidenhead
were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been.
Get this done as I command you.

Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit Bodlt.

Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow !
(He should have struck, not spoke;) or that these

pirates,
(Not enough barbarous,) had not overboard
Thrown me,-'*) to seek my mother!

Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one?

Mar. That I am pretty.

Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part in you.

Mar. I accuse them not.

Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are
like to live.

Mar. The more my fault.
To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die.

Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.

Mar. No.

Bawd. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste gentlemen
of all fashions. You shall fare well ; you shall have
the difference of all complexions. What! do you
stop your ears?

Mar. Are you a woman?

Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be not
a woman?

Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman.

Bawd. Marry, whip thee, gosling : I think I shall

have something to do with you. Come, you are a

young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would

have you.
Mar. The gods defend me!
Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men,

then men must comfort you, men must feed you,

men must stir you up. — Boult's returned.

Enter Boolt.

Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?

Boult. I have cried her almost to the number of

her hairs; I have drawn her picture with my voice.

Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost thou find
the inclination of the people, especially of the younger
sort?

Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me, as they would
have hearkened to their father's testament. There
was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went
to bed to her very description.

Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with
his best ruff on.

Boult. To-night, io-night. But, mistress, do you
know the French knight that cowers i'the hams?-*)

Bawd. Who? monsieur Veroles?

Boult. Ay; he offered to cut a caper at the pro-
clamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore
he would see her to-morrow. -*)

Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brought his
disease hither; here he does but repair it. I know,
he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns
in the sun.

Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller,
we should lodge them with this sign. ' ')

Bawd. Pray you, come hither awhile. You have
fortunes coming upon you. Mark me; you must
seem to do that fearfully, which you commit willingly ;
to despise profit, where you have most gain. To
weep that you live as you do, makes pity in your
lovers: Seldom, but that pity begets you a good
opinion, and that opinion a mere profit. -*)

Mar. I understand you not.

Boult. O, take her home, mistress, take her home :
these blushes of her's must be quenched with some
present practice.

Bawd. Thou say'st true, i'faith, so they must: for
your bride goes to that with shame, which is her
way to go with warrant.

Boult, 'Faith some do, and some do not. But,
mistress, if I have bargained for the joint,

Bawd. Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit.

Boult. I may so.

Bawd. Who should deny it? Come, young one, I
like the manner of your garments well.

Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.

Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town: report
what a sojourner we have: you'll lose nothing by
custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant
thee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon
she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own
report.

Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not
so awake the beds of eels, ^') as my giving out her
beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. I'll bring home
some to-night.

Bawd. Come yours ways; follow me.

Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters dfeep,
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.
Diana, aid my purpose!

Bawd. What have we to do with Diana? Pray
you, will you go with us? [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Tharsus. A Room in Cleon'a House.

Enter Clbon and Diontza.

Dion. Why are you foolish? Can it be undone?

Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!

Dion. I think

You'll turn a child again.

RXKIIX.

Act IV.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

769

Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious world,
I'd give it to undo the deed. O lady.
Much less ill blood than virtue, yet a princess
To equal any single crown o'the earth,
I'the justice of compare! O villain Leonine,
Whom thou hast poison'd too!

If thou had'st drunk to him. It had been a kindness
Becoming well thy feat: ^") what canst thou say.
When noble Pericles shall demand his child V

Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,
To foster it, nor ever to preserve.
She died by night; ^*} I'll say so. Who can cross it?
Unless you play the impious innocent, ^^)
And for an honest attribute, cry out,
She died by foul play.

Cle. O, go to. Well, well.

Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods
Do like this worst.

Dion. Be one of those, that think

The pretty wrens of Tharsus will tiy hence,
And open this to Pericles. I do shame
To think of what a noble strain you are,
And of how cow'd a spirit. ^^}

Cle. To such proceeding

Who ever but his approbation added.
Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow
From honourable courses.

Dion. Be it so then:

Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead,
Nor none can know. Leonine being gone.
She did disdain my child, and stood between
Her and her fortunes: None would look on her.
But cast their gazes on Marina's face;
Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin.
Not worth the time of day. ^ *) It pierced me thorough ;
And though you call my course unnatural.
You not your child well loving, yet I find.
It greets me, ^*) as an enterprize of kindness,
Perform'd to your sole daughter.

Cle. Heavens forgive it!

Dion. And as for Pericles,
What should he say? We wept after her hearse,
And even yet we mourn : her monument
Is almost tiulsh'd, and her epitaphs
In glittering golden characters express
A general praise to her, and care In us.
At whose expence 'tis done.

Cle. Thou art like the harpy.

Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face.
Seize with an eagle's talons. 3'}

Dion. You are like one, that superstltiously
Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies;
But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Exeunt.

Enter Gow kb, before the Monument of Marina,
a/ Thar s us.

Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues
make short;
Sail seas In cockles, have, and wish but for't;
Making, (to take your imagination,)
From bourn to bourn, ^') region to region.
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime
To use one language, in each several clime.
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you.
To learn of me, who stand I'the gaps to teach you
The stages of our story. Pericles
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas,
(Attended on by many a lord and knight,)
To see his daughter all his life's delight.
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late
Advanc'd In time to great and high estate.
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind.
Old Helicanus goes along behind.

KXKin

Well- sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have

brought
This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought;
So with his steerage shall jmur thoughts grow on,)
To fetch his daughter honte, who first is gone.
Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.

Dumb thaw.

Enter, at one door, Pkriclks with hit Train;
Clbon and Dionyza at the other. Clbon shows
Pbriclbs the Tomb of Marina ; whereat Pkriclbs
makes lamentation, puts on Sackcloth, and in a
mighty passion departs. Then Clbon and
Dionyza retire.

Gow. See how belief may suff"er by foul show;
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe; *')
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd.
With sighs shot through and biggest tears o'er-

show'r'd.
Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears
Never to w ash his face, nor cut his hairs ;
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, ^')
And yet he rides It out. Now please you wit*")
The epitaph is for Marina writ
By wicked Dionyza.

[Readg the Inscription on Mabtna'« Monument,
The fairest, sweet st, and best, lies here.
Who wither'd in her spring of year.
She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter.
On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;
Marina was she call'd; and at her birth,
Thetis, being proud, swallow'd tome part &the

earth.
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o^erflow'd.
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd:
Wherefore the does, (and swears she'll never

stint,)'")
Make raging battery upon shores of flint.
No visor does become black villainy.
So well as soft and tender flattery.
Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead.
And bear his courses to be ordered
By lady fortune; while our scenes display *-}
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day.
In her unholy service. Patience then.
And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit.

SCENE V.

Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel.

Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen.

1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like?

2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as
this, she being once gone.

1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there! did
you ever dream of such a thing?

2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-r
houses: Shall we go hear the vestals sing?

I Gent. I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but
I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The tame. A Room in the Brothel.

Enter Pander, Bawd, mnd Boult.

Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of
her, she had ne'er come here.
Bawd. Fye, fye upon her; she is able to freeze

^9 I

770

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act IV.

the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We
must either get her ravished, or be rid of her.
When she should do for clients her fitment, and do
me the kindness of out profession, she has me her
quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers,
her knees; that she would make a puritan of the
devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her.

Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll dis-
furnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our
swearers priests.

Pand. Now, the pox upon her green- sickness for me!

Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't, but
by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Ly-
simachus, disguised.

Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the
peevish baggage would but give way to customers.

Enter Lysimachus.

Lys. How now? How a dozen of virginities?

Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour! '*^)

Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good health.

Lys. You may so ; 'tis the better for you that your
resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, whole-
some iniquity? Have you that a man may deal
withal, and defy the surgeon?

Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would

but there never came her like in Mitylene.

J^s. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou would'st
say.

Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well
enough.

Lys. Well; call forth, call forth.

Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red,
you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed,
if she had but

Lys. What, 'pr'ythee?

Boult. O, sir, I can be modest.

Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less
than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste.

Enter Marina.

Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk; —
never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not a
fair creature?

Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage
at sea. Well, there's for you; — leave us.

Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave: a
word, and I'll have done presently.

Lys. I beseech you, do.

Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an
honourable man. [To Mabiiva, whom she takes aside.

Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily
note him.

Bawd. Next, he's the governor of this country,
and a man whom I am bound to.

Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound
to him indeed; but how honom'able he is in that, I
know not.

Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginal fen-
cing, will you use him kindly? He will line your
apron with gold.

Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank-
fully receive.

Lys. Have you done?

Bawd. My lord, she's not paced yet; you must
take some pains to work her to your manage. Come,
we will leave his honour and her together.

[Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult.

Lys. Go thy ways. — Now, pretty one, how long
have you been at this trade?

Mar. What trade, sir?

Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend.

Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please
you to name it.

Lys. How long have you been of this profession?

Mar. Ever since I can remember.

Lys. Did you go to it so young? Were you a
gamester at five, or at seven ? ^ ^)

Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one.

Lys. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims you
to be a creature of sale.

Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of
such resort, and will come into it ? I hear say, you
are of honourable parts, and are the governor of
this place.

Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto
you who I am?

Mar. Who is my principal ?

Lys. Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds
and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard
something of my power, and so stand aloof for more
serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one,
my authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly
upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place.
Come, come.

Mar. If you were born to honour, show it now;
If put upon you, make the judgment good
That thought you worthy of it.

Lys. How's this? how's this? — Some more; —
be sage. *^)

Mar. For me.
That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune
Hath plac'd me here within this loathsome stie,
Where, since I came, diseases have been sold
Dearer than physic, — O that the good gods
Would set me free from this unhallow'd place,
Though they did change me to the meanest bird
That flies i'the purer air!

Lys. I did not think

Thou could'st have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd

thou could'st.
Had I brought hither a corrupted mind.
Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for

thee :
Persever still in that clear way thou goest.
And the gods strengthen thee!

Mar. The gods preserve you !

Lys. B^or me, be you thoughten

That I came with no ill intent: for to me
The very doors and windows savour vilely.
Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and
I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. —
Hold ; here's more gold for thee. —
A curse upon him, die he like a thief.
That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou hear'st

from me.
It shall be for thy good.

I As LvsiMACHBs is putting up his Purse,
Boult enters.

Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for me.

Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door- keeper 1 Your
house,
But for this virgin that dotli prop it up,
Would sink and overwhelm you all. Away!

[Exit LVSIMACHBS.

Boult. How's this? We must take another -course
with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not
worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under
the cope,"**) shall undo a whole household, let me
be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways-
Mar. Whither would you have me?
Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken off, or
the common hangman shall execute it. Come your
way. We'll- have no more gentlemen driven away.
Come your ways, I say.

XKXIII.

Act V.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

771

Re-enter Bawd.

Bawd. How now! what's the matter?

Boult. Worse and worse, mistress; She has here
spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus.

Bawd. O abominable!

Boult. She makes our profession as it were to stink
afore the face of the gods.

Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever!

Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her
like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as
a snowball; saying his prayers too.

Bawd. Boult, take her away; use her at thy plea-
sure: crack the glass of her virginity, and make
the rest malleable.

Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground
than she is, she shall be ploughed.

Mar. Hark, hark, you gods!

Bawd. She conjures: away with her. Would she
had never come within my doors ! Marry hang you !
She's born to undo us. Will you not go the way
of women-kind? Marry come up, my dish of chas-
tity with rosemary and bays! *') [Exit Bawd.

Boult. Come, mistress; come your way with me.

Mar. Whither would you have me?

Boult. To take from jou the jewel you hold so dear.

Mar. 'Pr'ythee, tell me one thing tirst.

Boult. Come now, your one thing.

Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?

Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master,
or rather, my mistress.

Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art.
Since they do better thee in their command.
Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend
Of hell would not in reputation change:
Thou'rt the daran'd door-keeper to every coystrel
That hither comes enquiring for his tib; *')
To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear
Is liable; thy very food is such
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. ^')

Boult. What would you have me? go to the wars,
would you? where a man may serve seven years
for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough
in the end to buy him a wooden one?

Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty
Old receptacles, common sewers, of filth ;
Serve by indenture to the common hangman;
Any of these ways are better jet than this:
For that which thou professest, a baboon, *")
Could he but speak, would own a name too dear.

0 that the gods would safely from this place
Deliver me! Here, here is gold for thee.

If that thy master would gain aught by me.
Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance.
With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast;
And I will undertake all these to teach.

1 doubt not but this populous city will
Yield many scholars.

Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of?

Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again.
And prostitute me to the basest groom
That doth frequent your house.

Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee:
if I can place thee, I will.

Mar. But, amongst honest women?

Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst
them. But since my master and mistress have bought
you, there's no going but by their consent; there-
fore I will make them acquainted with your pur-
pose, and I doubt not but 1 shall find them tractable
enough. Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come
your ways. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

Enter Gowbe.

Gow. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances
Into an honest house, our story says.
She sings like one immortal, and she dances
As goddess-like to her admired lays:
Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld com-
poses ')
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry;
That even her art sisters the natural roses;
Her inkle, ^) silk, twin with the rubied cherry;
That pupils lacks she none of noble race.
Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place ;
And to her father turn our thoughts again.
Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;
Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd
Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this coast
Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd
God Neptune's annual feast to keep : from whence
Lysimachus our Tynan ship espies.
His banners sable trimm'd with rich expence;
And to him in his barge with fervour hies.
In your supposing once more put your sight;')
Of heavy Pericles think this the bark:
Where, what is done in action, more, if might, *)
Shall be discover'd; please you, sit, and hark.

{Exit.

SCENE I.

On board Pericles' Ship, off Mitylene. A close
Pavilion on deck, with a Curtain before it; Pe-
ricles within it, retlined on a Couch. A Barge
lying beside the Tyi'ian Vessel.

Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tynan

Vessel, the other to the Barge; to them

Helicanus.

Tyr. Sail. Where's the lord Helicanus? he can
resolve you. [To the Sailor of Mitylene.

0 here he is.

Sir, there's a barge put off from Mitylene,

And in it is Lysimachus the governor.

Who craves to come aboard. What is your will?

Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.

Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1 Gent. Doth your lordship call?
Hel. Gentlemen,
There is some of worth woidd come aboard ; I pray

you,
To greet them fairly.

[The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend,
and go on board the Barge.

Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; the
Tyrian Gentlemen, and the tWQ Sailors.

Tyr. Sail. Sir,
This is the man that can, in aught you would.
Resolve you.

Lys. Hail, reverend sir! The gods preserve you!

Hel. And you, sir, to out-live the age 1 am.
And die as I would do.

Lys. You wish me well.

Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs.
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us,

1 made to it, to know of whence you are.
Hel. First, sir, what is your place?

Lys. I am governor of this place you lie before.
Hel. Sir,

49*

772

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act V.

Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;

A man, who for this three months hath not spoken

To any one, nor taken sustenance,

But to prorogue his grief. *)

Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature?

Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat;
But the main grief of all springs from the loss
Of a beloved daughter and a wife.

Lys. May we not see him, then?

Hel. You may indeed, sir.

But bootless is your sight; he will not speak
To any.

Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish.

Hel. Behold him, sir; [Pericles discovered] this was
a goodly person,
Till the disaster, that, one mortal night, <')
Drove him to this.

Lys. Sir, king, all hail! the gods preserve you!
Hail!_
Hail, royal sir!

Hel. It is in vain; he will not speak to you.

iLord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I durst
wager,
Would win some words of him.

Lys. 'Tis well bethought.

She, questionless, with her sweet harmony
And other choice attractions, would allure,
And make a battery through his deafen'd parts, ')
Which now are midway stopp'd:
She, all as happy as of all the fairest, *}
Is, with her fellow maidens, now within
The leafy shelter that abuts against
The island's side.

[He whispers one of the attendant Lords. — Exit
Lord, in the Barge of Lvsimachus. ')

Hel. Sure, all's effectless ; yet nothing w e'll omit
That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness
We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you further,
That for our gold we may provision have,
Wherein we are not destitute for want,
But weary for the staleness.

Lys. O, sir, a courtesy,

Which if we should deny, the most just God
For every graif would send a caterpillar,
And so inflict our province. — Yet once more
Let me entreat to know at large the cause
Of your king's sorrow.

Hel. Sit, sir, I will recoiint it ; —

But, see, I am prevented.

Enter, from the Barge, Lord, Marina, and a
young Lady.

Lys. O, here is

The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!
Is't not a goodly presence? '")

Hel. A gallant lady.

Lys. She's such, that were I well assur'd she came
Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I'd wish
No better choice, and think me rarely wed.
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient:
If that thy prosperous-artificial feat ")
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught.
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay
As thy desires can wish.

Mar. Sir, I will use

My utmost skill in his recovery.
Provided none but 1 and my companion
Be suffer'd to come near him.

Lys. Come, let us leave her.

And the gods make her prosperous ! [Mabina sings.

Lys. Mark'd he your music?

Mar. No, nor look'd on us.

Lys. See, she will speak to him.

Mar. Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear:

Per. Hum ! ha !

Mar. I am a maid.

My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes.
But have been gaz'd on, comet-like: '-) she speaks.
My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.
Though wayward fortune did malign my state,
My derivation was from ancestors
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings:
But time hath rooted out my parentage.
And to the world and aukward casualties ' ')
Bound me in servitude. — I will desist;
But there is something glows upon my cheek.
And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak.

[Aside.

Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parentage —
To equal mine! — was it not thus? what say you?

Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage.
You would not do me violence.

Per. I do think so.

I pray you, turn your eyes again upon me. —
You are like something that — VVhat countrywoman?
Here of these shores?

Mar. No, nor of any shores:

Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am
No other than I appear.

Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.
My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one
My daughter might have been: my queen's square

brows ;
Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;
As silver-voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like,
And cas'd as richly : in pace another Juno ;
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them

hungry, _
The more she gives them speech. — Where do you
live?

Mar. Where I am but a stranger: from the deck
You may discern the place.

Per. Where were you bred?

And how achiev'd you these endowments, which
You make more rich to owe? * *)

Mar. Should I tell my history,

'Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting.

Per. 'Pr'ythee, speak :
Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st
Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace
For the crown'd truth to dwell in: ' *) I'll believe thee,
And make my senses credit thy relation.
To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st
Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends?
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back,
(Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou cam'st
From good descending?

Mar. So indeed I did.

Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury.
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine,
If both were open'd.

Mar. Some such thing indeed

I said, and said no more but what my thoughts
Did warrant me was likely.

Per. Tell thy story;

If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I
Have suffer'd like a girl: yet thou dost look
Like Patience, gazing on king's graves, and smiling
Extremity out of act. ■') What were thy friends?
How lost thou them ? Thy name, my most kind virgin?
Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.

Mar. My name, sir, is Marina.

BKHin.

Act V.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRt.

773

Per. O, I'm inock'd,

And thou by some incensed god sent hither
To make the world laugh at me.

t/Lar. Patience, good sir,

Or here I'll cease.

Per. Nay, I'll be patient;

Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me,
To call thyself Marina.

JUar. The name Marina

Was given me by one that had some power;
My father, and a king.

'Per. How ! a king's daughter ?

And call'd Marina?

Mar. You said you would believe me;

But, not to be a troubler of your peace,
I will end here.

Ver. But are you flesh and blood?

Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?
No motion?") Well; speak on. Where were you

born ?
And wherefore call'd Marina?

Mar. Call'd Marina,

For I was bom at sea.

Per. At sea? thy mother?

Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king;
Who died the very minute I was born.
As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
Deliver'd weeping.

Per. O, stop there a little!

This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep
Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be.
INly daughter's buried. [^«de.] Well : — where were

you bred?
Ill hear you more, to the bottom of your story.
And never interrupt you.

Mar. You'll scarce believe me; 'twere best I did
give o'er.

Per. I will believe you by the syllable ")
Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:
How came you in these parts ? w here w ere you bred ?

Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me ;
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,
Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd
A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, •')
A crew of pirates came and rescued me;
Brought me to Mitylene. But, now, good sir,
Whither will you have me? Why do you weep? It

may be,
You think me an impostor: no, good faith;
I am the daughter to king Pericles,
If good king Pericles be.

Per. Ho, Helicanus!

flel. Calls my gracious lord?

Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor.
Most wise in general: Tell me, if thou canst.
What this maid is, or what is like to be,
That thus hath made me weep?

Hf/. I know not; but

Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene,
Speaks nobly of her.

liy*. She would never tell

Her parentage; being demanded that,
She would sit still and weep.

Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir;
Give me a gash, put me to present pain;
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me,
O'erbear the shores of my mortality.
And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither,
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
Thou that was born at sea, buried at '1 harsus,
And found at sea again! — O Helicanus,
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud
As thunder threatens us: This is Marina. —

What was thy mother's name? tell me but that.
For truth can never be confirm'd enough,
Though doubts did ever sleep. - ")

Mar. First, sir, I pray.

What is your title?

Per. I am Pericles of Tyre; but tell me now
(As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect,)
My drown'd queen's name, thou art the heir of

kingdoms.
And another life to Pericles thy father. ^ '}

Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than
To say, my mother's name was Thaisa?
Thaisa was my mother, who did end.
The minute I began.

Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise; thou art my child.
Give me fresh garments. Mine own Helicanus,
(Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been.
By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all;
When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge,
She is thy very princess. — Who is this?

Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene,
Who, hearing of your melancholy state.
Did come to see you.

Per. I embrace you, sir.

Give me my robes; I am wild in my beholding.

0 heavens bless my girl! But hark, what music? —
Tell Helicanus, my Alarina, tell him

O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt.
How sure you are my daughter. — But what music?

Hel. My lord, I hear none.

Per. None?
The music of the spheres: list, my Marina.

liys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way.

Per. Rarest sounds!
Do ye not hear?

liys. Music? My lord, I hear —

Per. Most heavenly music:
It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber
Hangs on mine eyelids; let me rest. [Hie ileeps.

Lys. A pillow for his head;

[The Curtain before the Pavilion of Pexicles
is doted.
So leave him all. Well, my companion-friends.
If this but answer to my just belief,
I'll well remember you.

[^Exeunt Lvsixachds, Helicakus, Marina,
and attendant Lady.

SCENE n.

The game.

Pebiclbs on the Deck asleep; Diana appearing
to him at in a vision.

Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus ; hie thee thither.
And do upon mine altar sacrifice.
There, when my maiden priests are met together.
Before the people all.

Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call.
And give them repetition to the life. ^^)
Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe:
Do't, and be happy, by my silver bow.
Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana disappears.

Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, -^) ^

1 will obey thee ! — Helicanus I

Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina.

Hel. Sir.

Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike
The inhospitable Cleon; hut 1 am

For other service first
KXKXn.

toward Ephesus

774

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

Act V.

Turn our blown sails; ^*) eftsoons I'll tell thee why. —

[To Helicanus.
Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,
And give you gold for such provision
As our intents will need?

Lys, With all my heart, sir; and when you coine
ashore,
I have another suit.

Per. You shall prevail.

Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems
You have been noble towards her.

Lys. Sir, lend your arm.

Per. Come, my Marina. [Exeunt.

Enter Gower, before the Temple 0/ Diana at
Ephesus.
Gow. Now our sands are almost run;
More a little, and then done. ^ *)
This, as my last boon, give me,
(For such kindness must relieve me,)
That you aptly will suppose
What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
What minstrelsy, and pretty din.
The regent made in Mitylin,
To greet the king. So he has thriv'd.
That he is promis'd to be wiv'd
To fair Marina; but in no wise.
Till he had done his sacrifice, ^*)
As Dian bade: whereto being bound,
The interim, pray you, all confound. ^')
In feather'd briefness sails are fitll'd.
And wishes fall out as they're will'd.
At Ephesus, the temple see,
Our king, and all his company.
That he can hither come so soon,
Is by your fancy's thankful boon. -^) [Exit.

SCENE III.

The Temple «>/■ Diana <7{ Ephesus; Thaisa «*anrf-
ing near the Altar, as High-priestess; a number
of Virgins on each side; Cbrimon and other Inha-
bitants of Ephesus attending.

Enter Periclks, with his Train; Lysimachus,
Hklicanus, Marina, and a Lady.

Per. Hail Dian! to perform thy just command,
I here confess myself the king of Tyre;
Who, frighted from my country, did wed
The fair Thaisa, at Pentapolis.
At sea in child-bed died she, but brought forth
A maidchild call'd Marina; who, O goddess.
Wears yet thy silver livery.^') She at Tharsus
Was nurs'd with Cleon; whom at fourteen years
He sought to murder: but her better stars
Brought her to Mitylene; against whose shore
Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she
Made known herself my daughter.

Thai. Voice and favour ! —

You are, you are — O royal Pericles! — [She faints.

Per. What means the woman? she dies! help,
gentlemen !

Cer. Noble sir.
If you have told Diana's altar true,
This is your wife.

Per. Reverend appearer, no;

I threw her o'erboard with these very arms.

Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you.

Per. 'Tis most certain.

Cer. Look to the lady; — O, she's but o'erjoyed.
Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was
Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin, and

Found there rich jewels'; recover'd her, and plac'd her
Here in Diana's temple.

Per. May we see them?

Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my
house.
Whither I invite you. Look! Thaisa is
Recover'd.

Thai. O, let me look!

If he be none of mine, my sanctity
Will to my sense ^") bend no licentious ear.
But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord.
Are you not Pericles? Like him you speak,
Like him you are: Did you not name a tempest,
A birth, and death?

Per. The voice of dead Thaisa!

Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead.
And drown'd. ^ ')

Per. Immortal Dian!

Thai. Now I know you better. —

^When we with tears parted Pentapolis,
The king, my father, gave you such a ring.

[Shows a Ring.

Per. This, this: no more, you gods! your present
kindness
Makes my past miseries sport: You shall do well,
That on the touching of her lips I may
Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried
A second time within these arms.

Mar. My heart

Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom.

[Kneels to Thaisa.

Per. Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh,
Thaisa;
Thy burden at the sea, and Call'd Marina,
For she was yielded there.

Thai. Bless'd, and mine own!

Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen!

Thai. I know you not.

Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly from
Tyre,
I left behind an ancient substitute.
Can you remember Avhat I call'd the man?
I have nam'd him oft.

Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then.

Per. Still confirmation:
Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.
Now do I long to hear how you were found;
How possibly preserv'd; and whom to thank,
Besides the gods, for this great miracle.

Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man
Through whom the gods have shown their power;

that can
From first to last resolve you.

Per. Reverend sir,

The gods can have no mortal officer
More like a god than you. Will you deliver
How this dead queen re-lives?

Cer. I will, my lord.

Beseech you, first go with me to my house,
Where shall be shown you all was found with her;
How she came placed here within the temple;
No needful thing omitted.

Per. Pure Diana!

I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer

My night oblations to thee. Thaisa,

This prince, the fair-betrothed ^ 2) of your daughter,

Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now.

This ornament that makes me look so dismal,

Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form;

And what these fourteen years no razor touched,

To grace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify.

Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit,
Sir, that my father's dead.

KXKni.

Act V.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

775

Per. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my
queen,
We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves
Will in that kingdom spend our following days;
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay.
To hear the rest untold. — Sir, lead the way.

[^Exeunt.

Enter Gower.
Gow. In Antioch, ^ ^) and his daughter, you have
heard
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward:
In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen
(Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,)

Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast,
Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last.
In Helicanus may you well descry
A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:
In reverend Cerimon there well appears
The worth that learned charity aye wears.
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame
Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn;
That him and his they in his palace bum.
The gods for murder seemed so content
To punish them; although not done, but meant.
So on your patience evermore attending.
New joy wait on you ! Here our play has ending.

[£xi{ GowEB.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.
KING LEAR.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Lear, King of Britain.

King of France.

Duke of Burgundy.

Duke of Cornwall.

Duke of Albany.

Earl of Kent.

Earl of Gloster.

Edgar, Son to Gloster.

Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloster.

Cuban, a Courtier.

Old Man, Tenant to Gloster.

Physician.

Fool.

Oswald, Steward to Goneril.

An Officer, employed by Edmund.

Gentleman, Attendant on Cordelia.

A Herald.

Servants to Cornwall.

GoNERIL,

Regan,
Cordelia,

Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers,
Soldiers, and Attendants.

Dausrhters to Lear.

Scene — Britain.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear'x
Palace.

Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund.

Kent.

I THOUGHT, the king had more affected the duke of
Albany, than Cornwall.

Glo. It did always seem so to us: but now, in
the division of the kingdom, ') it appears not which
of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so
weigh'd, that curiosity in neither ^) can make choice
of either's moiety. ^)

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?

Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge:
I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that
now I am brazed to it.

Kent. I cannot conceive you.

Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could: where-
upon she grew round- wombed; and had, indeed,
sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband
for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue
of it being so proper. *)

Glo. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some
year elder than this, *) who yet is no dearer in my
account: though this knave came somewhat saucily
into the world before he was sent for, yet was his
mother fair; there was good sport at his making,
and the whoreson must be acknowledged. — Do you
know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

Edm. No, my lord.

Glo. My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as
my honourable friend.

Edm. My services to your lordship.

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.

Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he
shall again : ^- The king is coming.

[Trumpeta sound within.

Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan,
Cordelia, and Attendants.

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
Gloster.
Glo. I shall, my liege.

[Exeunt Gloster and Edmcnb.
Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker pur-
pose. ')
Give me the map there. — Know, that we have

divided,
In three, our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent ')
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of

Cornwall
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will ^) to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and

Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love.
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn.
And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my

daughters,
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule.
Interest of territory, cares of state,)
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.

Gon. Sir, I

Do love you more than words can wield the matter,
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour :
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ;
Beyond all manner of so much ') I love you.
Cor. What shall Cordelia do ? Love, and be silent.

[Avide.

XXiOV.

Act I.

KING LEAR

777

Lear, Of all these bounds, even from this line
to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd.
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find, she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short, — that I profess *")
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses; ")
And find, 1 am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.

Cor. Then poor Cordelia! [^Atide.

And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, '-) and pleasure.
Than that confinn'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy.
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd ; ' *) what can you say, to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cor. Nothing, my lord.

Lear. Nothing?

Cor. Nothing.

Lear. Nothing can come '*} of nothing: speak
again.

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
According to my bond; nor more, nor less.

Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a
little.
Lest it may mar your fortunes.

Cor. Good my lord,

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit.
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say.
They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed.
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall

carry
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters.
To love my father all.

Lear. But goes this with thy heart?

Cor. Ay, good my lord.

Lear. So young, and so untender?

Cor. So young, my lord, and true.

Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy
dower :
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun;
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operations of the orbs.
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care.
Propinquity and property of blood.
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scy-
thian,
Or he that makes his generation •*) messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be aa well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd.
As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent. Good my liege, —

Lear. Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath:
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight! —

[To COKDEIiIil.

So be my grave my peace, as here I give

Her father's heart from her! — Call France; —

Who stirs?
Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany,
With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power.
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly

course.
With reservation of an hundred knights.
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
The name, and all the additions to a king; ")
The sway.

Revenue, execution of the rest, ' ')
Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm.
This coronet part between you. [Giving the Crown.

Kent. Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honour'd as ray king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd.
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, —

Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from
the shaft.

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad. What wonld'st thou do, old man?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak,
I When power to flattery bows? To plainness ho-
nour's bound,
j When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ;
And, in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment.
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low somid
Reverbs ' ^) no hollowness.

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it.
Thy safety being the motive.

Lear. Out of my sight!

Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye. * ')

Lear. Now, by Apollo, —

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king,

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

Lear. O, vassal! miscreant!

[Laying his hand on his Sword.

Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear.

Kent. Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift;
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee, thou dost evil.

Lear. Hear me, recreant!

On thine allegiance hear me! —
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
(Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride.
To come betwixt our sentence and our power;
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,)
Our potency made good, ^'*) take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world;
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions.
The moment is thy death: Away! by Jupiter, *•)
This shall not be revok'd.

Kent. Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt

appear.
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.^ —
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid.

[To COKBELIA.

XXXIV.

778

KING

LEAR.

Act I.

That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! —
And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
[To Regan and Goneril.
That good effects may spring from words of love. —
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;
He'll shape his old course -^) in a country new.

[Exit.

Re-enter Glostbr; with France, Burgundy, and

Attendants.

f»Zo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear. My lord of Burgundy,
We first address towards you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter; What, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love? ^^^

Bur. Most royal majesty,

I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.

Lear. Right noble Burgundy,

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands;
If aught within that little, seeming ^*) substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd.
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace.
She's there, and she is yours.

Bur. I know no answer.

Lear. Sir,
Will you, with those infirmities she owes, **)
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath.
Take her, or leave her?

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir;

Election makes not up on such conditions. -*')

Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that
made me,
I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king,

[To Faance.
I would not from your love make such a stray.
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you
To avert your liking a more worthier way,
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
Almost to acknowledge hers.

France. This is most strange!

That she, that even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age.
Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour! Sure, her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree.
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fall into taint: ^') which to believe of her.
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle
Could never plant in me.

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty,

(If for I want ^^) that glib and oily art.
To speak and purpose not ; since what I well intend,
I'll do't before I speak,) that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step.
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour:
But even for want of that, for which I am richer;
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
That I am glad I have not, though, not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking.

Lear. Better thou

Had'st not been born, than not to have pleaa'd me
better.

France. Is it but this? ^') a tardiness in nature.
Which often leaves the history unspoke.
That it intends to do? — My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love is not love.
When it is mingled with respects, ^°) that stand

Aloof from the entire point. ^') Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.

Bur. Royal Lear,

Give but that portion which yourself propos'd.
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.

Lear. Nothing: I have sworn; I am fmn.

Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father.
That you must lose a husband.

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy!

Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife.

France. Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich, being
poor;
Most choice, forsaken ; and most lov'd, despis'd !
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st

neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. —
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. —
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind
Thou losest here, ^^) a better where to find.

Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine;
for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of her's again : — Therefore be gone.
Without our grace, our love, our benizon.
Come, noble Burgundy.

[Flourish. Exeunt Leah, Bpbgundy, Corn-
WALi., Albany, Glosteb, and Atteudants.

France. Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know you v^hat you are;
And, like a sister, am most loath to call
Your faults, as they are nam'd. Use well our father :
To your professed bosoms I commit him:
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place.
So farewell to you both.

Gon. Prescribe not us our duties.

Reg. Let your study

Be, to content your lord; who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted.
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning ^^)
hides ;
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides.
Well may you prosper!

France. Come, my fair Cordelia.

[Exeunt France oTid Cordelia.

Oon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of
what most nearly appertains to us both. I think,
our father will hence to-night.

Reg. That's most certain, and with you ; next month
with us.

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is; the
observation we have made of it hath not been little :
he always loved our sister most; and with what
poor judgment he hath now cast her off, appears
too grossly.

Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath
ever but slenderly known himself.

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been
but rash; then must we look to receive from his
age, not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted
condition, ^ *) but, therewithal, the unruly wayward-
ness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.

Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have
from him, as this of Kent's banishment.

XXXIV.

Act I.

KING LEAR.

779

Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking
between France and him. Pray you, let us hit ^*)
together: If onr father carry authority with such
dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his
will but offend us.

Reg. We shall further think of it.

Gon. We must do something, and i'the heat. ^^)

\Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Hall in the Earl o/Gloster'» Castle.

Enter Edmund, with a Letter.

Edni. Thou, nature, art my goddess; ^■') to thy law
My services are bound: Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom; ^*) and permit
The curiosity of nations ^') to deprive me, *")
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true.
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and tierce quality.
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed.
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops.
Got 'tween asleep and wake ? — Well then.
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to the legitimate: Fine word, — legitimate!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And ray invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: —
Now, gods, stand up for bastards !

Enter Glostkr.

Glo. Kent banish'd thus! And France in choler
parted !
And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd his power!*')
Confin'd to exhibition! ■'^) All this done

Upon the gad! '*^) Edmund! How now; what

news !

Edn. So please your lordship, none.

[Putting up the Letter.

Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that
letter?

Edm. 1 know no news, my lord.

Glo. What paper were you reading?

Edm. Nothing, my lord.

Glo. No? what needed then that terrible despatch
of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath
not such need to hide itself. Let's see : Come, if
it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter
from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; for
so much as I have perus'd, I find it not fit for
your overlooking.

Glo. Give me the letter, sir.

Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The
contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.

Glo. Let's see, let's see.

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he
wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.

Glo. [Reads.] This policy, and reverence of age,
makes the world bitter to the best of our times ;
keeps our fortunes from us, till our oldness cannot
relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond **)
bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who
sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered.
Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If

our father would sleep till I waked him, you should

enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the be-
loved of your brother, Edgar. — Humph — Con-
spiracy ! — Sleep till I waked him — yoxi should
enjoy half his revenue, — My son Edgar! Had he
a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed
it in? — When came this to you? Who brought it?

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord, there's the
cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement
of my closet.

Glo. You know the character to be your brother's ?

Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst
swear it were his; but in respect of that, I would
fain think it were not.

Glo. It is his.

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope, his
heart is not in the contents.

Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in
this business?

Edm. Never, my lord: But I have often heard
him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age,
and fathers declining, the father should be as ward
to the son, and the son manage his revenue.

Glo. O villain, villain! — His very opinion in the
letter! — Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, bru-
tish villain ! worse than brutish ! — Go, sirrah, seek
him ; I'll apprehend him : — Abominable villain ! —
Where is he?

Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall
please you to suspend your indignation against my
brother, till you can derive from him better testim-
ony of his intent, you shall run a certain course;
where, if you ^*) violently proceed against him,
mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap
in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart
of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for
him, that he hath writ this to feel my affection to
your honour, '*'') and to no other pretence *^) of
danger.

Glo. Think you so?

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place
you w here you shall hear us confer of this, and by
an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and
that without any further delay than this very evening.

Glo. He cannot be such a monster.

Edm. Nor is not, sure.

Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely
loves him. — Heaven and earth! — Edmund, seek
him out; wind me into him, I pray you; frame the
business after your own wisdom: 1 would unstate
myself, to be in a due resolution. *^)

Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the
business '*') as I shall find means, and acquaint you
withal.

Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon por-
tend no good to us: Though the wisdom of na-
ture 5") can reason it thus and thus, yet natiure
finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love
cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities,
mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason;
and the bond cracked between son and father. This
villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's
son against father; the king falls from bias of na-
ture; there's father against child. We have seen
the best of our time: Machinations, hollo^vness,
treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us dis-
quietly to our graves ! — Find out this villain, Ed-
mund: it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully: —
And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his
offence, honesty ! — Strange ! strange ! \Exit.

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world!
that, when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeit
of our own behaviour), we make guilty of our dis-
asters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we

KKKIV.

780

KING

LEAR.

Act I,

Avere villains by necessity ; fools, by heavenly com-
pulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, *') by
spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adult-
erers, by an enforced obedience of planetary in-
fluence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine
thrusting on: An admirable evasion of whore-master
man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of
a star! My father compounded witti my mother
under the dragon's tail: and my nativity was under
ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and
lecherous. — Tut, I should have been that I am,
had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled
on my bastardizing. Edgar —

Enter Edgar.

and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old
comedy ; my cue is villainous melancholy, with a
sigh like Tom o'Bedlam. — O, these eclipses do
portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. *^)

Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious
contemplation are you in?

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read
this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

Edg. Do you busy yourself with that?

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of, suc-
ceed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the
child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of
ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and
maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffi-
dences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts,
nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

Edg. How long have you been a sectary astrono-
mical ?

Edm. Come, come; when saw you my father
last?

Edg. Why, the night gone by.

Edm. Spake you with him?

Edg. Ay, two hours together.

Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no
displeasure in him, by word, or countenance?

Edg. None at all.

Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have of-
fended him: and at my entreaty, forbear his pre-
sence, till some little time hath qualified the heat
of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth
in him, that with the mischief of your person it
would scarcely allay.

Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.

Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a conti-
nent forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes
slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging,
from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord
speak : Pray you, go ; there's my key : — If you do
stir abroad, go armed.

Edg. Armed, brother?

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed;
I am no honest man, if there be any good meaning
towards you: I have told you what I have seen
and heard, but faintly; nothing like the image and
horror of it: Pray you, away.

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?

Edm. I do serve you in this business. —

[Exit Edgab.
A credulous father, and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms.
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easy ! — I see the business. —
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:
All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit.

[Exit.

SCENE in.

A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril and Steward.

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding
of his fool?

Stew. Ay, madam.

Gon. By day and night ! he wrongs me ; every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other.
That set us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle: — When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him; say, I am sick: —
If you come slack of former services.
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

Stew. He's coming, madam; 1 hear him.

[Horns within.

Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please.
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question:
If he dislike it, let him to my sister.
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one.
Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man.
That still would manage those authorities.
That he hath given away! — Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd
With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen

abus'd. *^)
Remember what I have said.

Stew. Very well, madam.

Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among
you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so :
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall.
That I may speak : — I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my very course: — Prepare for dinner.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Hall in the same.

Enter Kent, disguised.

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow.
That can my speech diffuse, *"*) my good intent
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent,
If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
(So Hiay it come!) thy master, whom thou lov'st,
Shall find thee full of labours.

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and
Attendants.

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get
it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what art
thou?

Kent. A man, sir.

Lear. What dost thou profess? What would'st
thou with us?

Kent. 1 do profess to be no less than I seem ; to
serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love
him that is honest; to converse with him that is
wise, and says little; **) to fear judgment; to fight,
when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. *^)

Lear. What art thou?

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor
as the king.

Lear. Jf thou be as poor for a subject, as he is
for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st
thou ?

Kent. Service.

Lear. Who would'st thou serve?

Kent. You.

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?

XXXIV.

Act I.

KING LEAR.

781

Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your coun-
tenance, which I would fain call master.

Lear. What's that?

Kent. Authority.

Lear. What services canst thou do?

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a
curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes-
sage bluntly; that which ordinary men are fit for,
I ain qualify 'd in; and the best of me is diligence.

Lear. How old art thou?

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for
singing; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing:
1 have years on my back forty-eight.

Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me; if I like
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from
thee yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner ! — Where's my knave ?
my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither:

Enter Steward.
Yon, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

Stew. So please you, — [Exit.

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll
back. — Where's my fool, ho? — I think the world's
asleep. — How now? where's that mongrel?

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when
I call'd him?

Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest manner,
he would not.

Lear. He would not!

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter
is ; but, to my judgment, your highness is not enter-
tain'd with that ceremonious affection as you were
wont ; there's a great abatement of kindness appears,
as well in the general dependants, as in the duke
himself also, and your daughter.

Lear. Ha! say'st thou so?

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I
be mistaken: for my duty cannot be silent, when I
think your highness is wrong'd.

Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own con-
ception; I have perceived a most faint neglect of
late; which I have rather blamed as mine own
jealous curiosity, *') than as a very pretence ss)
and^ purpose of unkindness: I will look further
into't. — But Where's my fool? I have not seen him
this two days.

Knight. Since my young lady's going into France,
sir, the fool hath much pined away. *')

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. —
Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with
her. — Go you, call hither my fool. —

Re-enter Steward.
O, you sir, you sir, come you hither: Who am I, sir?

Stew. My lady's father.

Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave: you
whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!

Stew. I am none of this, my lord; I beseech you,
pardon me.

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

-, -„, [Striking him.

Stew. 1 11 not be struck, my lord.

Kent. Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball player.

r [Tripping up hi* heels.

Lear. 1 thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and
111 love thee.

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away; I'll teach you differ-
ences; away, away: If you will measure your lub-
ber s length again, tarry: but away: go to; Have
you wisdom? so. [Pu*Ae* the Steward out

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee : there's
earnest of thy service. [Giving Kkmt Money.

KKXIV.

Enter Fool.

Fool Let me hire him too; — Here's my coxcomb.

[Giving Kk>t Am Cap.
Lear. How now, my pretty knave? how dost thou?
Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. Why? For taking one's part that is out of
favour: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind
sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: There, take my
coxcomb : Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his
will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my
coxcomb. — How, now, nuncle ? 'Would I had two
coxcombs, and two daughters!
Lear. Why, my boy?

Fool. If I gave them all my living, ^o) I'd keep
my coxcombs myself: There's mine; beg another of
thy daughters.
Lear. Take heed, sirrah; the whip.
Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel ; he must
be whipp'd out, when Lady, the brach, «') may
stand by the fire and stink.
Lear. A pestilent gall to me!
Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
Lear. Do.
Fool. Mark it, nuncle:

Have more than thou showest.
Speak less than thou knowest.
Lend less than thou owest, <'^)
Ride more than thou goest.
Learn more than thou trowest, ^^)
Set less than thou throwest;
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep in-a-door.
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.
Lear. This is nothing, fool.

Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer;
you gave me nothing for't: Can you make no use
of nothing, nuncle?

Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of
nothing.

Fool. 'Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land
comes to; he will not believe a fool. [To Kbkt.

Lear. A bitter fool!

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be-
tween a bitter fool and a sweet fool?
Lear. No, lad; teach me.
Fool. That lord, that counsel'd thee
To give away thy land.
Come place him here by me, —

Or do thou for him stand:
The sweet and bitter fool
Will presently appear;
The one in motley here.

The other found out there.
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy?
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away;
that thou wast born with.
Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let
me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part
on't: ''*) and ladies too, they will not let me have
all fool to myself; they'll be snatching — Give me
an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.
Lear. What two crowns shall they be?
Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i'the middle,
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg.
When thou clovest thy crown i'the middle, and
gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on
thy back over the dirt: Thou h^d'st little wit in
thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one

782

KING LEAR

Act I.

away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be
whipp'd that first finds it so.

Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; ^ ^) [Singing.

For wise men are grown foppish;
And know not how their wits to wear.

Their manners are so apish.

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs,
sirrah ?

Fool. I liave used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest
thy daughters thy mother: for when thou gavest
them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches,

Then they for sudden Joy did weep,

And I for sorrow sung.
That such a king should play bo-peep.

And go the fools among.

[Singing.

'Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach
thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie.

Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd.

Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters
are : they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true,
thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying; and, sometimes,
I am whipp'd for holding my peace. 1 had rather
be any kind of thing, than a fool: and yet I would
not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o'both
sides, and left nothing in the middle: Here comes
one o'the parings.

Enter Goneril.

Lear. How now, daughter? what makes that
frontlet ''''} on? Methinks you are too much of
late i'the frown.

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou had'st
no need to care for her frowning; now thou art
an O without a figure : I am better than thou art
now: I am a fool, thou art nothing. — Yes, for-
sooth, I will hold my tongue ; so your face [to Gon.]
bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum,
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some. —
That's a sheal'd peascod. <" '') [Pointing to Leab.

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool,
But other of your insolent retinue
Do hourly carp "and quarrel ; breaking forth.
In rank and not-to-be- endured riots. Sir,
I had thought, by making this well known unto you.
To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful.
By what yourself too late have spoke and done.
That you protect this course, and put it on <'^)
By your allowance; ") which if you should, the

fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep;
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal.
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding.

Fool. For you trow, nuncle.

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long.
That it had its head bit off by its young.
So, out went the candle, and we were left dark-
ling. ■">)

Lear. Are you our daughter?

Gon. Come, sir, I would, you would make use of
that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught:
and put away these dispositions, which of late trans-
form you from what you rightly are.

Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws
the horse? — Whoop, Jug! I love thee.

Lear. Does any here know me? — Why this is
not Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where
are his eyes? Kither his notion weakens, or his
discernings are lethargied. — Sleeping or waking ? —

Ha ! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me
who I am? — Lear's shadow? I would learn that;
for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and
reason, I should be false persuaded 1 had daughters. ' ' )

Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. '-)

Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gon. Come, sir;
This admiration is much o'the favour '3)
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise:
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold.
That this our court, infected with their manners.
Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern, or a brothel.
Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy : Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train;
And the remainder, that shall still depend, ^'*)
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.

Lear. Darkness and devils! —

Saddle my horses ; call my train together. —
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon. You strike my people; and your disorder'd
rabble
Make servants of their betters.

Enter Albany.

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are
you come?
Is it your will ? [to Alb.] Speak, sir. — Prepare my

horses.
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend.
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster! '^)

Alb. Pray, sir, be patient.

Lear. Detested kite! thou liest: [To Goneril.

My train are men of choice and rarest parts.
That all particulars of duty know:
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their name. — O most small fault.
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
Which, like an engine, "■) wrench'd my frame of

nature
From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,

[Striking his head.
And thy dear judgment out! — Go, go, my people.

Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you.

Lear. It may be so, my lord, — Here, nature, hear;
Dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if
Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility !
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body ") never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem.
Create her child of spleen; that it may live.
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears '<*) fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits, ")
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child ! Away, away ! [Exit.

Alb. Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes
this?

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause;

XBKIV.

Act II.

KING LEAR

783

But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.

Re-enter Lear.

Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap!
Within a fortnight?

Alb. What's the matter, sir?

Lear. I'll tell thee! — Life and death! I am asham'd
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:

[To GONERIL.

That these hot tears, which break from me per-
force,
Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs

upon thee!
The untented woundings 8°) of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee! — Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out;
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay. — Ha ! is it come to this ?
Let it be so : — Yet have I left a daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.
\Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord?
Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you, —

Gon. Pray you content. — What, Oswald, ho!
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

[To the Fool.
Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take
the fool with thee.

A fox, when one has caught her.
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter.
If my cap would buy a halter;
So the fool follows after. [Exit.

Gon. This man hath had good counsel : — A hundred
knights!
'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep
At point, *') a hundred knights. Yes, that on every

dream.
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike.
He may enguard his dotage with their powers.
And hold our lives in mercy. — Oswald, I say ! —
Alb. Well, you may fear too far.
Gon. ^ Safer than trust: ^-).

Let me still take away the harms I fear.
Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart:
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister;
If she sustain him and his hundred knights.
When I have show'd the unfitness, — How now,
Oswald?

Enter Steward.

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Stew. Ay, madam.

Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse :
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own.
As may compact it more. ^3) Get you gone;
And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.] No, no, my lord.
This milky gentleness, and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon.
You are much more attask'd^*) for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell ;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Gon. Nay, then —

Alb. Well, well; the event. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Court before the same.
Enter Lkar, Kent, and Fool.

Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters :
acquaint my daughter no further with any thing
you know, than comes from her demand out of the
letter: If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be
there before you. ^^)

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have deli-
vered your letter. [Exit.

Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were't
not in danger of kibes?

Lear. Ay, boy.

Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit shall
not go slip-shod.

Lear. Ha, ha, ha!

Fool. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee
kindly: ^'>) for though she's as like this as a crab
is like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

F'ool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does
to a crab. Thou canst teli, why one's nose stands
i'the middle of his face?

Lear. No.

Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his
nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may
spy into.

Lear. I did her wrong : — * ^)

Fool. Can'st tell how an oyster makes his shell?

Lear. No.

Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail
has a house.

Lear. Why?

Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it
away to his daughters, and leave his horns with-
out a case.

Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a father! —
Be my horses ready?

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason
why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a
pretty reason.

Lear. Because they are not eight?

Fool. Yes , indeed : Thou wouldest make a good
fool.

Lear. To take it again perforce! — ^*) Monster
ingratitude !

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee
beaten for being old before thy time.

Lear. How's that?

Fool. Thou should'st not have been old, before
thou hadst been wise.

Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me iu temper; I would not be mad!

Enter Gentleman.
How now! are the horses ready?
Gent. Ready, my lord.
Lear. Come, boy.

Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my
departure.
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut
shorter. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Court within the Cattle of the
Earl of Gloster.

Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.

Edin. Save thee, Curan.

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your faUier;

XXXTV.

784

KING LEAR.

Act II.

and given him notice, that the duke of Cornwall,
and Regan his duchess, will be here with him to-
night.

Edm. How comes that?

Cur. Nay, I know not: You have heard of the
news abroad ; I mean, the whispered ones, for they
are yet but ear-kissing arguments?

Edm. Not I; 'Pray you, what are they?

Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward,
'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Edm. Not a word.

Cur, You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

[Exit.

Edm. The duke be here to-night? The better ! Best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business!
My father hath set guard to take my brother;
And I have one thing, of a queazy question, ')
Which I must act: — Briefness, and fortune, work! —
Brother, a word ; — descend : — Brother, I say j

Enter Edgar.
My father watches: — O sir, fly this place;
Intelligence is given where you are hid;
You have now the good advantage of the night : —
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither; now, i'the night, i'the haste,
And Regan with him; Have you nothing said
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany?
Advise yourself. ^)

Edg. I am sure on't, not a word.

Edm. I hear my father coming, — Pardon me : —
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you : —
Draw: Seem to defend yourself: Now quit you well.
Yield : come before my father ; — Light, ho, here ! —
Fly, brother ; — Torches ! torches ! — 80, farewell. —

\_Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion

fff^ounda his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport. — Father! Father!
Stop, stop! No help?

Enter Glostbr, and Servants with Torcheg.

Glo. Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Edm,. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
To stand his auspicious mistress: —

Glo. But where is he?

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed.

Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund?

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he
could —

Glo. Pursue him, ho! — Go after. — [jExit Servant.]
By no means, — what?

Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship ;
But that I told him, the revenging gods
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father : — Sir, in fine,
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm:
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits.
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter,
Or whether gasted ^) by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.

Glo. Let him fly far:

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
And found — Despatch. — The noble duke my roaster,
My worthy arch *) and patron, comes to-night:
By his authority I will proclaim it.
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks,

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;
He, that conceals him, death.

Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent.
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech*)
I threaten'd to discover him: He replied.
Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee
Make thy words faith' d? No: what J should deny,
(As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce
My very character,) <-) Id turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice ;
And thou must make a dullard of the world.
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee seek it.

Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain!

Would he deny his letter? — I never got him.

[Trumpets within.
Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he

comes :
All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
May have due note of him; and of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
To make thee capable. ')

Enter CoRNWAi-Ty, Rkgan, and Attendants.

Corn. How now, my noble friend? since I came
hither,
(Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange news.

Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short.
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?

Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack'd !

Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life !
He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar?

Glo. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous knights
That tend upon my father?

Glo. I know not, madam:

It is too bad, too bad. —

Edm. Yes, madam, he was.

Reg, No marvel then, though he were ill affected ;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have the waste and spoil of his revenues.
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform'd of them ; and with such cautions.
That, if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.

Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. —

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
A child-like office.

Edm, 'Twas my duty, sir.

Glo. He did bewray his practice; 8) and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn. Is he pursued?

Glo. . Ay, my good lord, he is.

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. — For you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours;
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
You we first seize on.

Edm. I shall serve you, sir.

Truly, however else.

Glo. For him I thank your grace.

Corn. You know not why we came to visit you, —

Reg. Thus out of season ; threading dark-ey'd night.
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize, ')
Wherein we must have use of your advice : —
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister.

XKKIV.

Act H.

KING LEAR.

785

Of differences, which I best thought it fit

To answer from our home; '") the several messengers

From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,

Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestovv

Your needful counsel to our business,

Which craves the instant use.

Glo. I serve you, madam:

Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt,

SCENE II.

Before Gloster'« Castle.

Enter Kent and Steward, severally.

Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of the
house?

Kent. Ay.

Stew. Where may we set our horses?

Kent. I'the mire.

Stew. 'Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me.

Kent. I love thee not.

Stew. Why, then I care not for thee.

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would
make thee care for me.

Stew. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

Kent. Fellow, I know thee.

Stew. What dost thou know me for?

Kent. A knave; a rascal, an eater of broken meats;
a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three - suited,
hundred- pound, filthy worsted -stocking knave; a
lily-liver'd, action-taking knave;*') a whoreson,
glass - gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; onc-
trunk-inheriting slave ; one that would'st be a bawd,
in way of good service, and art nothing but the
composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander,
and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch : one whom
I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny'st
the least syllable of thy addition. '^)

Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus
to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor
knows thee?

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to
deny thou know'st me? Is it two days ago, since
I tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee before the
king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night,
the moon shines; I'll make a sop o'the moonshine
of you: Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger,
draw. [Drawing his Sword.

Stew. Away; I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters
against the king; and take vanity the puppet's
part, '^) against the royalty of her father: Draw,
you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks : —
draw, you rascal : come your ways.

Stew. Help, ho! murder! help!

Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you
neat slave, **) strike. [Beating him.

Stew. Help, ho! murder! murder!

Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and
Ser\'ants.

Edm. How now? What's the matter? Part.

Ketit. With you, goodman boy, if you please ; come,
I'll flesh you; come on, young master.

Glo. Weapons! arms! What's the matter here?

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives;
He dies, that strikes again: what is the matter?

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king.

Corn. What is your difference? speak.

Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour.
You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a
tailor made thee.

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make
a man?

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir ; a stone-cutter, or a painter,
could not have made him so ill, though they had
been but two hours at the trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have
spar'd,
At suit of his grey beard, —

Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
— My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread
this unbolted villain ' *) into mortar, and daub the
wall of a Jakes with him. — Spare my grey beard,
you wagtail?

Corn. Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger has a privilege.

Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a
sword.
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as

these.
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain
Which are too intrinse '*) t'unloose: smooth every

passion
That in the nature of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon *') beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters.
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. —
A plague upon your epileptic visage ! ' *)
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. *')

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?

Glo. How fell you out?

Say that.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy.
Than I and such a knave.

Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's his
offence ?

Kent. His countenance likes me not. ^°)

Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or
her's.

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time.
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.

Corn. This is some fellow,

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb.
Quite fi-om his nature: - ') He cannot flatter, he! —
An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth :
An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
Under the allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phoebus' front. — -^)

Corn. What mean'st by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis-
commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer;
he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain
knave: which, for my part, I will not be, though
I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. *^)

Corn. What was the offence you gave him?

Stew. Never any: ^'*}

[t pleas'd the king his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
HKKIV. 50

786

KING LEAR.

Act II.

rail'd,

Tripp'd me behind: being down, insulted
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthy'd him, got praises of the king
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ;
And, in the fleshraent ^ *) of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here. ^*)

Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards.

But Ajax is their fool. ^')

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho!

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
We'll teach you —

Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn:

Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;
On whose employment I was sent to you :
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master.
Stocking his messenger.

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks: ho!

As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till
noon.
Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night

too.
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
You should not use me so.
Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.

[Stocks brought out.
Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour
Our sister speaks of: — Come, bring away the
stocks.
Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches.
For pilferings and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill.
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.
Corn. I'll answer that.

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse.
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted.
For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. —

[Kent ?» ■put in the Stocks. ^^)
Come, my good lord; away.

[Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.
Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's
pleasure.
Whose disposition, all the world well knows.
Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : I'll entreat for thee.
Kent. Pray, do not, sir : 1 have watch'd, and tra-
vell'd hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels:
Give you good morrow!
Glo. The duke's to blame in this ; 'twill be ill taken.

[Exit.
Kent. Good king, that must approve the common
saw! *')
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun!

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter! — Nothing almost sees miracles.
But misery; — I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath niost fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course; and shall find time
From this enormous state, — seeking to give
Losses their remedies: — All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night; smile once more; turn thy
wheel! [He sleeps.

SCENE III.

A part of the Heath.

Enter Edgar.

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd
And, by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place.
That guard, and most unusual vigilance.
Does not attend my taking. While I may scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape.
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast : my face I'll grime with filth ;
Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots; ^'')
And with presented nakedness out -face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, ^') who, with roaring voices.
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, '^) nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms.
Poor pelting villages, *^) sheep-cotes and mills.
Sometime with lunatic bans, ^ *) sometime with prayers.
Enforce their charity. — Poor Turlygood! poor

Tom! 3 5)
That's something yet; — Edgar I nothing am.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Before Gloster'« Castle.
Enter Lbar, Fool, and Gentleman.

Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart
from home.
And not send back my messenger.

Gent. As I learn'd.

The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear. How!
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent. No, my lord.

Fool. Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel garters! ^^)
Horses are tied by the heads; dogs, and bears, by
the neck; monkies by the loins, and men by the
legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he
wears wooden nether-stocks. 3')

Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place
mistook
To set thee here?

Kent. It is both he and she.

Your son and daughter.

Lear. No.

Kent. Yes.

Lear. No, I say.

Kent. I say, yea.

Lear. No, no; they would not.

Kent. Yes, they have.

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no.

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay.

Lear. They durst not do't;
They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than

murder.
To do upon respect such violent outrage: ^^)
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Tliou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage.
Coming from us.

Kent. My lord, when at their home,

I did commend your highness' letters to them;
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth

XKKIV.

Act II.

KING LEAR.

787

From Goneril his mistress, salutations;
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission, ^')
Which presently they read: on whose contents,
Theysummon'd up their meiny, '*") straight took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine,
(Being the very fellow that of late
JDisplay'd so saucily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, drew;
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries:
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.
Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly
that way.
Fathers, that wear rags.

Do make their children blind;
But fathers, that bear bags.

Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore.
Ne'er turns the key to the poor. —
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours^')
for thy daughters, as thou can'st tell in a year.
Lear. O, how this mother *-) swells up toward
my heart!
Hysterica passio ! down, thou climbing sorrow.
Thy elements below! — Where is this daughter?
Kent. With the earl, sir, here within.
Lear. Follow me not;

Stay here. [Exit.

Gent. Made you no more offence than what you

speak of?
Kent. None.
How chance the king comes with so small a train?
Fool. An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for that
question, thou hadst well deserved it.
Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach
thee there's no labouring in the winter. All that
follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind
men ; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can
smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when
a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy
neck with following it; but the great one that goes
up the hill, let him draw thee afler. When a wise
man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again ;
I would have none but knaves follow it, since a
fool gives it.

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain,

And follows but for form.
Will pack, when it begins to rain,

And leave thee in the storm.
But I will tarry; the fool will stay.

And let the wise man fly:
The knave turns fool, that runs away;
The fool no knave, perdy.
Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool?
Fool. Not i'the stocks, fool.

Re-enter Lear, with Glostbs.

Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick?
they are weary?
They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches;
The images of revolt and flying off!
Fetch me a better answer.

Glo. My dear lord,

You know the fiery quality of the duke;
How unremoveable and fix'd he is
In his own course.

Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! —
Fiery? what quality? why, Gloster, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife.

Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.

Lear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me,
man?

Glo. Ay, my good lord.

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the

dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her
service :

Are they inform'd of this? My breath and

blood ! —
Fiery ? the fiery duke ? — Tell the hot duke, that —
No, but not yet : — may be, he is not well :
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves.
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
And am fallen out with my more headier will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man. — Death on my state! wherefore

[Looking on Kent.
Should he sit here? This act persuades me.
That this remotion ^^) of the duke and her
Is practice only. **) Give me my servant forth:
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them.
Now, presently : bid them come foii,h and hear me.
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum.
Till it cry — Sleep to death.

Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [Ejeit.

Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! — but,
down.

Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the
eels, when she put them i'the paste "* *) alive ; she
rapp'd 'em o'the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd,
Down, wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that,
in pure kindness to his horse, butter'd his hay.

Enter Cornwall, Rbcan, Glostbr, and Servants.

Lear. Good morrow to you both.

Corn. Hail to your grace!

[Kekt ia set at liberty.

Reg. I am glad to see your highness.

Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason
I have to think so: if thou should'st not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulch'ring an adultress. — O, are you free?

[To Kent.
Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here, —

[Points to his Heart.
I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe.
Of how deprav'd a quality — O Regan!

Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert.
Than she to scant her duty. **)

Lear. Say, how is that?

Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation: If, sir, perchance.
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end.
As clears her from all blame.

Lear. My curses on her!

Reg. O, sir, you are old;

Nature in you stands' on the very verge
Of her confine: you should be rul'd, and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return;
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir.

Lear. Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the house? *')
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

HJUCIV.

50

788

KING LEAR

Act It.

Age is unnecessary: *8) on my knees J beg,

[Kneeling.
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

Keg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.

Lear. Never, Regan;

She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : —
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
You taking airs, with lameness!

Corn. Fye, fye, fye!

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding
flames
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun.
To fall and blast her pride!

Reg. O the blest gods!

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. *')

Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse ;
Thy tender-hefted nature *") shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn: 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train.
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, *')
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in : thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o'the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose.

[Trumpeta within.

Lear. Who put my man i'the stocks?

Corn. What trumpet's that?

Enter Steward.

Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her letter.
That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come ?

Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows: —
Out, varlet, from my sight!

Corn. What means your grace?

Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have
good hope
Thou didst not know oft. — Who comes here ? O,
heavens,

Enter Goneril.

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, *^) if yourselves are old.
Make it your cause; send down, and take my part! —
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard? —

[To GOKEBII..

O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

Oon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I of-
fended?
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, *^)
And dotage terms so.

Lear. O, sides, you are too tough !

Will you yet hold? — How came my man i'the
stocks?

Corn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement. **)

Lear. You! did you?

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. *^)
If, till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister.
Dismissing half your train, come then to me ;
I am now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dlsmiss'd?
No, rather I abjure ail roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o'the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, —
Necessity's sharp pinch! — Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life afoot: — Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter *')
To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward.

Gon. At your choice, sir.

Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
We'll no more meet, no more see one another : —
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh.
Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, *')
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
I, and my hundred knights.

Reg. Not altogether so, sir ;

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion.
Must be content to think you old, and so —
But she knows what she does.

Lear. Is this well spoken now?

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? sith that both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number ? How, in one house,
Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity? 'Tis hard: almost impossible,

Oon, Why might not you, ray lord, receive attend-
ance
From those that she calls servants, or from mine ?

Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to
slack you.
We could control them: If you will come to me,
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you
To bring but five-and-twenty ; to no more
Will I give place, or notice.

Lear. I gave you all —

Reg. And in good time you gave it.

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
But kept a reservation to be follow'd
With such a number: What, must I come to you
With five-and-twenty, Regan? said you so?

Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with me.

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-
favour'd,
When others are more wicked ; not being the worst.
Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ;

[To GOKEBIL.

Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty.
And thon art twice her love.

Gon. Hear me, my lord ;

What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,
To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?

Reg. • What need one?

Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous :
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;
If only to go warm were gorgeous,
Why nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,

HKKIV.

Act III.

KING LEAR.

789

Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true

need, —
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need !
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger!
O, let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall — I will do such things, —
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep: —

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws.
Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad !

[Exeunt Leak, Gloster, Kent, and Fool.

Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm.

[Storm heard at a distance.

Reg. This house

Is little; the old man and his people cannot
Be well bestow'd.

Gon. 'Tis his own blame; he hath put ^*)

Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.

Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
But not one follower.

Gon. So am I purpos'd.

Where is my lord of Gloster?

Re-enter Gloster.

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : — he is return'd.

Glo. The king is in high rage.

Corn. Whither is he going?

Glo. He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads himself.

Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.

Reg. O, sir, to wilful men.

The injuries, that they themselves procure,
Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desperate train;
And what they may incense him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild
night;
My Regan counsels well: come out o'the storm.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Heath.

A Storm is heard, with Thunder and Lightning.
Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting.

Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather?

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent. I know you; Where's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretful element:
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea.
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main.
That things might change or cease : tears his white

hair;
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage.
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:
Strives in his little world of man to out- scorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear *) would
couch,

The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what wUl take all.

Kent. But who is with him?

Gent. None but the fool; who labours to out-jest
His heart-struck injuries.

Kent. Sir, I do know you;

And dare, upon the warrant of my art, -)
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division.
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
Who have (as who have not, that their great stars
Throng'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less;
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen.
Either in snuffs and packings ^) of the dukes;
Or the hard reign which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king; or something deeper.
Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings; '*)
But, true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet *)
In some of our best ports, and are at point
To show their open banner. — Now to you :
If on my credit you dare build so far
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The king hath cause to plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer
This office to you.

Gent. I will talk further with you.

Kent. No, do not.

For confirmation that I am much more
Than ray out wall, open this purse, and take
What it contains: If you shall see Cordelia,
(As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring;
And she will tell you who your fellow is
That yet you do not know. Fye on this storm!
I will go seek the king.

Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more to
say?

Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;
That, when we have found the king, (in which

your pain
That way; I'll this:) he that first lights on him.
Holla the other. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

Another part of the Heath. Storm continues.
Enter Lear and Fool.

Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage!
blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the

cocks !
You sulphurous and thought-executing <') fires.
Vaunt couriers ') to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts.
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder.
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'the world!
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once.
That make ingrateful man!

Fool. O, nuncle, court holy-water «) in a dry house
is better than this ram-water out o'door. Good
nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing; here's
a night pities neither wise men nor fools.

Lear. Rumble thy belly full! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children.

KXXIV.

790

KING LEAR.

Act III.

You owe me no subscription;') why then let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man: —
But yet I call you servile ministers.
That have with two pernicious daughters joln'd
Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, has
a good head-piece.

The cod-piece that will house.

Before the head has any.
The head and he shall louse; —

So beggars marry many.

The man that makes his toe
What he his heart should make,

Shall of a corn cry woe.
And turn hit sleep to wake.

— for there was never yet fair woman, but she
made mouths in a glass.

Enter Kent.

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I
will say nothing.

Kent. Who's there?

Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's
a wise man, and a fool.

Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love
night.
Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies
Gallow ^'^) the very wanderers of the dai'k.
And make them keep their caves : Since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder.
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry
The affliction, nor the fear.

Lear. Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads.
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd of justice: Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue
Thou art incestuous: Caitiff, to pieces shake.
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practis'd on man's life! — Close pent-up guilts.
Rive your concealing continents, ^ ' ) and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. — ^*) I am a man.
More sinn'd against, than sinning.

Kent. Alack, bare-headed!

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest;
Repose you there: while I to this hard house,
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Denied me to come in,) return, and force
Their scanted courtesy.

Lear. My wits begin to turn. —

Come on, my boy; How dost, my boy? Art cold?
1 am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ?
The art of our necessities is strange.
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel,
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart

That's sorry yet for thee.

Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, —

With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, —
Must make content with his fortunes Jit;
For the rain it raineth every day.

Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to
this hovel. [Exeunt Leab and Kent.

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. —
I'll speak a prophecy ere I go:

When priests are more in word than matter;

When brewers mar their malt with water;

When nobles are their tailors' tutors;

No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors;

When every case in law is right;

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;

When slanders do not live in tongues;

Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;

When usurers tell their gold i'the field;

And bawds and whores do churches build; —

Then shall the realm of Albion

Come to great confusion.

Then comes the time, who lives to see't.

That going shall be us'd with feet.

This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before
his time. [Exit.

SCENE m.

A Room in Gloster'a Castle.
Enter Glostbr and Edmund.

Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural
dealing: When I desired their leave that I might
pity him, they took from me the use of mine own
house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual dis-
pleasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him,
nor any way sustain him.

Edm. Most savage, and unnatural!

Glo. Go to; say you nothing: There is division
between the dukes; and a worse matter than that:
I have received a letter this night; — 'tis dangerous
to be spoken; — I have locked the letter in my
closet: these injuries the king now bears will be
revenged home; there is part of a power already
footed: we must incline to the king. I will seek
him, and privily relieve him: go you, and maintain
talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him
perceived: If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to
bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me,
the king my old master must be relieved. There is
some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be
careful. [Exit.

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke
Instantly know ; and of that letter too : —
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my father loses; no less than all:
The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

A part of the Heath, with a Hovel.

Enter Lgar, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord,

enter :
The tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure. [Storm still.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Wilt break my heart?

Kent. I'd rather break mine own: Good my lord,

enter.
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious
storm
Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fix'd.
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
Thou'dst meet the bear i'the mouth. When the

mind's free,
The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else,

XKKIV.

Act hi.

KING LEAR.

791

Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude!

Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand,

For lifting food to't? — But I will punish home: —
No, I will weep no more. — In such a night

To shut me out! — Pour on; I will endure: —
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! —
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — • ^}
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that. —

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. 'Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease ;
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in:
In, boy; go first. — [To the Fool.] You houseless

poverty, —
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. —

[Fool goes in.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are.
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm.
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
Bxpose thyself to feel what wretches feel;
That thou may'st shake the supertlux to them.
And show the heavens more just.

Edg. [jnthin.] Fathom and half, fathom and half!
Poor Tom!

[The Fool runs out from the Hovel.

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit.
Help me, help me!

Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there?

Fool. A spirit, a spirit; he says his name's poor
Tom.

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'the
straw ?
Come forth.

Enter Edgar, disguised as a Madman.

Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! —
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. —
Humph! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?
And art thou come to this?

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom
the foul fiend hath led through fire and through
flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and
quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow,
and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge;
made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-
horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own
shadow for a traitor: — Bless thy five wits! i*)
Tom's a-cold. — O, do de, do de, do de. — Bless
thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! '^)
Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend
vexes : There could I have him now, — and there,
— and there, — and there again, and there.

[^Storm continues.

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to

this pass ? —
Could'st thou save nothing? Did'st thou give them all?

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had
been all ashamed.

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters !

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir.

Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd
nature
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. —
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters. ^'')

Edg. Pillicock sat on piliicock's hill; —
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and
madmen.

Edg. Take heed o'the foul fiend : Obey thy parents:
keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with
man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on
proud array : Tom's a-cold.

Lear. What hast thou been?

Edg. A serving-man, proud .in heart and mind;
that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap, *^)
served the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the
act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as
I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face
of heaven : one, that slept in the contriving of lust,
and waked to do it: Wine loved I deeply; dice,
dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured the Turk:
P'alse of heart, light of ear, '*) bloody of hand;
Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog
in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of
shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy poor
heart to women : Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy
hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books,
and defy the foul fiend. — Still through the haw-
thorn blows the cold wind: Says suum, mun, ha no
nonny, dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa; let him
trot by. [Storm still continues.

Lear. Why, thou wert better m thy grave, than
to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity
of the skies. — Is man no more than this? Consi-
der him well: Thou owest the worm no silk, the
beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no per-
fume: — Ha! here's three of us are sophisticated!
— Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man
is no more than such a poor, bare, forked animal
as thou art. — Off, off, you leadings : — Come, un-
button here. — [Tearing off his Clothes.

Fool. 'Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented; this is a
naughty night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a
wild field were like an old lecher's heart; a small
spark, all the rest of his body cold. — Look, here
comes a walking fire.

Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he
begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he
gives the web and the pin, ") squints the eye, and
makes the hare-lip ; mildews the white wheat, and
hurts the poor creature of earth.

Saint Withold '^'^) footed thrice the tpold;
He met the night-marey and her nine-fold;

Bid her alight.

And her troth plight.
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

Kent. How fares your grace?

Enter Gloster, with a Torch.

Lear. What's he?

Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek?

Glo. What are you there? Your names?

Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the
toad, the tadpole, the wall- newt, and the water; ^^)
that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend
rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old
rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of
the standing pool; who is whipped from tything to
tything, ^^) and stocked, punished, and imprisoned;
who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to
his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear, —

But mice, and rats, and such small deer.
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou
fiend!

RKKTV.

792

KING LEAR.

Act III

Glo. What, hath your grace no better company?

Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman;
Motlo he's cali'd, and Mahu. ^^)

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,
That it doth hate what gets it.

Kdg. Poor Tom's a- cold.

Glo. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer
To obey in all your daughters' hard commands:
Though their injunction be to bar my doors.
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you;
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out,
And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher : —
What is the cause of thunder?

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer;
Go into the house.

Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned The-
ban: —
What is your study?

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private.

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord.
His wits begin to unsettle.

Glo. Canst thou blame him?

His daughters seek his death: — Ah, that good

Kent? —
He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! —
Thou say'st, the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee, friend,
I am almost mad myself: I had a son.
Now outlaw'd from my blood: he sought my life,
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend, —
No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,

[Storm continues.
The grief has craz'd my wits. What a night's this!
I do beseech your grace. —

Lear. O, cry you mercy.

Noble philosopher, your company.

Edg. Tom's a-cold.

Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel : keep thee warm.

Lear. Come, let's in all.

Kent. This way, my lord.

Lear. With him ;

I will keep still with my philosopher.

Kent. Good my lord, sooth him ; let him take the
fellow.

Glo. Take him you on.

Kent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

Lear. Come, good Athenian.

Glo. No words, no words:

Hush.

Edg. Child Rowland ^'') to the dark tower came,
His word was still, - Fie, fok, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.
A Room in Gloster'« Castl«.
Enter Cornwall and Edmund.

Corn. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his
house.

Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that na-
ture thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me
to think of.

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your
brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ;
but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable
badness in himself.

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must
repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of,
which approves him an intelligent party to the ad-
vantages of France. O heavens! that this treason
were not, or not 1 the detector!

Corn. Go with me to the duchess.

Edm. If the matter of this paper be certedn, you
have mighty business in hand.

Corn. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of
Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he may
be ready for our apprehension.

Edm. [Aside.'] If I find him comforting the king,
it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will per-
severe in my course of loyalty, though the conflict
be sore between that and my blood.

Corn. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt
find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

A Chamber in a Farm- House, adjoining the
Castle.

Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar.

Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it
thankfully : I will piece out the comfort with what
addition I can: I will not be long from you.

Kent. All the power of his wits has given way
to his impatience. — The gods reward your kind-
ness! [Exit Glosteb.

Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me, Nero is
an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, inno-
cent, '-*) and beware the foul fiend.

Fool. 'Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman
be a gentleman, or a yeoman?

Lear. A king, a king!

Fool. No; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to
his son; for he's a mad yeoman, that sees his son
a gentleman before him.

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits
Come hizzing ^') in upon them: —

Edg. The foul fiend bites my back.

Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a
wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's
oath.

Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straight: —

Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;

[To Edgab.
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool.] — Now,
you she-foxes! —

Edg. Look, where he stands and glares! —
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?

Fool. Co7ne o'er the bourn, -'') Bessy, to me: —
Her boat hath a leak.
And she must not speak
Why she dares not come over to thee.

Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice
of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly
for two white herring. Croak not, black angel; I
have no food for thee.

Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd:
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?

Lear. I'll see their trial first: — Bring in the evi-
dence. —
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place; —

[To Edcak.
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool.
Bench by his side : — You are of the commission.
Sit you too. [To Kent.

Edg. Let us deal justly.

Sleepest, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?

Thy sheep be in the corn;
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth.

Thy sheep shall take no harm.

Pur! the cat is grey.
Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take

KKKIV.

Act hi.

KING LEAR.

793

my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked
the poor king her father.

Fool. Come hither, mistress; Is your name Goneril?

Lear. She cannot deny it.

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.

Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks pro-
claim
What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there!
Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place !
B'alse justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape?

Edg. Bless thy five wits!

Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now,
That you so oft have boasted to retain?

Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much.
They'll mar my counterfeiting. [Aside.

Lear. The little dogs and all.
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.

Edg, Tom will throw his head at them: — Avaunt,
you curs!

Be thy mouth or black or white.
Tooth that poisons if it bite;
Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim.
Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym; ^^)
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail;
Tom will make them weep and wail:
For, with throwing thus my head.
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.

Do de, de, de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and
fairs, and market towns: — Poor Tom, thy horn
is dry.

Lear. Then let them anatomise Regan, see what
breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in na-
ture, that makes these hard hearts? — You, sir, I
entertain you for one of my hundred; only, I do
not like the fashion of your garments : you will say,
they are Persian attire;^') but let them be changed.

[To Edgak.

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile.

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the
curtains : So, so, so : We'll go to supper i'the
morning: So, so, so.

Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon.

Re-enter Glostbr,

Glo. Come hither, friend: Where is the king my
master ?

Kent. Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits are
gone.

Olo. Good friend, I pr'ythee, take him in thy arms ;
I have o'er-heard a plot of death upon him:
There is a litter ready; lay him iu't.
And drive towards Dover, friend, where thouwshalt

meet
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master:
If thou should'st daily half an hour, his life.
With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
Stand in assured loss: Take up, take up;
And follow me, that will to some provision
Give thee quick conduct.

Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : —

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses.
Which, if convenience will not allow,
Stand in hard cure. Come, help to bear thy master;
Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool,

fr^o. Come, come, away.

[Exeunt Kent, Glostbb, and the Fool,
bearing off the King.

Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes.
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
Who alone suffers, suffers most i'the mind ;
Leaving free things, s") and happy shows, behind:
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip.

When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
How light and portable my pain seems now.
When that, which makes me bend, makes the king

bow ;
He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away :
Mark the high noises; ^') and thyself bewray, *^)
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles

thee.
In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee.
What will hap more to-night, safe scape the king!
Lurk, lurk. [Exit.

SCENE vn.

A Room in Gloster'« Castle.

Enter Coknwali-, Regan, Goneril, Edmund,
and Servants.

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband ; show
him this letter : — the army of France is landed : —
Seek out the villain Gloster.

[Exeunt some of the Servants.

Reg. Hang him instantly.

Gon. Pluck out his eyes.

Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmund,
keep you our sister company; the revenges we are
bound to take upon your traitorous father are not
fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where
you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we
are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and
intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister; — fare-
well, my lord of Gloster, ^')

Enter Steward.
How now? Where's the king?

Stew. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence :
Some five or six and thirty of his knights.
Hot questrists after hun, ^*) met him at gate;
Who, with some other of the lord's dependants.
Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast
To have well-armed friends.
Corn. Get horses for your mistress.

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.

[Exeunt GuneriIi and Edihiins.
Corn. Edmund, farewell. — Go, seek the traitor
Gloster,
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us:

[Exeunt other Servants.
Though well we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice; yet our power
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, ^ ^) which men
May blame, but not control. Who's there? The
traitor?

Re-enter Servants with Gloster.

Reg. Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.

Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. '^)

Glo. What mean your graces? Good my

friends, consider
You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.

Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him.

Reg. Hard, hard : — O filthy traitor !

Glo. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none.

Corn. To this chair bind him: — Villain, thou shalt
find — [Regan plucks his Beard.

Glo. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
To pluck me by the beard.

Reg. So white, and such a traitor!

Glo. Naughty lady.

These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,
Will quicken, ^') and accuse thee: I am your host;
With robbers' hands, my hospitable favours ^*)
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?

HXKIV.

794

KING LEAR.

Act IV.

Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from

France ?
Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth.
Corn. And what confederacy have you with the
traitors
Late footed in the kingdom?
Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic
king ?
Speak.

Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down.
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
And not from one oppos'd.
Corn. Cunning.

Reg. And false.

Corn. Where hast thou sent the king?
Glo. To Dover.

Reg. Wherefore

To Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at thy peril — ^')
Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer

that.
Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the

course. *")
Reg. Wherefore to Dover?
Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails
Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister
In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.
The sea with such a storm as his bare head
In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up,
And quench'd the stelled fires: yet, poor old heart.
He holp'd the heavens to rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time.
Thou should'st have said, Good porter, turn the key;
All cruels else subscrib'd: — *') But I shall see
The winged vengeance overtake such children.
Com. See it shalt thou never: — Fellows, hold
the chair: —
Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.

[Glosteb 28 held down in hia Chair, while
GosNWALL plucks out one of hia Eyes,
and sets hia Foot on it.
Glo. He that will think to live till he be old.
Give me some help : — O cruel ! O ye gods !
Reg. One side will mock another; the other too.
Corn. If you see vengeance, —
Serv. Hold your hand, my lord:

I have serv'd you ever since I was a child;
But better service have I never done you.
Than now to bid you hold.
Reg. How now, you dog?

Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
I'd shake it on this quarrel: What do you mean?
Corn. My villain! [Draws, and runs at him.

Serv. Nay, then come on, and take the chance of
anger.

[Drawa. They fight. Cornwall is wounded.
Reg. Give me thy sword. — [To another Servant.] A
peasant stand up thus!

[Snatches a Sword, comes behind, and ataba him.

Serv. O, I am slain! — My lord, you have one

eye left

To see some mischief on him : O ! [Diea.

Corn. Lest it see more,prevent it: — Out, vile jelly !

Where is thy lustre now?

[Tears out Glostee's other Eye, and throws it
on the ground.
Glo. All dark and comfortless. — Where's my son
Edmund?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,
To quit this horrid act.

Reg. Out, treacherous villain!

Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he
That made the overture of thy treasons *^) to us;
Who is too good to pity thee.

Glo. O my follies!

Then Edgar was abus'd. —
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover. — How is't, my lord? How
look you?
Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt: — Follow me, lady. —
Turn out that eyeless villain; — throw this slave
Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace:
Untimely come this hurt: give me your arm,

[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan; — Servants
unbind Glohteh, and lead him out.

1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do.
If this man come to good.

2 Serv. If she live long.

And, in the end, meet the old course of death, '*^)
Women will all turn monsters.

1 Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the bedlam
To lead him where he would; his roguish madness
Allows itself to any thing.

2 Serv. Go thou; I'll fetch some flax, and whites

of eggs.
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!

[Exeunt severally.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Heath.

Enter Edgar.

Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd.
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune.
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then.
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace !
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst.
Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes
here? —

Enter Gi.oster, led by an old Man.

My father, poorly led ? — World, world, O world !
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, ')
Life would not yield to age.

Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your tenant,
and your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

Glo. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone :
Thy comforts can do me no good at all.
Thee they may hurt.

Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw: Full oft 'tis seen.
Our mean secures us; ^) and our mere defects
Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son, Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath!
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say, I had eyes again!

Old Man. How now? Who's there?

Edg. [Aside.] O gods! Who is't can say, / am at
the worst?
I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet: The worst
is not.
So long as we can say. This t» the worst.

Old Man. Fellow, where goest?

Glo. Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man. Madman and beggar too.

Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I'the last night's storm I such a fellow saw;

KKKIV.

Act IV.

KING LEAR.

795

Which made me think a man a worm: My son

Came then into my mind; and yet my mind

Was then scarce friends with hiin; I have heard

more since:
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.

Edg. How should this be ? —

Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring itself and others. lAsideJ] — Bless thee,
master !

Glo. Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man. Ay, my lord.

Glo. Then 'pr'ythee, get thee gone : If, for my sake,
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I'the way to Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad.

Glo. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the
blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ;
Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have.
Come on't what will. [Exit.

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow.

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. — I cannot daub ^) it
further. [Jside.

Glo. Come hither, fellow.

Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet
eyes, they bleed.

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path.
Poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits :
Bless the good man from the foul fiend! Five fiends
have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, as Obi-
dicut! Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu,
of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet,
of mopping and mowing; who since possesses cham-
ber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master !

Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's
plagues
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched.
Makes thee the happier: — Heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man.
That slaves your ordinance, '') that will not see
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess.
And each man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover?

Edg. Ay, master.

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep :
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.

Edg. Give me thy arm;

Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Before the Duke ©/Albany'* Palace.

Enter Goneril and Edmund; Steward meeting
them.

Gon. Welcome, my lord: I marvel, our mild husband
Not met us on the way: — Now, where's your master?

Stew. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed ;
He smil'd at it: I told him, you were coming;
His answer was, The worse: of Gloster's treachery.
And of the loyal service of his son.
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot;
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out: —

What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.

Gon. Then shall you go no further.

[To EnsiUND.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit.
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs,
Which tie him to an answer: Our wishes, on the way,
May prove effects. *) Back, Edmund, to my brother;
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers:
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into ray husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: ere Jong you are like to hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;

[Giving a Favour.
Decline your head: *) this kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air; —
Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My most dear Gloster!

[Exit Edjiohd.
O, the difference of man, and man! To thee
A woman's services are due; my fool
Usurps my bed .

Stew. Madarr, here comes my lord.

[Exit Steward.

Enter Albant.

Gon. 1 have been worth the whistle. ')

Alb. O Goneril!

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face. — I fear your disposition :
That nature, which contemns its origin,
Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
She that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap, ^) perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.

Gon. No more; the text is foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:
Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man.
Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick.
Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.
Could my good brother suffer you to do it?
A man, a prince, by him so benefited ?
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
'Twill come.

Humanity must perforce prey on itself.
Like monsters of the deep.

Gon. Milk-llver'd man!

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st,
Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st.
Alack! why does he so?

Alb. See thyself, devil!

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid, as in woman.

Gon. O vain fool!

Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for
shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness
To let these hands obey my blood.
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones : — Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.

Gon. Marry, your manhood now I —

KXKTV.

796

KING

LEAR.

Act IV.

Enter a Messenger.

Alb. What news?

Mess. O, my good lord, the duke of CornwaU's dead:
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloster.

Alb. Gloster's eyes!

Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead : ')
But not vvithout that harmful stroke, which since
Hath pluck'd him after. i

Alb. This shows you are above.

You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge ! — But, O, poor Gloster !
Lost he his other eye!

Mess. Both, both, my lord. —

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
'Tis from your sister.

Gon. [Jside.] One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon ray hateful life: Another way,
The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer.

[Exit.

Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his
eyes?

Mess, Come with my lady hither.

Alb. He is not here.

Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again.

Alb. Knows he the wickedness?

Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inform'd against
him;
And quit the house on purpose, that their punish-
ment
Might have the freer course.

Alb. Gloster, I live

To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend ;
Tell me what more thou knowest. [Exeunt.

SCENE m.

The French Campf near Dover.
Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.

Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone
back know you the reason?

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state.
Which since his coming forth is thought of; which
Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger.
That his personal return was most requir'd.
And necessary.

Kent. Who hath he left behind him general?

Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any
demonstration of grief?

Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my
presence ;
And now and then an ample tear thrill'd down
Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a queen
Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be the king o'er her.

Kent. O, then it mov'd her.

Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like a better day: '") Those happy smiles.
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could so become it.

Kent. Made she no verbal question? *i)

Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name
of father
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;
Cried, Sisters! sisters! — Shame of ladies ! sisters !
Kent! father! sisters! What? i'the storm? i'the

night ?
Let pity not be believed! — '2) There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes.
And clamour moisten'd : — ' ^) then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

Kent. It is the stars.

The stars above us, govern our conditions; ''')
Else one self mate and mate could not beget
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the king return'd?

Gent. No, since.

Kent. Well, sir; The poor distress'd Lear is i'the

town:
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.

Gent. Why, good sir?

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own
unkind ness,
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters, — these things sting
His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard
not?

Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot.

Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
And leave you to attend him : some dear cause ^ *)
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile;
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
Along with me. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same. A Tent.

Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.

Cor. Alack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, *^) and furrow weeds,
With harlocks, '■'') hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers.
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth;
Search every acre in the high grown field,
And bring him to our eye. — [Exit an Officer.] — What

can man's wisdom do,
In the restoring his bereaved sense?
He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.

Phy. There is means, madam :
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose.
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him.
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.

Cor. All bless'd secrets,

AH you unpublish'd virtues of the earth.
Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate.
In the good man's distress ! — Seek, seek for him ;
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it. *^)

Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Madam, news;

The British powers are marching hitherward.

XKKIV.

Act IV.

KING LEAR.

797

Cot. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands
In expectation of them. — O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about;
Therefore great France

My mourning, and important ") tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition -") doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right:
Soon may I hear, and see him! \ExeurU.

SCENE V.
A Room in Gloster't Castle.
Enter Rbgan, and Steward.

Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth?

Stew. Ay, madam.

Reg. Himself

In person there?

Stew. Madam, with much ado :

Your sister is the better soldier.

Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home ?

Stew. No, madam.

Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him ?

Stew. I know not, lady.

Reg. 'Faith he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out.
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us ; Edmund, I think, is gone.
In pity of his misery, to despatch
His nighted life; ^') moreover, to descry
The strength o'the enemy.

Stew. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow ; stay with us;
The ways are dangerous.

Stew. I may not, madam;

My lady charg'd my duty in this business.

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might
not you
Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
Something — I know not what: — I'll love thee much.
Let me unseal the letter.

Stew. Madam, I had rather —

Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband ;
I am sure of that: and, at her late being here.
She gave strange oeiiiads, ^ ^) and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund: I know, you £ire of her bosom.

Stew. I, madam?

Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, I know it:
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note: ^^)
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd;
And more convenient is he for my hand.
Than for your lady's: — You may gather more.
If you do find him, pray you, give him this;
And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her.
So, fare you well.

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor.
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam! I would
show

What party I do follow.
Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The Country near Dover.

Enter Glostbr, and Edgar, dressed like a Peasant.

Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same
hill?

Edg. You do climb up it now: look, how we la-
bour.

Qlo. Methinks, the ground is even.

Edg. Horrible steep:

Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glo. No, truly.

Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.

Glo. So may it be, indeed:

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst.

Edg. You are much deceiv'd; in nothing am I
chang'd.
But in my garments.

Glo. Methinks, yon are better spoken.

Edg. Come on, sir ; here's the place ; — stand still. —

How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low !
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air.
Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire: dreadful trade!
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach.
Appear like mice; and yon' tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; ^•*) her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: The murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes.
Cannot be heard so high: — I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

Glo. Set me where you stand.

Edg. Give me your hand: You are now within

a foot
Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.

Glo. Let go my hand.

Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking : Fairies, and gods.
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seem* to go.

Glo. With all my heart.

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair.
Is done to cure it.

Glo. O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and, in your sights.
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills.
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him! —
Now, fellow, fare thee well.

\He leapt, and falls along.

Edg. Gone, sir? farewell. —

And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life itself
Yields to the theft: - *) Had he been where he thought.
By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead?
Ho, you sir! friend! — Hear you, sir? — speak!
Thus might he pass indeed: — ^') Yet he revives:
What are you, sir?

Glo. Away, and let me die.

Edg. Had'st thou been aught but gossomer, *')
feathers, air.
So many fathom down precipitating,

Thou had'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost

breathe;
Hast heavy substance; bleed 'st not; speak'st; art

sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude.

Which thou hast perpendicularly fell;

Thy life's a miracle: Speak yet again.

Glo. But have I fallen, or no?

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn : ' 8)

Look up a-height ; — the shrill-gorg'd lark so far

Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

XHHIV.

798

KING

LEAR.

Act IV.

Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. —
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort.
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.

Edg. Give me your arm :

Up; — So; — How is't? Feel you your legs? You
stand.

Glo. Too well, too well.

Edg, This is above all strangeness.

Upon the crown o'the cliff, what thing was that
Which parted from you?

Olo. A poor unfortunate beggar.

Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns whelk'd, -') and wav'd like the enridged sea;
It was some fiend: Therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the clearest gods, ^^) who make them

honours
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee.

Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, till it do cry out itself.
Enough, enough, and, die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say.
The fiend, the fiend: he led me to that place.

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. — But who
comes here?

Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with Flowers.
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ; lam
the king himself.

Edg. O, thou side-piercing sight!

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like
a crow-keeper: ^') draw me a clothier's yard. —
Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; — this piece
of toasted cheese will do't. — There's my gauntlet ;
I'll prove it on a giant. — Bring up the brown
bills. — ^-) O, well-flown, bird! — i'the clout, ^^)
i'the clout: hewgh! — Give the word.

Edg. Sweet marjoram.

Lear. Pass.

Glo. I know that voice.

Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They
flatter'd me like a dog; and told me, I had white
hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there.
To say ay, and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay
and no too was no good divinity. When the rain
came to wet me once, and the wind to make me
chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my
bidding; there I found them, there I smelt them
out. Go to, they are not men o'their words: they
told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie; I am not
ague-proof.

Glo. The trick of that voice *'*) I do well re-
member :
Is't not the king?

Lear. Ay, every inch a king:

When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life: What was thy cause?
Adultery. —
Thou shalt not die: Die for adultery! No:

The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly
Does lecher in my sight.

Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son

Was kinder to his father, than my daughters

Got 'tween the lawful sheets.

To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. —

Behold yon' simpering dame.

Whose face between her forks presageth snow;

That minces virtue, and does shake the head

To hear of pleasure's name;
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't
With a more riotous appetite.
Down from the waist they are centaurs,
Though women all above:
But to the girdle^*) do the gods inherit,
Beneath is all the fiends'; tliere's hell, there's dark-
ness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding,
stench, consumption; — Fy^? ^Y^i fy®' P^'^' pah!
Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to
sweeten my imagination: there's money for thee.

Glo. O, let me kiss that hand!

Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me?

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost
thou squiny at me? ^^) No, do thy worst, blind
Cupid; I'll not love. — Read thou this challenge;
mark but the penning of it.

Glo. W^ere all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Edg. I would not take this from report; — it is,
And my heart breaks at it.

Lear. Read.

Glo. What, with the case of eyes?

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in
your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes
are in a heavy case, your purse in a light: Yet
you see how this world goes.

Glo. I see it feelingly.

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this
world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears :
see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief.
Hark, in thine ear: Change places; and, handy-
dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? —
Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Glo. Ay, sir.

Lear. And the creature run from the cur?
There thou might'st behold the great image of au-
thority; a dog's obeyed in office. —
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand:
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own

back;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs

the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with

gold.
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks :
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able 'em: ^')
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now,

now, now:
Pull off my boots: — Harder, harder; so.

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd!
Reason in madness!

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster:
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither.
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air.
We wawl, and cry: — I will preach to thee;
mark me.

Glo. Alack, alack the day!

Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come

To this great stage of fools ; This a good

block? —
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
A troop of horse with felt: I'll put it in proof;
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then, UU, kUl, kill, kill, kill, kill.

KXKIV.

Act IV.

KING LEAR.

799

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants.

Gent. O, here he is ; lay hand upon him. — Sir,

Your most dear daughter

Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even

The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ;

You shall have ransome. Let me have a surgeon,
I Hiu cut to the brains.

Gent. You shall have any thing.

Lear. No seconds? All myself?
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt, ^^)
To use his eyes for garden water-pots,
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust.

Gent. Good sir, —

Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom; What?
I will be jovial; come, come; I am a king.
My masters, know you that?

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear. Then there's life in it. ^') Nay, an you get
it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

[Exit running; Atteiidantx follow.
- Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch;
Past speaking of in a king! — Thou hast one

daughter.
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.

Kdg. Hail, gentle sir.

Gent. Sir, speed you: What's your will?

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward ?

Gent. Most sure, and vulgar : every one hears that.
Which can distinguish sound.

Edg. But, by your favour.

How near's the other army?

Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought.*")

Edg. I thank you, sir: that's all.

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is
here,
Her army is mov'd on.

Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Geut.

Glo. You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me ;
Let not my worser spirit *') tempt me again
To die before you please!

Edg. Well pray you, father.

Glo. Now, good sir, what are you?

Edg. A most poor man, made tame*-} by for-
tune's blows;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.

Glo. Hearty thanks:

The bounty and the benizon of heaven
To boot, and boot!

Enter Steward.

Stew. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy !

That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. — Thou old unhappy traitor.
Briefly thyself remember: — *3) The sword is out
That must destroy thee.

Crlo. Now let thy friendly hand

Put strength enough to it. [Ebgae oppQses.

Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant,

Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence;
Lest that the infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest.

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, **) and let
poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out
of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by
a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man ; keep
out, che vor'ye, * *) or ise try whether your costard * ")

or my bat *') be the harder: Ch'ill be plain with
you.

Stew. Out, dunghill!

Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come ; no matter
vor your foins. ^^)

[They fight; and Edgar knocJct him down.

Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me : — Villain, take
my purse;
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
And give the letters, which thou find'st about me,
To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out

Upon the British party: O, untimely death!

[Diet.

Edg. I know thee well: A serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress.
As badness would desire.

Glo. What, is he dead?

Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you. —
Let's see his pockets : these letters, that he speaks of.
May be my friends. — He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other death's man. — Let us see: —
Leave, gentle wax: and, manners, blame us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts ;
Their papers, is more lawful.

[Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered.
You have many opportunities to cut him off: if
your will want not, time and place will be fruit-
fully offered. There is nothing done, if he return
the conqueror: Then am I the prisoner, and his
bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof
deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.
Your wife, (so I would say,) and your
affectionate servant,

GONERII-.

0 undlstinguish'd space of woman's will! — *9)
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;

And the exchange, my brother! — Here, in the

sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctifled *")
Of murderous lechers : and, in the mature time,
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.

[Exit EncAK, dragging out the Body.
Glo. The king is mad : How stiff is my vile sense,
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows ! Better 1 were distract :
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs;
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves.

Re-enter Edgar.

Edg. Give me your hand:

Far-off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

A Tent in the French Camp. Lbah on a Bed,

asleep; Physician, Gentleman, and others,

attending: Enter Cordelia and Kent.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work.
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
No more, nor clipp'd, but so.

Cor. Be better suited: ")

These weeds are memories '-) of those worser hours;

1 pr'ythee, put them off.

RXKXV.

800

KING

LEAR.

Act V.

Kent. Pardon ine, dear madam;

Yet to be known, shortens my made intent: *^)
My boon I make it, that you know me not,
Till time and I think meet.

Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does
the king? [To the Physician.

Phys. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor. O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father! **)

Phys. So please your majesty.

That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
1' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep,
We put fresh garments on him.

Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake
him;
I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. Very well.

Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the music
there.

Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and dear princess!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white
flakes
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning ? to watch (poor perdu !)
With this thin helm? *^) Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; And wast thou fain, poor father.
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack !
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him.

Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your
majesty ?

Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o'the

grave: —
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.

Cor. Sir, do you know me ?

Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did you die ?

Cor. Still, still, far wide!

Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile.

Lear. Where have I been ? Where am I ? — Fair
day-light? —
I am mightily abus'd. — I should even die with pity.
To see another thus. — I know not what to say. —
I will not swear, these are my hands: — let's see;
I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd
Of my condition.

Cor. O, look upon me, sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me: —
No, sir, you must not kneel.

Lear. Pray, do not mock me:

I am a very foolish fond old man.
Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks, I should know you, and know this man;

Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant

What place this is; and all the skill I have

Remembers not these garments; nor I know not

Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me ;

For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.

Cor. And so I am, I am.

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray,
weep not:
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know, you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

Cor. No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir.

Lear. Do not abuse me.

Phys, Be comforted , good madam : the great

rage,
You see, is cur'd in him: and yet it is danger
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. *')
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more,
Till further settling.

Cor. Will't please your highness walk?

Lear. You must bear with me:

Pray now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolish.
[Exeunt Lear, Cohdelia, Physician, and
Attendants.

Gent. Holds it true, sir.
That the duke of Cornwall was so slain?

Kent. Most certain, sir.

Gent. Who is conductor of his people?

Kent. As 'tis said.

The bastard son of Gloster.

Gent. They say, Edgar,

His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent
In Germany.

Kent. Report is changeable.

'Tis time to look about; the powers o'the kingdom
Approach apace.

Gent. The arbitrement is like to be a bloody.
Fare you well, sir. [Exit.

Kent. My point and period will be throughly

wrought.
Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought. [Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Camp of the British Forces,
near Dover.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, Edmund, Regan,
Officers, Soldiers, and others.

Edm. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold ;
Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught
To change the course : He's full of alteration,
And self-reproving : — bring his constant pleasure. ' )
[To an Officer, who goes out.

Rep^. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam.

Reg. Now, sweet lord,

You know the goodness I intend upon you:
Tell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth.
Do you not love my sister?

Edm. In honour'd love.

Reg. But have you never found my brother's way
To the forefended place? ^)

Edm. That thought abuses you. ^)

Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct
And bosora'd with her, as far as we call hers.

Edm. No, by mine honour, madam.

Reg. I never shall endure her: Dear my lord.
Be not familiar with her.

Edm. Fear me not : —
She, and the duke her husband,

XKKIV.

Act V.

KING LEAR.

801

Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers.

Go?t. I had rather lose the battle, than that sister
Should loosen him and me. [Aside.

Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met. —
Sir, this I hear, — The king is come to his daughter,
With others, whom the rigour of our state
Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest,
I never yet was valiant: for this business,
It toucheth us as France invades our land.
Not holds the king; '*) with others, whom, I fear,
Most just and heavy causes make oppose. *)

Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. '')

Beg. VVhy is this reason'd?

Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy:
For these domestic and particular broils
Are not to question here.

Alb. Let us then determine

With the ancient of war on our proceedings.

Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent.

Reg. Sister, you'll go with us?

Gon. No.

Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.

Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle: [aside] I will go.

As they are going out, enter Edgar, disguised.

Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
Hear me one word.

Alb. I'll overtake you. — Speak.

[Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Gonekil, Officers,
Soldiers, and Attendants.

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
For him that brought it: wretched though I seem,
I can produce a champion, that will prove
What is avouched there : If you miscarry,
Your business of the world hath so an end.
And machination ceases. ') Fortune love you!

Alb. Stay till I have read the letter.

Edg. I was forbid it.

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
And I'll appear again. [Exit.

Alb, Why, fare thee well; I will o'erlook thy paper.

Re-enter Edmund.

Edm. The enemy's in view, draw up your powers.
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces
By diligent discovery ; — but your haste
Is now urg'd on you.

Alb. We will greet the time. ^) [Exit.

Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd.
If both remain alive: To take the widow,
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;
And hardly shall I carry out my side, ')
Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use
His countenance for the battle; which being done.
Let her, who would be rid of him, devise
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia, — '
The battle done, and they within our power.
Shall never see his pardon: for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit

SCENE II.

A Field between the two Camps.

Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and Colours,

Lbar, Cordelia, and their Forces; and exeunt.

Enter Edgar and Glostbr.

Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree

XKXIV.

For your good host; pray that the right may thrive:
If ever I return to you again,
I'll bring you comfort.
Glo. Grace go with you, sir!

[Exit Edgar.

Alarums; afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Edgau.

Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away;
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en:
Give me thy hand, come on.

Glo. No further, sir; a man may rot even here.

Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither:
Ripeness is all: "') Come on.

Glo. And that's true too,

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The British Camp near Dover.

Enter, in Conquest, with Drum and Colours, Ed-
mund; Lbab, and Cordelia, as Prisoners;
Officers, Soldiers, ^c.

Edm. Some officers take them away: good guard;
Until their greater pleasures first be known
That are to censure them. * ')

Cor. We are not the first,

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
P^or thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. —
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters ?

Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison :
We too alone will sing like birds i'the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel dovm,
And ask of thee forgiveness: So we'll live.
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, —
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; —
And take upon us the mystery of things.
As if we were God's spies: And we'll wear out.
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.

Edm. Take them away.

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught

thee?
He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven.
And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;
The goujeers '^) shall devour them, flesh and fell, ^^)
Ere they shall make us weep : we'll see them starve

first.
Come. [Exeunt Lbar and Cordelia, guarded.

Edm. Come hither, captain; hark.
Take thou this note; [giving aFaper] go, follow them

to prison:
One step I have advanc'd thee; if thou dost
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way
To noble fortunes : Know thou this, — that men
Are as the time is: to be tender-minded
Does not become a sword : — Thy great employment
Will not bear question; ^'*) either, say, thoul't do't.
Or thrive by other means.

Off. I'll do't, my lord.

Edm. About it; and write happy, when thou hast

done.
Mark, — I say instantly; and carry it so.
As I have set it down.

Off. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;
If it be man's work, I will do it.

[ExU Officer.

51

802

KING LEAR.

Act V.

Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan,
Officers, and Attendants.

Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,
And fortune led you well: You have the captives
Who were the opposites of this day's strife:
We do require them of you; so to use them,
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.

Edm. Sir, I thought it fit

To send the old and miserable king
To some retention, and appointed guard;
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more.
To pluck the common bosom on his side,
And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes * *)
Which do command them. With him I sent the

queen;
My reason all the same; and they are ready
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear
Where you shall hold your session. At this time,
We sweat, and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd
By those that feel their sharpness : —
The question of Cordelia, and her father,
Requires a fitter place. ^'')

Alb. Sir, by your patience,

I hold you but a subject of this war,
Not as a brother.

Reg. That's as we list to grace him.

Methinks, our pleasure might have been demanded.
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;
Bore the commission of my place and person;
The which immediacy '"') may well stand up.
And call itself your brother.

Oon. Not so hot:

In his own grace he doth exalt himself.
More than in your advancement.

Reg. In my rights.

By me invested, he compeers the best.

Gon. That were the most, if he should husband you.

Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets.

Gon. Holla, holla!

That eye, that told you so, look'd but a-squint.

Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should answer
From a full-flowing stomach. — General,
Take thou my soldiers, pi-isoners, patrimony;
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:
Witness the world, that I create thee here
My lord and master.

Gon. Mean you to enjoy him?

Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good-will. *^)

Edm. Nor in thine, lord.

Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes.

Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

[To Edmun)),

Alb. Stay yet; hear reason: — Edmund, 1 arrest thee
On capital treason; and, in thy arrest.
This gilded serpent: [pointing to Gon.] — for your

claim, fair sister,
I bar it in the interest of my wife;
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,
And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
If you will marry, make your love to me,
My lady is bespoke.

Gon. An interlude!

Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster; — Let the trumpet
sound :
If none appear to prove upon thy person.
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
There is my pledge; [throwing down a Glove] I'll
prove it on thy heart.

Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less

Than I have here proclaim'd thee.

Reg. Sick, O sick!

Gon. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [Aside.

Edm. There's my exchange : [throwing down a Cr^ove]
what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies:
Call by thy trumpet; he that dares approach,
On him, on you, (who not?) I will maintain
My truth and honour firmly.

Alb. A herald, ho!

Edm. A herald, ho, a herald!

Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; ") for thy soldiers.
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge.

Reg. This sickness grows upon me.

Enter a Herald.

Alb. She is not well; convey her to my tent.

[Exit Regan, led.
Come hither, herald. — Let the trumpet sound, —
And read out this.

Off. Sound, trumpet. [A Trumpet sounds.

Herald reads.

If any man of gualily, or degree, within the

lists of the army, will maintain upon Edmund,

supposed earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold

traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the

trumpet: He is bold in his defence.

Edm. Sound. [1 Trumpet.

Her. Again. [2 Trumpet.

Her. Again. [3 Trumpet.

[Trumpet answers within.

Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a Trumpet.

Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o'the trumpet.

Her. What are you?

Your name, your quality? and why you answer
This present summons?

Edg. Know, my name is lost;

By treason's tooth bare-gnawn, and canker-bit:
Yet am I noble, as the adversary
I come to cope withal.

Alb. Which is that adversary?

Edg. What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl of
Gloster?

Edm. Himself; — What say'st thou to him?

Edg. Draw thy sword;

That, if my speech offend a noble heart.
Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours.
My oath, and my profession; -°) I protest, —
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune.
Thy valour, and thy heart, — thou art a traitor:
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince;
And, from the extremest upward of thy head,
To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou. No,
'i'his sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto i speak.
Thou liest.

Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name;

But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike.
And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathes, ^ ')
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn:
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head:
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,)

KKKTV.

Act V.

KING LEAR.

803

This sword of mine shall give them instant way.
Where they shall rest for ever. — ^ ^) Trumpets, speak.
[Alarums. They fight. Edudnd falU.

Alb. O save him, save him!

Gon. This is mere practice, Gloster:

By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
But cozen'd and beguil'd.

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame.

Or with this paper shall I stop it: — Hold, sir: —
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil: —
No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it.

\Givea the Letter to Eohdnd.

Gon, Say, if I do : the laws are mine, not thine :
Who shall arraign me for't?

Alb. Most monstrous!

Know'st thou this paper?

Gon. Ask me not what I know.

[Exit GONEBIL.

Alb. Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.

[To an Officer, icho goes out.

Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have
I done;
And more, much more: the time will bring it out;
'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou.
That hast this fortune on me? If thou art noble,
I do forgive thee.

Edg. Let's exchange charity.

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
INIy name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to scourge us :
The dark and vicious place where thee he got,
Cost him his eyes.

Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;

The wheel is come full circle; I am here.

Alb. Methought, thy very gait did prophesy
A royal nobleness: — I must embrace thee;
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee, or thy father!

Edg. Worthy prince,

I know it well. ^^}

Alb. Where have you hid yourself?

How have you known the miseries of your father?

Edg. By nursing them, my lord. — List a brief tale ; —
And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst! —
The bloody proclamation to escape.
That foUow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness !
That with the pain of death we'd hourly die.
Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift
Into a mad-man's rags; to assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings.
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide.
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair;
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him.
Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd.
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage: But his flaw'd heart,
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!)
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief.
Burst smilingly.

Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me.

And shall, perchance, do good: but speak you on;
You look as you had something more to say.

Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in;
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this.

Edg. This would have seem'd a period

To such as love not sorrow; but another.
To amplify too -much, would make much more,

And top extremity. **)

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man.
Who having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father: 2*)
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him.
That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded,
And there I left him tranc'd.

Alb. But who was this?

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise
FoUow'd his enemy king, and did him service
Improper for a slave.

Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody Knife.

Gent. Help! help! O help!

Edg. What kind of help?

Alb. Speak, man.

Edg. What means that bloody knife?

Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes;

It came even from the heart of —

Alb. Who, man? speak.

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister
By her is poison'd; she confesses it. -'}

Edm. I was contracted to them both; all three
Now marry in an instant.

Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead! —
This judgment - ') of the heavens, thatmakes us tremble.
Touches lis not with pity. [Exit Gentleman.

Enter Kent.

Edg. Here comes Kent, sir.

Alb. O! it is he.
The time will not allow the compliment.
Which very manners urges.

Kent. I am come

To bid my king and master aye good night;
Is he not here?

Alb. Great thing of us fbrgot! —

Speak, Edmund, where's the king ; and where's Cor-
delia? —
See'st thou this object, Kent?

[The Bodies of GoneriIj and Regan are brought in,

Kent. Alack, why thus?

Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd:

The one the other poison'd for my sake.
And after slew herself.

Alb. Even so. — Cover their faces.

Edm. I pant for life : — Some good I mean to do,
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, —
Be brief in it, — to the castle; for my writ
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia : —
Nay, send in time.

Alb. Run, run, O, run —

Edg. To whom, my lord? — Who has the office? send
Thy token of reprieve.

Edm. Well thought on; take my sword.
Give it the captain.

Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgib.

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair.
That she fordid herself. -*)

Alb. The gods defend her I Bear him hence awhile.

[Edmukd is borne off.

Enter Lbar, with Cordelia dead in his arms;

Edgar, Officer, and others.
Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl! — O, you are men
of stones;

XXHIV.

51

804

KING LEAR.

Act V.

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack : — O, she is gone

for ever ! —
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth: — Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone.
Why, then she lives.

Kent. Is this the promis'd end?

Edg. Or image of that horror? -')

Alb. Fall, and cease! ^o)

Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.

Kent. O my good master! [Kneeling.

Lear. 'Pr'ythee, away.

Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all !
I might have sav'd her ; now she's gone for ever ! —
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say'st ? — Her voice was ever soft.
Gentle, and low : an excellent thing in woman : —
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee.

Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did.

Lear. Did I not, fellow?

I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion
I would have made them skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you?
Mine eyes are none o'the best : — I'll tell you straight.

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated.
One of them we behold. ^*)

Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent?

Kent. The same;

Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?

Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;
He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.

Kent. No, ray good lord; I am the very man; —

Lear. I'll see that straight.

Kent. That, from yourfirstofdifferencesind decay, ^-)
Have foUow'd your sad steps.

Lear. You are welcome hither.

Kent. Nor no man else; ^^) all's cheerless, dark,
and deadly. —
Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves.
And desperately are dead.

Lear. Ay, so I think.

Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is
That we present us to him.
Edg. Very bootless.

Enter an Officer.

Off. Edmund is dead, my lord.

Alb. That's but a trifle here. —

You lords, and noble friends, know our intent.
What comfort to this great decay may come, ^'*)
Shall be applied : For us, we will resign.
During the life of this old majesty.
To him our absolute power: — You, to your rights;

\To Edgak and Kent.
With boot, ^*) and such addition as your honours
Have more than merited. — All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings. — O, see, see!

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! ^ '') No, no, no life :
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life.
And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more.
Never, never, never, never, never! —
Pray you, undo this button: ^'') Thank you, sir. —
Do you see this? — Look on her, — look, — her lips, —
Look there, look there ! — [He diet.

Edg. He faints ! — my lord, my lord, —

Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break!

Edg. Look up, my lord.

Kent. Vex not his ghost : O, let him pass ! he hates
him.
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.

Edg. O, he is gone, indeed.

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long:
He but usurp'd his life.

Alb. Bear them from hence. — Our present business
Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain

[To Kekt and Edgab.
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain.

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls, and I must not say, no.

Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young,
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

[Exeunt, with a Vead March.

RKKIV.

XXXV.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

FEBSONS REPRESENTED.

EscALUS, Prince o/" Verona.

Paris, a young Kobleman, Kinsman to the Prince.

Montague, \ Heads of two Houses, at variance

Capulet, ) with each other.

An old Man, Uncle to Capulet.

RoMKo, Son to Montague.

Mkrcutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to

Romeo.
Bbnvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to

Romeo.
TrBALT, Nephew to Lady Capulet.
Friar Lawrkncb, a Franciscan.
Friar John, of the same Order.
Balthazar, Servant to Romeo.

Sampson, ) Servants to Capulet.

Gregory, | ^

Abram, Servant to Montague.

An Apothecary.

Three Muslciays.

Chorus.

Boy; Page to Paris; Peter; an Officer.

Lady Montague, Wife to Montague.

Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.

Juliet, Daughter to Capulet.

Nurse to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, Re-
lations to both Houses; Maskers, Guards,
Watchmen, and Attendants.

Scene — during the greater part of the play, in Verona; once in the fifth Act, at Mantua.

PROLOGUE.

Two households, both alike in dignity.

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Vyhere civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of their parents' rage.
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffick of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend.
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. *)

ACT I.

Scene I. A public Place.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with Swords
and Bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals.-)

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.

iSa/«. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of
the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

Gre. To move, is — to stir ; and to be valiant, is —
to stand to it: therefore, if thou art moved, thou
run'st away.

Sa7n. A dog of that house shall move me to stand:
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Mon-
tague's.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave : for the weak-
est goes to the wall.

Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the weaker
vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: — therefore
I will push Montague's men from the wall, and
thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us
their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant:
when I have fought with the men, 1 will be cruel
with the maids; I will cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sain. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden-
heads; take it in what sense thou wilt.

Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it.

Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand:
and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst,
thou hadst been poor John.*) Draw thy tool; here
comes two of the house of the Montagues. '*)

Enter Abram and BALxiiAZAit.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will
back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry : I fear thee !

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them
begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by ; and let them take
it as they list.

Sam. Nay as they dare. I will bite my thumb at
them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say — ay?

Gre. No.

BKXV.

806

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act I.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir;
but I bite my thumb, sir.

Ore. Do you quarrel, sir?

Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good
a man as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, sir.

Enter Benvolio, at a distance.

Gre. Say — better; here comes one of my master's
kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.

Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remember
thy swashing blow. [They fight.

Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know
not what you do. [Beats down their Swords.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless
hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the
word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward. [They fight.

Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who join
the fray: then enter Citizens, with Clubs.

1 Cit. Clubs, bills, ^) and partizans! strike! beat
them down!
Down with the Capulets ! down with the Montagues !

Enter Capulet, in his Gown; «w<f Lady Capulet.

Cap. What noise is this? — Give me my long

sword, ho!
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! — Why call you for

a sword?
Cap. My sword, I say ! — Old Montague is come.
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter Montague and Lady Montague.

Man. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, let me go.
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

Enter Prince, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, —
Will they not hear ? — what ho I you men, you beasts, —
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons*) to the ground.
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. —
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again.
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasui'e in this case,

To old Free-town, our common judgment- place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Princb, and Attendants ; Capulet,
Lady Capulet, Tvbalt, Citizens, and
Servants.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? —
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary.
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears.
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo ! — saw you him to-day ?
Right glad I am, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from the city's side, —
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me.
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own, —
That most are busied when they are most alone, —
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his.
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the further east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed.
Away from light steals home my heavy son.
And private in his chamber pins himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out.
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove.
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.

Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor.
Is to himself — I will not say, how true —
But to himself so secret and so close.
So far from sounding and discovery.
As is the bud bit with an envious worm.
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. ''}
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo, at a distance.
Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay.
To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.

Rom. Is the day bo young?

Ben. But new struck nine.

Rom. Ah me ! sad hours seem long.

Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was: — What sadness lengthens Romeo's

hours ?
Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them

short.
Ben. In love?

KKXT.

Act I.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

807

Rom. Out. —

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! 8)
Where shall we dine ? — O me ! — What fray was

here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love : —
Why then, O brawling love ! O loving hate !
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness ! serious vanity !
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! —
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — ')
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine : this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz. [Going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along;

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Tell me in sadness, "*) who she is you love.

Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee ?

Ben. Groan? why, no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will : —
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! —
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Rom. A right good marks-man! — And she's fair
J love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, •')
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty ; only poor.
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live
chaste ?

Rom. She hath, and in that spai-ing makes huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, '*)
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow.
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.

Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers, exquisite, in question more: i^)
These happy masks, ' *) that kiss fair ladies' brows.

Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, ' ^) but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

[Exeunt.

* SCENE n.

A Street.

Enter Capulbt, Paris, and Servant.

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as f,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think.
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world.
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride.
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she.
She is the hopeful lady of my earth: *'')
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart.
My will to her consent is but a part; ^')
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest.
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; **) hear all, all see.
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one.
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me ; — go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out.
Whose names are written there, [gives a Paper] and

to them say.
My house and welcome on their pleasures stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written
here? It is written — that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard, and the taylor with his last,
the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his
nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose
names are here writ, and can never find what names
the writing person hath here writ. I must to the
learned : — In good time.

Enter Bbnvolio and Rombo.

Ben. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's burning.
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish :
Take thou some new infection to thy eye.
And the rank poison of the old will die,
Rom. Your plalntain leaf is excellent for that. ")
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom. For your broken shin.

KKKV.

808

R O M.E O AND JULIET

Act I.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou inad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is :
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd, and tormented, and — Good e'en, good
fellow.

Serv. God gi' good e'en. — I pray, sir, can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book:
But I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.

Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry!

Rom. Slay, fellow : I can read. [Reads.

Signior Mai'tino, and Jds wife, and daughters ;
County Anselnie, and his beauteous sisters; The
lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and
his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Va-
lentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daugh-
ters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Va-
lentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively
Helena.

A fair assembly; [gives back the Note} Whither should
they come?

Serv. Up.

Ro7n. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before.

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking : My master
is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the
house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup
of wine, -°) Rest you merry. [Exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye.
Compare her face with some that I shall show.
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires !
And these, — who, often drown'd, could never die, —

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars !
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love^') against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast.
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown.
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room in Capulet's House.

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth

to me.
Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, — at twelve year
old, —
I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! —
God forbid ! — where's this girl ? — what, Juliet 1

Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here.

What is your will?
La Cap. This is the matter: — Nurse, give leave
" awhile,

We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou shall hear our counsel.
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth.

And yet, to my teen --) be it spoken, I have but

four, —
She is not fourteen. — How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she, — God rest all Christian souls !
Were of an age. — Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I said.
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was weau'd, — I never shall forget it, —
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug.
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua : —
Nay, I do bear a brain: -^) but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'was no need, I trow.
To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years :
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood.
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow;
And then my husband — God be with his soul !
'A was a merry man ; — took up the child :
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule ? and, by my holy dam.
The pretty wretch left crying, and said — Ay:
To see now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule?

quoth he:
And, pretty fool, it stinted, ^ '*) and said — Ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

Nurse. Yes, madam ; yet I cannot choose but laugh,
To think it should leave crying, and say — Ay:
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, /fflW'sf upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule ? it stinted, and said — Ay.

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his
grace !
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of: — Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ; younger

than you.
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem.
Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

xuxv.

Act I.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

809

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man,
As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. **)

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament.
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies.
Find written in the margin of his eyes. ^<')
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea;^') and 'tis much pride.
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory.
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess.
By having him, making yourself no less.

Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by men.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye.
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served
up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse
cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity.
I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

La. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

[^Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Street.

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with Jive or
six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others.

Rom. What shall this speech be spoke for our
excuse ?
Or shall we on without apology?

Be7i. The date is out of such prolixity: ^8)
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath.
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But, let them measure us by what they will.
We'll measure them a measure, - ' ) and be gone.

Rom. Give me a torch, ^°) — I am not for this
ambling;
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Rom. Not 1, believe me : you have dancing shoes.
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead.
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings.
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rotn. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft.
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough.
Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn.

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. —
Give me a case to put my visage in :

[Putting on a Mask.

A visor for a visor! — what care I,

What curious eye doth quote deformities?^')

Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me.

Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

^07/1. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; 3^)
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, —
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on, —
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. '^)

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own

word:
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho.

Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning: for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.

Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mer. And so did I.

Rom, Well, what was yours ?

Mer. That dreamers often lie.

Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife; ^'') and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman.
Drawn with a team of little atomies ^*)
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat.
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub.
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues.
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose.
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: ^^)
And sometimes comes she with a tithe- pig's tail.
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck.
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats.
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,^')
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two.
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks ^s) in foul sluttish hairs.
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, this is she —

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ;

Thou talk'st of nothing.

XXXV.

810

BOMEO AND JULIET

Act J.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our-
selves ;
Slipper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives.
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in ray breast.
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail! — On, lusty gentlemen.

Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Hall 171 Capulet'« House. Musicians waiting.

Enter Servants.

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take
awayV he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or
two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a
foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the
court-cupboard, ^') look to the plate: — good thou,
save me a piece of marchpane; *") and, as thou
lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone,
and Nell. — Antony ! and Potpan !

2 Serv. Ay, boy ; ready.

1 Serv. You are look'd for, and called for, asked
for, and sought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. —
Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer
liver take all. [They retire behind.

Enter Capulet, ^-c. with the Guests, and the
Maskers.

Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes
Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you: —
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she,
I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you nowV
You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day.
That I have worn a visor; and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear.
Such as would please; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone :
You are welcome, gentlemen! — Come, musicians,

play.
A hall! a hall!*') give room, and foot it, girls.

[Manic plays, and theij dance.
More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, '*^)
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. —
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
For you and I are past our dancing days:
How long is't now, since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so

much :
'Tis since the nuptial of Luccntio,
Come pentecost as quickly as it will.
Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir;
His son is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?
His son was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright !
Her beauty hangs upon ■*') the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows.
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand.
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : —
Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What ! dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin.
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ? wherefore storm
you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite.
To scorn at our solemnity this night.

1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him.
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house, do him disparagement:
Therefore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns.
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest;
I'll not endure him.

1 Cap. He shall be endur'd;

What, goodman boy! — I say, he shall; — Go to; —
Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him ! — God shall mend ray

soul —
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap. Go to, go to,

You are a saucy boy: — Is't so, indeed? —
This trick may chance to scath you;**) — ^ I know

what.
You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time —
Well said, my hearts: — You are a princox;

go:-*5)
Be quiet, or — More light, more light, for shame ! —
I'll make you quiet; What! — Cheerly, my hearts.

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting.
Makes my flesh tremble in their difl^rent greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall.
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.

Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand *'')

[To JULIBT.

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, —
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too
much.
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch.
And palm to palra is holy palmer's kiss.
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

XXXV.

Act II.

ROMEO AND JULIET

811

Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Jul. Saints do not more, though grant for prayers'
sake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd.

[Kitting her.*'')

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Horn. Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly urg'd !

Give me my sin again.

Jul. You kiss by the book.

Xurte. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Rom. What is her mother?

Nur$e. Marry, bachelor.

Her mother is the lady of the house.
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous:
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;
I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her.
Shall have the chinks.

Rom. Is she a Capulet?

0 dear account! My life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.^*)
Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all;

1 thank you, honest gentlemen; good night: —
More torches here! — Come on, then let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, [to 2 Cap.] by my fay, it w axes late ;
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and IVurse.

Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman?

Nurte. The son and heir of old Tiberio.

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?

Kurte. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not
dance?

Nurte. I know not.

Jul. Go, ask his name: — if he be married.
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Attr«e. His name is Romeo, and a Montague;
The only son of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen luiknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.

Nurte. What's this? what's this?

Jul. A rhyme I leam'd even now

Of one I danc'd withaL [One calU within, Juuet.

Nurte. Anon, anon: —

Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

[Exeunt.

Enter Chorus.
Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,

And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, *») which love groan'd for, and would die,

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again.

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain.

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers us'd to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less

To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means to meet,
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.

ACT II.

Scene I. An open Place, adjoining Capulet'*
Garden.

Enter Rombo.

Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.

[He climbs the Wall, and leapt down within it.

Enter Bknvolio and Mbrcctio.

Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!

Mer. He is wise;

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.

Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd tills orchard wall :
Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh.
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but — Ah me ! couple but — ' } love and dove ;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word.
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir.
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim.
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid — *)
He heareth not, stirreth not, ^] he raoveth not;
The ape is dead, •*) and I must conjure him. —
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, *) and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
! And the demesnes that there adjacent lie.
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some strange natufe, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees,
To be consorted with the humorous night: *)
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree.
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit.
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. — ')
Romeo, good night; — I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep :
Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain

To seek him here, that means not to be found.

[EjceuMt.

SCENE II.

Capulet'* Garden.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. He jests at scars, *) that never felt a wound. —
[Juliet appeart above, at a Window.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks!
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! —
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.
Who is already sick and pale with grief.
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, ^) since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green.
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. —
It is my lady; O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of Uiat?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it. —
KKXV.

812

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act II.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright.
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek !
Jul. Ah me !

Rom. She speaks: —

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head.
As is a A\inged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him.
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds.
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ?

[Aside.

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy; —
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title : — Romeo, doff thy name ;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Ro7n. I take thee at thy word:

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in

night.
So stumblest on my counsel?

Rom. By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound;
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and where-
fore?
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art.
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch
these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let ' °) to me.

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here.

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And, but thou love me,*') let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Tbaa death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

Jul. By whose direction found' st thou out this place?
Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire ;
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face;
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; but farewell, compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know, thou wilt say — Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear' st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully;
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay.
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.'^)
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware.
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love.
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, —
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon.
That monthly changes in her circled orb.
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by ?

Jul. Do not swear at all ;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self.
Which is the god of my idolatry.
And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my heart's dear love —

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for

mine.
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.
Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what pur-
pose, love?
Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea.
My love as deep; the more I give to thee.
The more I have, for both are infinite.

[IVurse calls within.
I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu!
Anon, good nurse ! — Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit,

Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard.
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter Juliet above.
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night

indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable.

XKKV.

Act II.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

813

Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,

By one that I'll procure to come to thee,

Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;

And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay.

And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world:

Nurse. [IFithin.] Madam!

Jul. 1 come, anon : — fiut if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee, —

Nurse. [iFithin.] Madam!

Jul. By and by, I come : —

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.

Mom. So thrive my soul, —

Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit.

Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy
light. —
Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their

books;
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

[Retiring slowly.

Re-enter Juliet, above.

Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again! •^)
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ;
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night.
Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo !

Rom. My sweet! »*)

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?

Rom. At the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.

Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb'ring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand.
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again.
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would, I were thy bird.

Jul. Sweet, so would I :

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow.
That 1 shall say — good night, till it be morrow.

[Exit.

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy
breast! —
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.

SCENE m.

Friar Laurence's Cell.
Enter Friar Laurenck, with a Basket.

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning

night.
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness ' *) like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path -way, made by Titan's

wheels: *')
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye.

The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,

I must up-fill this osier cage of ours,

With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.

The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;

What is her burying grave, that is her womb:

And from her womb children of divers kind

We sucking on her natural bosom find;

Many for many virtues excellent.

None but for some, and yet all different.

O, mickle is the powerful grace, ") that lies

In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:

For nought so vile that on the earth doth live.

But to the earth '^) some special good doth give;

Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use.

Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;

And vice sometime's by action dignified.

Within the infant rind of this small flower

Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:

For this, being smelt, with that part'') cheers each

part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant.
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good morrow, father!

Fri. Benedicite !

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? —
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head.
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye.
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstufT'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure.
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right —
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.

Fri. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosaline ? ,

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou
been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me.
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo.
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As mine on her's, so her's is set on mine;
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how.
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray.
That thou consent to marry us this day.

Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,

KKXV.

814

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act II.

Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;

Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit

Of an old tear that is not wash'd oif yet:

If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,

Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;

And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then —

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

Bom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

Rom. And bad'st me bury love.

Fri. Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have.

Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love now,
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow;
The other did not so.

Fri. O, she knew well.

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come, go with me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove.
To turn your households' rancour to pure love.

Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. ^°)

Fri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run fast.

\Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Street.

Enter Bbnvolio and Mercutio.

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? —
Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that
Rosaline,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

Mer. A challenge, on my life.

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter.

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how
he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! stabbed
with a white wench's black eye ; shot thorough the
ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart
cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;-') And
is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt!

Mer. More than prince of cats,--) I can tell you.
O, he is the courageous captain of compliments.
He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance,
and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two,
and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of
a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of
the very first house, — of the first and second
cause :^') Ah, the immortal passado! the punto re-
verso! the hay! ^*)

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fan-
tasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! — By Jesu,
a very good blade! — a very tall man! — a very
good whore! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these par-
donnez-moyty who stand so much on the new form,
that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O,
their bons, their born!

Enter Romko.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: — O
flesh, fleah, how art thou fishified! — Now is he

KKXV.

for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, to
his lady, was but a kitchen-wench ; — marry, she
had a better love to be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy ;
Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and
harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the
purpose. — Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a
F'rench salutation to your French slop. ^*) You
gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counter-
feit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip;*') Can you not con-
ceive ?

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was
great; and in such a case as mine, a man may
strain courtesy.

Mer. That's as much as to say — such a case as
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning — to court'sy.

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Rom. A most courteous exposition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

Rom. Pink for flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered.*')

Mtr. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou
hast worn out thy pump ; that, when the single sole
of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wear-
ing, solely singular.

Rom. O single-soled jest,*') solely singular for the
singleness !

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail.

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll
cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, - ')
have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose
in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my
whole five: Was 1 with you there for the goose?

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing,
when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest

Rum. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; ^°) it is
a most sharp sauce.

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, * ' ) that stretches
from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Rom. I stretch it out for that word — broad :
which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide
a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning
for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Ro-
meo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well
as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great
natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his
bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against
the hair.

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it
short: for I was come to the whole depth of my
tale: and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument
no longer.

Rom. Here's goodly geer!

Enter Nurse and Peter.
Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!
Peter. Anon?
Nurse. My fan, Peter. ^*)

Mer. 'Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face;
for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Act II.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

815

Nune. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

Mer. God ye good den, ^*) fair gentlewoman.

Jiurte. Is it good den?

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you ; for the bawdy hand
of the dial is now upon the brick of noon.

Nunc. Out upon you! what a man are you?

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made him-
self to mar.

Nurte. By my troth, it is well said ; — For him-
self to mar, quoth'a? — Gentlemen, can any of you
tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be
older when you have found him, than he was when
^ou sought him: I am the youngest of that name,
for 'fault of a worse.

Nurte. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, iTaith;
wisely, wisely.

Nurte. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence
with you.

Ben. She will invite him to some supper.

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!

Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten

pie, that
spent.

is something stale and hoar ere it be

An old hare hoar,

And an old hare hoar,
It very good meat in lent:

But a hare that it hoar.

It too much for a tcore.
When it hoart ere it be tpent. —

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to
dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady,
lady. ^'*) [Exeunt Mekcdtio and BKSvotio.

Nurte. Marry, farewell! — I pray you, sir, what
saucy merchant was this, ^*) that was so full of
his ropery? ^'')

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear him-
self talk; and will speak more in a minute than .he
will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take
him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty
such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that
shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of. his flirt-gills;
I am none of his skains-mates: — ^ ") And thou must
stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at
his pleasure?

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure: if
I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I
warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man,
if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law
on my side.

Nurte. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every
part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — Pray you,
sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady
bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say,
I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if
ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they
say, it were a very gross kind of beaviour, as they
say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore,
if you should deal double with her, truly, it were
an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and
very weak dealing.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress.
I protest unto thee, —

Nurte. Good heart ! and, i'faith, I will tell her as
much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman.

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost
not mark me.

Nurte. I will tell her, sir, — that yon do protest;
which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift
This afternoon;

And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell
Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains.

Nurte. No, truly, sir; not a penny.

Rom. Go to; I say, you shall.

Nurte. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey-wall:
Within this hour my man shall be with thee;
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair: ■*•)
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy ^')
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell! — Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
Farewell! — Commend me to thy mistress.

Nurte. Now God in heaven bless thee! — Hark
you, sir.

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

Nurte. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say —
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel.

Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady —
Lord, lord ! — when 'twas a little prating thing, —
O, there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that
would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul,
had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him.
1 anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is
the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I
say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal
world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both
with a letter?

Rom. Ay, nurse; What of that? both with an R.

Nurte. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R. is
for the dog. No ; I know it begins with some other
letter: and she hath the prettiest sententious of it,
of you and rosemary, that it would do you good
to hear it.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [Ent.

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter!

Peter. Anon?

Nurte. Peter, take my fan, and go before. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Capulet'< Garden.

Elnter Juliet.

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance, she cannot meet him: — that's not so. —
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams.
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills:
Thereforp do nimble-pinion doves draw love.
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid winga.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours, — yet she is not come.
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood.
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love.
And his to me:

But old folks, many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

Enter Nurse and Petes.
O God, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news ?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurte. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Petek.

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — O lord! why look'st
thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;

UUKV.

816

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act III.

If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse. 1 am aweary, give me leave a while ; —
Fye, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!

Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news!
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse,
speak.

Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?
Do you not see, that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast
breath
To say to me — that thou art out of breath?
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance :
Let me be satisfied; is't good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you
know not how to choose a man : Romeo ! no, not
he; though his face be better than any man's, yet
his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot,
and a body, — though they be not to be talked on,
yet they are past compare: He is not the flower
of courtesy, — but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a
lamb. — Go thy ways, wench; serve God. — What,
have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before;
What says he of our marriage? what of that?

Nurse. Lord, how my head akes! what a head
have I?
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces,
My back o' t'other side. — O, my back, my back ! —
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about.
To catch my death with jaunting up and down !

Jul. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well:
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?

Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome.
And, I warrant, a virtuous : — Where is your mother?

Jul. Where is my mother? — why, she is within;
Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st!
Your love says like an honest gentleman, —
Where is your mother?

Nurse. O, God's lady dear!

Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow;
Is this the poultice for my aking bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.

Jul. Here's such a coil, — Come, what says Romeo?

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?

Jul. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell,
There stays a husband to make you a vyife :
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks.
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church ; I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark:
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.

Jul. Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Friar Laurence's Cell.
Enter Friar Lacrbnce and Rombo.

Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight:

Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare.
It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends.
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder.
Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives*") as tardy as too slovv.

Enter Juliet.
Here comes the lady; — O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint;
A lover may bestride the gossomers * ')
That idle in the wanton summer air.
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.

Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much.

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, '*^) more rich in matter than in words.
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short
work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone.
Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A public Place.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants.

Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire;
The day is hot, ') the Capulets abroad.
And if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl;
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when
he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his
sword upon the table, and says, God send me no
need of thee ! and, by the operation of the second
cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there
is no need.

Ben. Am I like such a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy
mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be
moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should
have none shortly, for one would kill the other.
Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath
a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou
hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking
nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast
hazel eyes; what eye, but such an eye, would spy
out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quar-
rels, as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head
hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrel-
ling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing
in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog
that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not
fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet
before Easter? with another, for tying his new

XKXV.

Act III.

ROMEO AND JULIET

817

shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me
from quarrelling!

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any
man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an
hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-simple? O simple!

Enter Tybalt, and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.

Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. B'ollow me close, for I will speak to them. —
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.

Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple
it with something; make it a word and a blow.

Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if
you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without
giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, —

Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels!
an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing
but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall
make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either withdraw into some private place.
Or reason coldly of your grievances.
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them
gaze;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter Romeo.

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes
my man.

Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery :
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;
Your worship, in that sense, may call him — man.

Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford
No better terra than this — Thou art a villain.

Bom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting: — Villain am I none;
Therefore farewell; I see, thou know'st me not.

Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw.

Bom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee;
But love thee better than thou canst devise.
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender
As dearly as mine own, — be satisfied.

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
A la s toccata ^) carries it away. [Draws.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

Tyb. What would'st thou have with me?

Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your
nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and
as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of
the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his
pilcher by the ears? ^) make haste, lest mine be
about your ears ere it be out.

Tyb. I am for you. [Drawing.

Bom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight.

Bom. Draw, Benvolio;
Beat down their weapons : — Gentlemen, for shame
Forbear this outrage ; — Tybalt — Mercutio —
The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying
In Verona's streets: — hold, Tybalt — good Mercutio.
[Exeunt Tybalt and bis Fartizans.

Mer. I am hurt; —
A plague o' both the houses ! — I am sped :
Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Ben. What, art thou hurt?

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis
enough. —
Where is my page? — go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

[Exit Page.

Bom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide
as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask
for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave
man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world : —
A plague o'both your houses ! — 'Zounds, a dog, a
rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a
braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book
of arithmetic! — Why, the devil, came you between
us? I was hurt under your arm.

Bom. I thought all for the best.

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. — A plague o'both your houses!
They have made worm's meat of me:
I have it, and soundly too: — Your houses!

[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.

Bom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been thy kinsman: — O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate.
And in my temper soften'd valour's steeL

Be- enter Benvolio.
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead;
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
Bom. This day's black fate on more days doth
depend; ^)
This but begins the woe, others must end.

Be- enter Tybalt.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

Bom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
Away to heaven, respective lenity, *)
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now! — ^)
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again.
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads.
Staying for thine to keep him company;
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him
here,
Shalt with him hence.

Bom. This shall determine that.

[They fight; Tybalt falls.

Ben. Romeo, aAvay, be gone!
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain: —
Stand not amaz'd : — the prince will doom thee death.
If thou art taken: — hence! — be gone! — away!

Bom. O ! I am fortune's fool !

Ben. Why dost thou stay ?

[Exit RoaiEo.

Enter Citizens, ^c.

1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kili'd Mercutio ?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

Ben. There lies that Tybalt.

1 Cit. Up, sir, go with me;

I charge thee in the prince's name, obey.

Enter Pbincb, attended; Montague, CAPinLBT,
their Wives, and others.

Princ. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl :
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

XXXV.

52

818

ROIVfEO AND JULIET.

Act III.

ha. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! — O my brother's child !
Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman ! — Prince, as thou art true, ')
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. —

0 cousin, cousin!

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did
slay ;
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice ^) the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure : — All this — uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, —
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point.
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud.
Hold, friends! friends f part! and swifter than his

tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like light'ning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly;
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, ^) he speaks not true :
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life:

1 beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
Who now the pi'ice of his dear blood doth owe?

Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend ;
His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.

Prin. And, for that offence.

Immediately we do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hates' proceeding.
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding;
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine:
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses,
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will :
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

\Exeunt.

SCEIVE II.

A Room in Capulet'* House.

Enter Juliet.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phcebus' mansion; such a waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately. —
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!
That run-away's eyes may wink; "*) and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen ! —
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties: or, if love be blind.
It best agrees with night. — Come, civil night,**)
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,

And learn me how to lose a winning match,

Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:

Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks, **)

With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,

Think true love acted, simple modesty.

Come, night! — Come, Romeo! come, thou day in

night!
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on ' ^) a raven's back. —
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black -brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars.
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun. **)
O, I have bought the mansion of a love.
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: So tedious is this day.
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child, that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,

Enter Nurse, with Cords.
And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. ■ —
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there?

the cords.
That Romeo bade thee fetch?

Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.

[Throws them down,

Jul. Ah me ! what news ! why dost thou wring thine
hands?

Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's
dead !
We are undone, lady, we are undone ! —
Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

Jul. Can heaven be so envious?

Nurse. Romeo can.

Though heaven cannot : — O Romeo, Romeo ! — •
Who ever would have thought it? — Romeo!

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but /, * ^)
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an /;
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, /.
If he be slain, say — J; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe.

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, —
God save the mark! **) here on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood ; — I swooned at the sight.

Jul. O break, my heart! — poor bankrupt, break
at once!
To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Yile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier!

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had I
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord? —
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did.

Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?

RKKV.

Act III.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

819

Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-rarening Iamb !
Despised substance of divinest show !
Just opposite to >\hat thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell.
When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? —
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
Nurse. There's no trust,

No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd.
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. —
Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitee:
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue,

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame :
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd

your cousin f

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy
name, ' ')

When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? —
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe.
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus-
band :
All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my memory.
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished;
That — banished, that one word — banished,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. » 8) Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, —
Why foUow'd not, when she said — Tybalt's dead.
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation ") might have mov'd?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished, — to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead : — Romeo is banished, —
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound.
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. —
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall
be spent.
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords: — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd.
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
To comfort you: — I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.

Jul, O find him ! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III,

Friar Laurence'* Cell.

Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo.

Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful
man;
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts.
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's
doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand.
That I yet know not?

Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?
Fri. A gentler judgment vanished from his lips.
Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say — death:
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death : do not say — banishment.

Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world Is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls.
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banish'd is banish'd from the world.
And world's exile is death ; — then banishment ^ ")
Is death mis-tenu'd : calling death — banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe.
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthaiikfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
This is dear mercy, *') and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here.
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing.
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not. — More validity.
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: ^^) they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty.
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife.
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But — banished — to kill me ; banished ?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd.
To mangle me with that word — banishment?
Fri. Thou fond madman, hear me but speak a word.
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off' that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy.
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. Yet banished ? — Hang up philosophy !
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.
Fri. O, then 1 see that madmen have no ears.
KKHV. v2

820

ROxMEO AND JULIET

Act III

n

Rom. How should they, when that wise men have

no eyes?
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.-^)
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not

feel :
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered.
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear

thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Fri. Arise; one knocks: good Romeo, hide thyself.

[^Knocking within.
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans.
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

[Knocking.
Fri. Hark how they knock! — Who's there: —
Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken : — Stay a while : — stand up ;

[Knocking.
Run to my study : — By and by : — God's will !
What wilfulness is this! — I come, I come. [Knocking.
Who knocks so hard V whence come you V what's
your will ?
Nurse. [IFithin.] Let me come in, and you shall
know my errand;
I come from lady Juliet.
Fri. Welcome then.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar.
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo V

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears
made drunk.

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her case !

Fri. O woeful sympathy!

Piteous predicament !

Nurse. Even so lies she.

Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering: —
Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man :
B^or Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep an O?

Rom. Nurse!

Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! — Well, death's the end of all.

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth she not think me an old murderer.
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps ;
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.

Rom. As if that name.

Shot from the deadly level of a gun.
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion. [Dratving hi» Sword.

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?

And slay thy lady too that lives in thee,

By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once would'st lose.
Fye, fye! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax.
Digressing from the valour of a man :
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury.
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish ■
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both.
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, ^*)
Is set on fire by thine own ignorance.
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.^')
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive.
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead ;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend.
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy loAe:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her;
But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set.
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends.
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. —
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed.
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto :
Romeo is coming.

Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid hex'e all the night,
To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! —
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

[Ejcit Nurse.

Ro7n. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all
your state; -')
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from lience:
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here.
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.

Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
Fa re well. [ Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Capulet'* House.

Enter Capui.et, Lady Capulet, and Paris.

Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly.
And so did I ; — Well ; we were born to die. —
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

XXKV.

Act in.

ROMEO AND JULIET,

821

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo:
Madam, good nipht : commend me to your daughter.

La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-
morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up-') to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender - ^)
Of my child's love : I think, she will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ;
Acquaint her here of ray son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next —
Uut, soft; What day is this?

I'ar. Monday, my lord.

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too
soon,
O' Thursday let it be : — o' Thursday, tell her.
She shall be married to this noble earl : —
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado: — a friend, or two: —
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so lite,
It may be thought we held him carelessly.
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we'll have some half-a-dozen friends.
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-
morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone: — O' Thursday be it
then: —
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. —
Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho !
Afore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by: — Good night.

\Exeunt.

SCENE V.

J u 1 i e t ' « Chamber.

Enter Rombo and Julikt.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:-')
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Ro7n. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops;
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales.
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex ^°) of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vanity heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay ^ ' ) than w ill to go : —
Come, death, and welcome 1 Juliet wills it so. —
How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away;
It is the lark that sings so out of tune.
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lai'k makes sweet division; '-)
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!
Since arm from ann that voice doth us affray,

Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.**)
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
Rom.- More light and light? — more dark and dark
our woes.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Madam I

Jul. Nurse?

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber:
The day is broke; be wary, look about. [JSxit Nurse.

Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.

Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

[Romeo deacendi.

Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my
friend !
I must hear from thee every day i'the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O ! by this count I shall be much in years.
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul;
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below.
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu!

[Exit RoMKo.

Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? *'*) Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.

La. Cap. [ITithin.] Ho, daughter! are you up?

Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early ?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?*')

Enter Lady Capdlbt.

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul. Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears ?
An if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him live;
Therefore have done: Some grief shows much of love;
But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you weep for.

Jul. Feeling so the loss,

I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for
his death.
As that the villain lives that slaughter'd him.

Jul. What villain, madam?

La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.

La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives.

Jul. Ay, madam, from *') tlie reach of these my

hands.
'Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death!

La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou
not:
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, —
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, —
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught.
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

KKXV.

822

BOMEO AND JULIET.

Act III.

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him — dead —
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd : —
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof.
Soon sleep in quiet — O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam'd, — and cannot come to him, —
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him !

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such
a man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time:
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father,
child ;
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy.
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.

Jul. Madam, in happy time, ^') what day is that?

La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday
mom,
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman.
The county Paris, *^) at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste; that I must wed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate.
Rather than Paris: — These are news indeed!

La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell] him so
yourself.
And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter Capulet and Nurse.

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew ;
But for the sunset of my brother's son,
It rains downright. —

How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore showering? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind :
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, ,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this soft flood; the winds, thy sighs;
Who, — raging with thy tears, and they with them, —
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest -tossed body. — How now, wife?
Have you delivered to her our decree?

La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you
thanks.
I would, the fool were married to her grave!

Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife.
How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks?
Is she not proud? doth she not count her bless'd,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you
have:
Proud can I never be of what I hate;
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap. How now! how now, chop-logic! What is
this?
Proud, — and, I thank you, — and, I thank you

not; —
And yet not proud ; — Mistress minion, you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church.
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!
You tallow face.

La. Cap. Fye, fye! what are you mad?

Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees.
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient wretch !
I tell thee what, — get thee to church o'Thursday,
Or never after look me in the face:
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;
My fingers itch. — Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd,
That God had sent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is one too much.
And that we have a curse in having herj
Out on her, hilding!

Nurse, God in heaven bless her! —

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.

Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse. I speak no treason.

Cap. O, God ye good den!

Nurse. May not one speak ?

Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool !

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl.
For here we need it not.

La. Cap. You are too hot.

Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night,
late, early.
At home, abroad, alone, in company.
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her match'd : and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd (as they say) with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man, —
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender.
To answer — /'// not wed — / cannot love,
I am too young, — I pray you, pardon me; —
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i'the streets.
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee.
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit,

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds.
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away !
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word;
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit.

Jul. O God! — O nurse! how shall this be pre-
vented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth.
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth ? — Comfort me, counsel me. —
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself! —
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.

Nurse. 'Faith, here 'tis: Romeo

Is banish'd; and all the world to nothing.
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth*
I think it best you married with the county. ^')
O, he's a lovely gentleman !
Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam.

KXKV.

Act IV.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

823

Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
B'or it excels your first: or if it did not.
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good lie were,
As living here and you no use of him.

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?

Nurse. From my soul too ;

Or else beshrew them both.

Jul. Amen I

Nurse. To what?

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone.
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell.
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

[Exit.

Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin — to wish me thus forsworn.
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare
So many thousand times? — Go, counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. —
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Friar Laurence'a Cell.
Enter Friar Laurbncis and Paris.

Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.

Par. My father Capulet will have it so;
And I am nothing slow, to slack his baste. *)

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind;
Uneven is the course, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death.
And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous.
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage.
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone.
May be put from her by society;
Now do you know the reason of this haste.

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.

[Aside.
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

Enter Juliet.

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife!

Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.

Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next.

Jul. What must be, shall be.

Fri. That's a certain text.

Par. Come you to make confession to this father?

Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you.

Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me.

Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him.

Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me.

Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.

Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that;
For it was bad enough, before their spite.

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that
report.

Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.

Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. —
Are you at leisure, holy father, now;
Or shall I come to you at evening mass? ^)

Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now; —
My lord, we must entreat the time alone.
Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion! —
Juliet, on Thursday early I will rouse you:
Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss.

[Exit Pabi8.
Jul. O, shut the door! and when thon hast done so.
Come weep with me: Past hope, past cure, past help!
Fri, Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
It strains me past the compass of my wits:
I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it.
On Thursday next be married to this county.
Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this.
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help.
Do thou but call my resolution wise.
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
And ei'e this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed, ^)
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire ; *) arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art *)
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die.
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry county Paris,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself;
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame.
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.
Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave.
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble ;
And I will do it without fear or doubt.
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.
Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow;
To-morrow night look that thou He alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this phial, being then in bed.
And this distilled liquor drink thou off:
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His natural progress, but surcease to beat:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall.
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government.
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death:
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours.
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.

XHRT.

824

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act IV.

Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
Then, (as the manner of our country is,)
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,
Wiiere all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou slialt awake.
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift;
And hither shall he come; and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
If no unconstant toy, ') nor womanish fear.
Abate thy valour in the acting it.
Jul. Give me, O give me! tell me not of fear.')
Fri. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous
In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.
Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall
help afford.
Farewell, dear father! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in Capulet'« House.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and
Servant.

Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. —

[Exit Servant.
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. ^)

2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for I'll try
if they can lick their fingers.

Cap. How canst thou try them so?

2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick
his own fingers: therefore he, that cannot lick his
fingers, goes not with me.

Cap. Go, begone. — [Exit Servant.

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. —
What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence?

Nurse. Ay, forsooth.

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Enter Juliet.

Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift ') with
merry look.

Cap. How now, my headstrong? where have you
been gadding? '°)

Jul. Where 1 have learn'd me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you, and your behests; and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
And beg your pardon: — Pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

Cap. Send for the county; go tell him of this;
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.

Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
And gave him what becomed love") I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

Cap. Why, I'm glad on't; this is well, — stand up:
This is as't should be. — Let me see the county ;
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. —
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar.
All our whole city is much bound to him.

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet.
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?

La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her: — we'll to church
to-morrow. [Exeunt Jumet and Nurse.

La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.

Cap. Tush! I will stir about.

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
I'll not to bed to-night; — let me alone;
I'll play the housewife for this once. — What, ho ! —
They are all forth : Well, I will walk myself
To county Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morrow : my heart is wond'rous light.
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Juliet's Chamber.

Enter Juliet and Nurse.

Jul. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night;
For I have need of many orisons *-)
To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin.

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap. What, are you busy? do you need my help ?

Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:
So please you, let me now be left alone.
And let the nurse this night sit up with you ;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all.
In this so sudden business.

La. Cap. Goodnight!

Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.

[Exeimt Lady Capulet and Nurse.

Jul. Farewell! — God knows, when we shall meet
again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins.
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me; —
Nurse! — What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone. —
Come, phial. —

What if this mixture do not work at all?
Must I of force be married to the county? —
No, no ; — this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. —
[Laying down a Dagger.
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead;
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not.
For he hath still been tried a holy man:
I will not entertain so bad a thought. —
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault.
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like.
The horrible conceit of death and night.
Together with the terror of the place, —
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle.
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, ' ')
Lies fest'ring "*) in his shroud; where, as they say.
At some hours in the night spirits resort; —
Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, ' *)
So early waking, — what with loathsome smells;
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth.
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad; —
O! if I vake, shall I not be distraught, •<')
Environed with all these hideous fears?

Act IV.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

825

And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks, I see ray cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point: — Stay, Tybalt, stay! —
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[SAe throw* berielf on the Bed.

SCENE IV.

Capulet'a Hall.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more

spices, nurse.
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the

pastry. ^')

Enter Capulbt.

Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath
crow'd.
The curfeu bell ") hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: —
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica:
Spare not for cost.

Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go.

Get you to bed; 'faith, you'll be sick to-morrow
For this night's watching.
Cap. No, not a whit; What! I have watch'd ere
now
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.
La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your
time; ">)
But I will watch you from such watching now.

[^Exeunt Lady Cafulbt and Nurse.
Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! — Now, fellow.
What's there?

Enter Servants, with Spits, Logs, and Baskets.

iServ. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not

what.
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv.] —
Sirrah, fetch drier logs;
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.
2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.

Cap. 'Mass, and well said; A merry whoreson! ha.
Thou shalt be logger-head. — Good faith, 'tis day :
The county will be here with music straight,

[Mimic within.
For so he said he would. I hear him near: —
Nurse ! — Wife ! — what, ho ! — what, nurse, I say !

Enter Nurse.
Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up ;
I'll go and chat with Paris: — Hie, make haste.
Make haste! the bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say! [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Juliet'* Chamber; Juliet on the Bed.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Mistress! — what, mistress! — Juliet! —

fast, I warrant her, she: —
Why, lamb ! — why lady ! — fye, you slug-a-bed! —
Why, love, I say! — madam! sweet-heart! — why,

bride! —
What, not a word? — you take your pennyworths

now;

Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The county Paris hath set up his rest.
That you shall rest but little. — God forgive me,
(Marry, and amen!) how sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her: — Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed ;
He'll fright you up, i'faith. — Will it not be?
What, drest ! and in your clothes ! and down again !
I must needs wake you: — Lady! lady! lady!
Alas ! alas ! — Help ! help ! my lady's dead ! —
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! —
Some aqua-vitK, ho! — my lord! my lady!

Enter Lady Capolbt.

La. Cap. What noise is here?

Nurse. O lamentable day!

La. Cap. What is the matter?

Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day !

La. Cap. O me, O me! — my child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! —
Help, help ! — call help.

Enter Capclet.

Cap.. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord is come.

Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the
. day !

La. Cap. Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead,
she's dead.

Cap. Ha! let me see her: — Out, alas! she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Accursed time ! unfortunate old man !

Nurse. O lamentable day!

La. Cap. O woful time!

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me
wail.
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.

Enter Friar Laurkncb and Paris, with
Musicians.

Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Cap. Ready to go, but never to return:
O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death Iain with thy bride : — See, there she lies.
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die.
And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's.

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's
face.
And doth it give me such a sight as this?

La.Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage !
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child.
But one thing to rejoice and solace in.
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.

Nurse. O woe! O woful, woful, woful day I
Most lamentable day! most woful day.
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day ! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woful day, O woful day!

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd.
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! —
O love! O life! — not life, but love in death!

Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! —
Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now
To murder murder our solemnity ? —

KKXV.

826

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act V.

O child ! O child ! — my soul, and not my child ! —
Dead art thou, dead! -") alack! my child is dead;
And, v^ith my child, my joys are buried!

Fri. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid :
Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was — her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well :
She's not well married, that lives married long;
But she's best married, that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For thougii fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Ca'p. All things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse.
And all things change them to the contrary.

Fri. Sir, go you in, — and, madam, go with
him ; —
And go, sir Paris; — every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill; _
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.

\Exeunt Cai'Olet, Lady Gafulet, Pabis,
arul Friar.

1 Mu». 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be
gone.

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put np, put up;
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

[Exit Nurso.

1 Mu$. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Enter Peter.

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians. Heart's ease, heart's
ease; O, an you will have me live, play — heart's
ease.

iMus. Why heart's ease?

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays —
My heart is full of woe : O, play me some merry
dump, *') to comfort me.

2Mus. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now.

Pet. You will not thenV

Mus. No.

Pet. I will then give it you soundly.

1 Mus. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will
give, you the minstrel. -^)

1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Pet. Then will 1 lay the serving-creature's dagger
on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you,
I'll fa you; Do you note me?

1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put
out your wit.

Pet. Then have at you with iny A\it; I will dry-
beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron
dagger : — Answer me like men :

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress.
Then music, with her silver sound;

Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver
sound ?
What say you, Simon Catling? *^)

1 Mus, Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? ^*)

2 Mus. 1 say — silver sound, because musicians
sound for silver.

Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I
will say for you. It is — music with her silver
sound, because such fellows as you have seldom
gold for sounding: —

Then music with her silver sound.
With speedy help doth lend redress.

[Exit, tinging.
iMus. What a pestilent knave is this same?
2 Mus. Hang him. Jack ! Come, we'll in heie ; tarry
for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.

ACT V. »)

SGENB I. Mantua. A Street.

Enter Romko.

Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, -)
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand :
My bosom's lord ^) sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;
(Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to

think,)
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd.
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy?

Enter Balthazar.

News from Verona! — How now, Balthazar?
Dost tjjou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body sleeps in Capels' monument.
And her immortal part with angels lives;
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it to you:

0 pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

Rom. Is it even so ? tlien I defy you, stars ! —
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper.
And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus:
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

Rom. Tush, thou art decelv'dj

Leave me, and do the thing 1 bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

Bal. No, my good lord.

Rom. No matter : Get thee gone.

And hire those horses; Fli be with thee straight.

[Exit Balthazah.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means: — O, mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

1 do remember an apothecary, —

And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,

XBKV.

Act V.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

827

Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung.
An alligator stuffd, "•) and other skins
Of ili-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggaily account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds.
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said —
An if a man *) did need a poison now.
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
O, this same thought did but fore-run my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house t
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. —
What, ho ! apothecary !

Elnter Apothecary.

Ap. Who calls so loud?

Horn. Come hither, man. — I see that thou art poor;
Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
A dram of poison; such soon-speeding geer
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath
As violently, as hasty powder fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
Is death, to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness.
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stai-veth in thy eyes.
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery.
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law:
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.

Rom. 1 pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will.
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.

Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls.
Doing more murders in this loathsome world.
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewell ; buy food, and get thyself in flesh. —
Come, cordial, and not poison; go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE U.

Friar Laurence'f Cell.
Enter Friar John.
John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

Enter Friar Laurence.

Lau. This same should be the voice of friar John. —
Welcome from Mantua: What says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

John. Going to find a bare-foot brother out.
One of our order, to associate me, *)
Here in this city visiting the sick,
And finding him, the searchers of the town.
Suspecting, that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.

Lam, Who bare my letter then to Romeo?

John. I could not send it, — here it is agaia, —
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee.
So fearful were they of infection.

Lau. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood.
The letter was not nice, ") but full of charge.
Of dear import; and the neglecting it
May do much danger: Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit.

Lau. Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo
\ Hath had no notice of these accidents;
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb!

[Exit.

SCENE m.

A Churchyard; in it a Monument belonging
to the Ca'pulets.

Enter Paris, and his Page, bearing Flowers and
a Torch.

Par. Give me thy toi'ch, boy: Hence, and stand

aloof; —
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along.
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,)
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me.
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.

[Betiret.

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bri-
dal bed:
Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain
The perfect model of eternity;
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain.
Accept this latest favour at my hands;
That living honour'd thee, and, being dead.
With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb!

[The Boy wMitlea.
The boy gives warning, something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night.
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites?
What, with a torch I — muffle me, night, awhile.

[Retires.

Enter Romeo and Balthazar, toith a Torch,
Mattock, (J-c.

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrencbing-
iron.
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light: Upon thy life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face :
But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead fingev
A precious ring; a ring, that I must use
In dear employment:*) therefore hence, be gone: —
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do.
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint.
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs:
The time and my intents are savage-wild;

XKKV.

828

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act V.

More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Thau empty tigers, or the roaring sea.

Bal. I will begone, sir, and not trouble you.

Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take
thou that:
Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow.

Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout;
His looks 1 fear, and his intents 1 doubt. [Retires.

Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[Breaking open the Door of the Monument.
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!

Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague,
That murder'd my love's cousin; — with which grief,
It is supposed, the fair creature died, —
And here is come to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. —

[Advances.
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague;
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?
Condemn'd villain, I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither. —
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.
Fly hence and leave me; — think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. — I beseech thee, youth,
Heap not another sin upon my head,
By urging me to fury: — O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better than myself:
For I come hither arm'd against myself;
Stay not, be gone; — live, and hereafter say, —
A madman's mercy bade thee run away.

Par. I do defy thy conjurations, ')
And do attach thee as a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee,
boy. [They fight.

Page. O Lord! they fight: I will go call the watch.

[Exit Page.

Par. O, I am slain! [falls.'] — If thou be merciful.
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Vies.

Rom. In faith, I will: — Let me peruse this face; —
Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris: —
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think.
He told me, Paris should have married Juliet:
Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so? — O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book !
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, —
A grave? O, no; a lantern,'") slaughter'd youth.
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence ' ') full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. '^)

[Laijivg Pj»ki8 in the Monument.
How oft when men are at the point of death.
Have they been merry? wiiich their keepers call
A lightning before death: O, how may 1
Call this a lightning? — '^) O, my love, my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath.
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty :
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there. —

Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?

O, what more favour can I do to thee.

Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,

To sunder his that was thine enemy ?
Forgive me, cousin ! — Ah, dear Juliet,

Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe

That unsubstantial death is amorous; '

And that the lean abhorred monster keeps

Thee here in dark to be his paramour?

For fear of that, I will still stay with thee;

And never from this palace of dixn night

Depart again; here, here will I remain

With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here

Will I set up my everlasting rest;

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars

From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your

last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss,
A dateless bargain tOj^ngrossing death! — ''*)
Come, bitter conduct,'*) come, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here's to my love! — [Drinks.] O, true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss I die.

[Dies.

Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar

Lacrkncb, with a Lantern, Crow, and Spade.

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at graves? — '') Who's

there?
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead? ''')

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows
you well.

Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,
It burneth in the Capels' monument.

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you love.

Fri. Who is it?

Bal. Romeo.

Fri. How long hath he been there?

Bal. Full half an hour.

Fri. Go with me to the vault.

Bal. I dare not, sir:

My master knows not, but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death.
If I did stay to look on his intents.

Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone: — Fear comes
upon me;
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought, '^)
And that my master slew him.

Fri. Romeo ? — [Advances.

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? —
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

[Enters the Monument.
Romeo! O, pale! — Who else? what, Paris too?
And .<;teep'd in blood? — Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance! —
The lady stirs. [Juhet wakes and stirs.

Jul. O, comfortable friar! where is ray lord?
I do remember well where I should be.
And there I am: — Where is my Romeo?

[Noise within.

Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that

nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep;
A greater Power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents; come, come away:
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too; come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns;
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;
Come, go, good Juliet, — [Noise again] I dare stay
no longer. [Exit.

KXBV.

Act V.

ROMEO AND JULIET

829

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. —
What's here? a cup, clos'd in iny true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end : —
O churl! drink all; and leave no friendly drop,
To help ine after? — I will kiss thy lips;
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them.
To make nie die with a restorative. [Kisses him.

Thy lips are warm!

1 Watch, [jnthin.] Lead, boy: — Which way?

Jul. Yea, noise? — then I'll be brief. — O happy

dagger! [Snatching Romko's Dagger.

This is thy sheath; [stabs herself] there rust, and let

me die. [Falh on Roueo'< Body, and dies.

Enter Watch, with the Page 0/ Paris.

Page. This is the place; there, where the torch
doth burn.

1 Watch. The ground Is bloody ; Search about the

churchyard :
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find, attach,

[Exeunt some.
Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain; —
And Juliet bleeding ; warm, and newly dead.
Who here hath lain these two days buried. —
Go, tell the prince, — run to the Capulets, —
Raise up the Montagues, — some others search; —
[Exeunt other Watchmen.
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes,
We cannot without circumstance descry.

Enter some of the Watch, m(A Balthazar.

2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in

the churchyard.
1 Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince come
hither.

Enter another Watchman, with Friar
Laurence.

3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and

weeps :
We took this mattock and this spade from him.
As he Avas coming from this churchyard side.
1 Watch. A great suspicion; Stay the friar too.

Enter the Prince and Attendants.

Prince. What misadventure is so early up.
That calls our person from our morning's rest?

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others.

Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad ?
La. Cap. The people in the street cry — Romeo,
Some — Juliet, and some — Paris; and all run.
With open outcry, toward our monument.
Prince. What fear is this, which startles in our

ears?
1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris
slain ;
And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before.
Warm and new kill'd.
Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder

comes.
1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's
man;
With instruments upon them, fit to open
These dead men's tombs.
Cap. O, heavens ! — O, wife ! look how our daugh-
ter bleeds!
This dagger hath mista'en, — for, lo ! his house

Is empty on the back of Montague, —

And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom. •')

La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a bell,
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

Enter Montague and others.

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up.
To see thy son and heir more early down.

Man. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night;
Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath;
What further woe conspires against mine age?

Prince. Look, and thou shalt see.

Man. O thou untaught! what manners is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave?

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear these ambiguities.
And know their spring, their head, their true descent;
And then will I be general of your woes.
And lead you even to death: Mean time forbear.
And let mischance be slave to patience. —
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least.
Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me, of this direful murder;
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
Myself condemned and myself excus'd.

Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know
in this.

Fri. I will be brief, - ") for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife:
I married them; and their stolen marriage-day
Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city;
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd.
You — to remove that siege of grief from her, —
Betroth'd and would have married her perforce,
To county Paris: — Then comes she to me;
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means
To rid her from this second marriage,
Oi', in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping potion; which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come as this dire night, ^
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave.
Being the time the potion's force should cease:
But he which bore my letter, friar John,
Was staid by accident; and yesternight
Return'd my letter back: Then all alone.
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell.
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
But, when I came, (some minute ere the time
Of her awakening,) here untimely lay
The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead.
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth.
And bear this work of heaven with patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But (as it seems) did violence on herself.

All this I know; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: And, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.
Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. —

Where's Romeo's man! what can he say in this?
Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death;

XKXV.

830

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Act V.

And then in post he came from Mantua,
To this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early bid me give his father;
And threatened me with death, going in the vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it.
Where is the countj's page, that rais'd the watch?
Sirrah, what made your master in this place? —

Page. He came with flowers' to strew his lady's
^ grave;
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did :
Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb;
And, by and by, my master drew on him;
And then I ran away to call the watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's
words.
Their course of love, the tidings of her death :
And here he writes — that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. —
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate.

That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

And I, for winking at your discords too.

Have lost a brace of kinsmen : — * ' ) all are punlsh'd.

Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand:
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.

Mon. But I can give thee more:

For I will raise her statue in pure gold;
That, while Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set.
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity !

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it
brings ;
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head;
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pai'don'd, and some punished:*^)
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt.

XXXVI.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Claudius, King of Denmark.

Hamlkt, 0 Son to the former, and Nephew to the

present King.
PoLONius, Lord Chamberlain.
IIoHATio, Friend to Hamlet.
Labrtes, Son to Polonius.

VoLTIMAND, \

Cornelius, f Couriier*.

ROSENCRAKTZ, I
GuiLDKNSTERN, '

OsRic, a Courtier.
Another Courtier.
A Priest.

MaRCELLDS, ) Qjp

Bbrnabdo, ) •"

Francisco, a Soldier.

Rkynaldo, Servant to Polonius.

A Captain.

An Ambassador.

Ghost of Hamlet'* Father.

FoRTiNBRAs, Princc of Norway.

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother of

Hamlet.
Ophelia, Daughter of Polonius.

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grare-
diggers. Sailors, Messengers, and other At-
tendants.

ScBNB ■— Elsinore.

ACT I.

SCENB I. Elsinore. A Platform before the
Castle.

Francisco on his Post. Enter to him Bernardo.

Bernardo.

Who's there?

Fran. Nay, answer me: *) stand, and unfold

Yourself.

Ber. Long live the king!

Fran. Bernardo ?

Ber. He.

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour.

Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed,
Francisco,

Fran. For this relief, much thanks : 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ber. Have you had quiet guard?

Fran. Not a mouse stirring.

Ber. Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, ^) bid them make haste.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

Fran. I think, I hear them. — Stand, ho ! Who is
there?

Hor. Friends to this ground.

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane.

Fran. Give you good night.

Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier:

Who hath reliev'd you?

Fran. Bernardo hath my place.

Give you good night {Exit Fbancmco.

Mar. Holla! Bernardo!

Ber. Say.

What, is Horatio there?

Hor. A piece of hiin.

Ber. Welcome, Horat-lo ; welcome, good Marcellus.

Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?

Ber. I have seen nothing.

Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy;
And will not let belief take hold of him.
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
Therefore I have entreated him, along
With us to watch the minutes of this night;
That, if again this apparition come.
He may approve our eyes, *) and speak to it.

Hor. Tush ! tush ! 'twill not appear,

Ber. Sit down awhile;

And let us once again assail your ears.
That are so fortified against our story.
What we two nights have seen.

Hor. Well, sit we down,

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.

Ber. Last night of all.
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole,
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself.
The bell then beating one, —

Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, -where it comes
again!

Enter Ghost.
Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. *)
Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
Hor. Most like: — it harrows me') with fear,

and wonder.
Ber. It would be spoke to.

Mar. Speak to it, Horatio.

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee,
speak.

KKXTI.

832

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act I.

Mar. It is offended.

Ber. See! it stalks away.

Hor. Stay ; speak : speak, I charge thee, speak.

[Exit Ghost,

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer.

Ber. How now, Horatio ? you tremble, and look pale :
Is not this something more than fantasy ?
What think you of it?

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe,
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

Mar. Is it not like the king?

Hor. As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on.
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded '') Polack on the ice. *)
'Tis strange.

Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead
hour, 9)
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.

Hor. In what particular thought to work, '") I

know not;
But, in the gross and scope '■) of mine opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that
knows.
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land ?
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon.
And foreign mart for implements of war:
Why such impress of shipwrights, ^ ^) whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week:
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-lab«urer with the day;
Who is't, that can inform me?

Hor. That can I;

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king.
Whose image even but now appear'd to us.
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,)
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact.
Well ratified by law, and heraldry.
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands.
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-mart,
And carriage of the article design'd, '*)
His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full, ^*)
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Shark'd up a list ^*) of landless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprize

That hath a stomach in't: ^'') which is no other

(As it doth well appear unto our state,)

But to recover of us, by strong hand.

And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands

So by his father lost: And this, I take it.

Is the main motive of our preparations ;

The source of this our watch; and the chief head

Of this post-haste and romagc ") in the land.
[Ber. I think, ^^) it be no other, but even so:

Well may it sort, *') that this portentous figure

Comes armed through our watch ; so like the king

That was, and is, the question of these wars. ^'*)
Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye.

In the most high and palmy state of Rome,-')

A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.

As, stars, with trains of lire and dews of blood.
Disasters in the sun; ^-) and the moist star, -^)
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands.
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even -") the like precurse of fierce events, —
As harbingers preceding still the fates.
And prologue to the omen coming on, — -*)
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen. — ]

Re-enter Ghost.
But, soft; behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, ^*) or use of voice.
Speak to me:

If there be any good thing to be done.
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me,
Speak to me:

If thou art privy to thy country's fate.
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid,
O, speak !

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth.
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,

[Cock crowa.
Speak of it: — stay, and speak. — Stop it, Marcellus.

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan ?

Hor. Do, if it will not stand.

Ber. 'Tis here!

Hor. 'Tis here!

Mar. 'Tis gone ! [Exit Ghost.

We do it wrong, being so majestical.
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable.
And our vain blows malicious mockery.

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.

Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning.
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, -')
The extravagant and erring spirit ^^) hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike.
No fairy takes, ^') nor witch hath power to charm.
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad.
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:
Break we our watch up; and, by my advice.
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him:
Do you cansent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most convenient. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. A Room of State in the same.

E/jfcrfAcKiNG, Qubkn,Hamlkt,Polonhjs,Laertbs,

VoLTiMAND, Cornelius, Lords, and Attendants.
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death

KKXVI.

Act I.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

833

The memory be green ; and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe;
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature,
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress of this warlike state.
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, —
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye;
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage.
In equal scale weighing delight and dole, —
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along : — For all, our thanks.

Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, —
Holding a weak supposal of our worth;
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death.
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
CoUeagued with this dream of his advantage, ^'')
He hath not faii'd to pester us with message.
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bands of law.
To our most valiant brother. — So much for him.
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting.
Thus much the business is: We have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, —
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress
His further gait herein; ^') in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions, are all made
Out of his subject: — and we here despatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the king, more than the scope ^-)
Of these dilated articles ^ ') allow.
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.

Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show
our duty.

King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell.

[Exeunt V'oltimand and Coraelius.
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit; What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg,

Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart.
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What would'st thou have, Laertes?

Laer. My dread lord.

Your leave and favour to return to FVance;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
To show my duty in your coronation;
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done.
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.

King. Have you your father's leave? What says
Polonius?

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow
leave.
By laboursome petition; and, at last.
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent;
I do beseech you, give him leave to go.

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine.
And thy best graces: spend it at thy will. —
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. '*)

[Aside.

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you ?

Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the sun.

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids ^^)
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must die.
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common.
Queen. If it be.

Why seems it so particular with thee?

Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seema.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black.
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath.
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye.
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage.
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief.
That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem.
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within, which passeth show;
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe.
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature,

Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father:
But, you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation, for some term
To do obsequious sorrow: ^^) But to persever
In obstinate condolement, ^') is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief:
It shows a will most incorrect ^^) to heaven;
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient:
An understanding simple and unschool'd:
For what, we know, must be, and is as common
As any the most vulgar thing to sense.
Why should we, in our peevish opposition.
Take it to heart? Fye! 'tis a fault to heaven,
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature.
To reason most absurd; ^') whose common theme
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried.
From the first corse, till he that died to-day.
This must be to. We pray you, throw to earth
This unprevailing woe; and think of us
As of a father: for let the world take note.
You are the most immediate to our throne;
And, with no less nobility of love, •*")
I Than that which dearest father bears his son,
j Do I impart toward you. For your intent
; In going back to school in Wittenberg,
' It is most retrograde to our desire:
; And, we beseech you, bend you to remain *')
j Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
I Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
I Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet;
j I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg.
Ham. I shall in all ray best obey you, madam.
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ;
Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come;
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof.
No jocund health, *-) that Denmark drinks to-day.
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell;
And the king's rouse *^) the heaven shall bruit again.
Re-speaking earthly thunder. ' Come away.

[Ezeunt King, Qdebn, Lords, ^c. Polokiwb,
and Laertes.
Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt.
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! ^'*)
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fye on't! O fye! 'tis an unweeded garden.
That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature.

KHKVI.

53

834

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act I.

Possess it merely. **) That it should come to this!
Bnt two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two ;
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: *^) so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem '*') the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth !
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him.
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, —
Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month; or ere those shoes were old.
With which she foUow'd my poor father's body.
Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, —

0 heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my

uncle.
My father's brother; but no more like my father.
Than I to Hercules: Within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes.
She married : — O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ;
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue!

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus.

Hor. Hail to your lordship!

Ham, I am glad to see you well:

Horatio, — or I do forget myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant
ever.

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name ''^)
with you.
And what make you *') from Wittenberg, Horatio ? —
Marcellus?

Mar. My good lord, —

Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir, —
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so :
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence.
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant.
But what is your affair in Elsinore?
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;

1 think, it was to see my mother's wedding.
Hor. indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd

meats *°)
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, ")
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! —
My father, — Methinks, I see my father.

Hor. Where,

My lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king.

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham. Saw! who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham. The king my father!

Hor. Season your admiration *^) for a while
With an attent ear; **) till I may deliver,
Upon the witness of these gentlemen.
This marvel to you.

Hm. For God's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together Ijad these gentlemen,
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch.
In the dead waist and middle of the uight, ^'')

Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,

Arm'd at point, exactly, cap-a-p^,

Appears before them, and, with solemn march.

Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd.

By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes.

Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd

Almost to jelly with the act of fear, **)

Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me

In dreadful secrecy impart they did;

And I with them, the third night kept the watch :

Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time.

Form of the thing, each word made true and good,

The apparition comes: I knew your father;

These hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was this?

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.

Ham. Did you not speak to it?

Hor. My lord, I did:

But answer made it none: yet once, methought.
It lifted up its head, and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak:
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud;
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away.
And vanish'd from our sight.

Ham. 'Tis very strange.

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty,
To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?

All. We do, my lord.

Ham. Arm'd say you?

All. Arm'd, my lord.

Ham. From top to toe?

All. My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not

His face?

Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up. **)

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor. A coimtenance more

In sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale, or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.

Ham. Very like,

Very like: Stay'd it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a
hundred.

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer.

Hor. Not when I saw it.

Ham. His beard was grizzl'd? no?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night;

Perchance, 'twill walk again.

Hor. I warrant, it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape.
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding, but no tongue;
I will requite your loves: So, fare you well:
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.

All. Our duty to your honour.

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell.

[Exeunt Hobatio, Makceli.i)s, and Bbb-

HABDO.

KUUVI.

Act I.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

835

My father's spirit in arras! all is not well;
I doubt some foul play : 'would, the night were come !
Till then sit still, my soul: Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

[Exit.

SCENE III.
A Room in Polonius' House.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell:
And, sister, as the winds give benefit,
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep.
But let me hear from you.

Oph. Do you doubt that?

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ;
A violet in the youth of primy nature.
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting.
The perfume and suppliance of a minute; *')
Nor more.

Oph. No more but so?

Laer. Think it no more:

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
In thews, **) and bulk; but, as this temple waxes.
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wild withal. Perhaps, he loves you now;
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch
The virtue of his will: ^9) but^ y^u must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth:
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
The safety and the health of the whole state;
And therefore must his choice be ciixumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body.
Whereof he is the head : Then if he says, he loves you.
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it.
As he in his particular act and place
May give his say indeed; which is no further,
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
If with too credent ear you list his songs;
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open
To his unmaster'd <'") importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
And keep you in the rear of your affection, «')
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid '^) is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
The canker galls the infants of the spring.
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
And in the mom and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear;
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart: But, good my brother.
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do.
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
Whilst, like a pufTd and reckless libertine.
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads.
And recks not his own read. '^)

^<»«»"- O fear me not.

I stay too long; — But here my father comes.

Enter Polonius.

A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame;
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, <**)

And you are staid for : There, my blessing with you ;
[Laying his Hand on Laertes' Head.
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. ''^) Give thy thoughts no

tongue.
Nor any unpropo-rtion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. ^^) Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in.
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, ' ') but reserve thy judg-
ment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy.
But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy :
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that. '*)
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend ;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry, o')
This above all, — To thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day.
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee! '°)
Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants

tend. ■")
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia: and remember well
What I have said to you.

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd,

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. ''-)
Laer. Farewell. [Exit Laebtes.

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?
Oph. So please you, something touching the lord

Hamlet.
Pol. Marry, well bethought:
'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
Given private time to you: and you yourself
Have of your audience been most free and bounteoas :
If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me.
And that in way of caution,) I must tell you.
You do not understand yourself so clearly.
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour:
What is between you? give me up the truth.

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green girl,
Unsifted ' ^ ) in such perilous circumstance.
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay.
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more

deariy ; ' *)
Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
Wronging it thus.) you'll tender me a fool.

Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love,
In honourable fashion.
Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; '*) go to, go to.
Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech,
my lord.
With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter.
Giving more light than heat, — extinct in both,
Even in their promise, as it is a making, —
You must not take for fire. From this time.
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
XHKVI. 53 *

836

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act I.

Set your entreatments '<') at a higher rate.
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet,
Believe so much in him, That he is young;
And with a larger tether may he walk,
Than may be given you: In few, Ophelia,
Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers ")
Not of that die which their investments show,
But mere implorators of unholy suits.
Breathing Kke sanctified and pious bonds, '®)
The better to beguile. This is for all, —
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
Have you so slander any moment's leisure.
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet.
Look to't, I charge you; come your ways.
Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Platform.

Enter Hamlkt, Horatio, and Marcbt-lus.

Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. ")

Ham. What hour now?

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve.

Mar. No, it is struck.

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not; it then draws near
the season,
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

[A Flourish of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot
off, within.
What does this mean, my lord?

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes
his rouse, ^°)
Keeps wassel, 8^) and the swaggering up-spring ^-)

reels ;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.

Hor. Is it a custom?

Ham. Ay, marry, is't:
But to my mind, — though I am native here,
And to the manner born, — it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance.
This heavy-headed revel, east and west, ^^)
Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations:
They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and, indeed it takes
From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute. ^'*)
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That, for some vicious mole of nature in them.
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin,)
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, ^^)
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason;
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens
The form of plausive manners; — ^<') that these

men, —
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect;
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — ^'')
Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace.
As infinite as man may undergo,) ^^)
Shall in the general censure take corruption

From that particular fault: The dram of base

Doth all the noble substance often dout, *')

To his own scandal.

Enter Ghost.

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes!

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! —
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell.

Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, '")

That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet,

King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me:

Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell,

VVIiy thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,

Have burst their cerements ! ' ' ) why the sepulchre.

Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd.

Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws.

To cast thee up again! What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, '-)

Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,

Making night hideous; and we fools of nature.

So horridly to shake our disposition, '^)

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?

Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it.
As if it some irapartment did desire
To you alone.

Mar. Look, with what courteous action

It waves you to a more removed ground: '*)
But do not go with it.

Hor. No, by no means.

Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it.

Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?

I do not set my life at a pin's fee; "')
And, for my soul, what can it do to that.
Being a thing immortal as itself?
It Avaves me forth again; — I'll follow it.

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my
lord.
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff.
That beetles o'er his base "') into the sea?
And there assume some other horrible form.
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, '')
And draw you into madness? think of it:
The very place puts toys of desperation, '^)
Without more motive, into every brain.
That looks so many fathoms to the sea,
And hears it roar beneath.

Ham. It waves me still : —

Go on, I'll follow thee.

Mar. You shall not go, my lord.

Ham. Hold off your hands.

Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go.

Ham. My fate cries out.

And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. —

[Ghost beckons.
Still am I call'd; — unhand me, gentlemen; —

[Breaking from them.
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me : — ' ')
I say, away: — Go on, I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet.

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination.

Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.

Hor. Have after: — To what issue will this come?

Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Hor. Heaven will direct it.

Mar. Nay, let's follow him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A more remote part of the Platform.

Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet.

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak, I'll go

no further.
Ghost. Mark me.
Ham. I will.

Ghost. My hour is almost come,

XSBVX.

Act I.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

837

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
Must render up myself.

Ham. Alas, poor ghost!

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
To what I shall unfold.

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear.

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

Ham. What?

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit;
Doom'd for a certain term to walk tl>e night;
And, for the day, confin'd to fast iu fires,
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature.
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two ej^es, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part.
And each particular hair to stand on end.
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood: — List, list, O list! —
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,

Ham. O heaven!

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Ham. Murder?

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.

Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings
as swift
As meditation, or the thoughts of love.
May sweep to my revenge.

Ghost. I find thee apt;

And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, *"")
Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, ^"')
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth.
The serpent that did sting thy father's life.
Now wears his crown.
Ham. O, my prophetic soul! my uncle!

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast.
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust
The will of iny most seeming virtuous queen:
O, Hamlet, what a falling-oli" was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity.
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage; and to decline
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine!

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd.
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So lust, though to a radiant angel linked,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage.

But, soft! metbinks, I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard,
My custom always of the afternoon.
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole.
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, "*-)
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man,
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body;
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk.
The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
And a most instant tetter bark'd about.

Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust.
All my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd: "**)
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
i Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd; '"*)
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damned incest.
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act.
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge.
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
The glowworm shows the matin to be near.
And 'gins to pale his unelTectual fire: '"■"*)
Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit.

Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! What

else?
And shall I couple hell? — O fye! — Hold, hold,

my heart;
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old.
But bear me stiffly up! — Remember thee?
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
In this distracted globe. '"*) Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past.
That youth and observation copied there;
And thy commandment all alone shall live
Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven.
O most pernicious woman !

0 villain, %-illain, smiling, damned villain !
My tables, — "'^) meet it is, I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark :

[irriting.
So, uncle, there you are. Now to ray word; '"*)
It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me.

1 have sworn't.

Hor. [frithin.] My lord, my lord,

Mar. [ff-'ithin-l Lord Hamlet,

Hor. [IFithin.] Heaven secure him!

Ham. So be it!

Mar. [JFithin.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord!
Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. '*")

Enter Horatio and Marcbllus.

Mar. How is't, my noble lord ?

Hor. What news, my lord?

Ham. O, wonderful!

Hor. Good, my lord, tell it.

Ham, No}

You will reveal it.

Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven.

Mar. Nor I, my lord.

Ham. How say you then ; would heart of man
once think it? —
But you'll be secret,

Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord.

Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Den-
mark,
But he's an arrant knave.

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from
the grave.
To tell us this.

Ham. VVhy, right; you are in the right;

And so, without more circumstance at all,
I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part:

XXKVI.

838

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act II.

You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; —
For every man hath business, and desire.
Such as it is, — and, for my own poor part,
Look you, I will go pray.

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my
lord.

Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; yes,
'Faith, heartily.

Hor. There's no offence, my lord.

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
And much offence too. Touching this vision here, —
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you;
For your desire to know what is between us,
O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends.
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,
Give me one poor request.

Hor. What is't, my lord?

We will.

Ham. Never make known what you have seen
to-night.

Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not.

Hain. Nay, but swear't.

Hor. In faith.

My lord, not I.

Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith.

Ham. Upon my sword.

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already.

Ham. Indeed, upon ray sword, indeed.

Ghost. [Beneath.~\ Swear.

Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art thou there,
true-penny ?
Come on, — you hear this fellow in the cellarage, —
Consent to swear.

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord.

Ham. Neverto speak of this that you have seen.
Swear by my sword.

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear.

Ham. Hie et ubique? then we'll shift our ground: —
Come hither, gentlemen.
And lay your hands again upon my sword;
Swear by my sword.
Never to speak of this that you have heard.

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword.

Ham. Well said, old mole! canst work i'the earth
so fast?
A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good friends.

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

But come ;

Here, as before, ' never, so help you mercy!

How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself.

As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet

To put an antic disposition on, —

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall.

With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake,

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,

As, Well, welly we know; — or. We could, and

if we would; — or, If we list to speak: — or,

There be, an if they might; —

Or such ambiguous giving out, to note

That you know aught of me: — This do you

swear, ' * '^)
So grace and mercy at your most need help you !

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear.

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! '*') So, gen-
tlemen.
With all my love I do commend me to you:
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
May do, to express his love and friending to you,
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;
A lid still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

The time is out of joint; — O cursed spite!

That ever I was born to set it right!

Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Room in Polonius' House.
Enter Polonius and RBrNALDo.

Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Rey-
naldo.

Rey. I will, my lord.

Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey-
naldo.
Before you visit him, to make inquiry
Of his behaviour.

Rey. My lord, I did intend it.

Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look you, sir.
Inquire me first what Danskers ') are in Paris;
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep.
What company, at what expence; and finding.
By this encompassment and drift of question.
That they do know ray son, come you more nearer
Than your particular demands will touch it:
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him ;
As thus, — / know his father, and his friends.
And, in part, him; — Do you mark this, Reynaldo?

Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.

Pol. And, in part, him; — but, you may say,
not well:
But, ift be he I mean, he's very wild;
Addicted so and so ; — and there put on him
What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank
As may dishonour him; take heed of that;
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips.
As are companions noted and most known
To youth and liberty.

Rey. As gaming, my lord.

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,
Drabbing: — You may go so far.

Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.

Pol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge.
You must not p«t another scandal on him, -)
That he is open to incontinency ;
That's not my meaning: ^) but breathe his faults

so quaintly,
That they may seem the taints of liberty:
The flash and out-break of a fiery mind;
A savageness '*) in unreclaimed blood,
Of general assault. *)

Rey. But, my good lord,

Pol. Wherefore should you do this?

Rey. Ay, my lord,

I would know that.

Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift;

And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant:
You laying these slight sullies on my son.
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'the working,
Mark you.

Your party in converse, him you would sound.
Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes, ')
The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd.
He closes with you in this consequence ;
Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentleman, — •
According to the phrase, or tlie addition.
Of man, and country.

Rey. Very good, my lord.

Pol. And then, sir, does he this, — He does —
What was I about to say? By the mass, I was
about to say something: — Where did I leave?

Rey. At, closes in the consequence.

KKKVI.

Act II.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

839

Pol. At, closes in tlte consequence, — Aif, marry ;
He closes with you thus: — I know the gentleman;
J taw him yesterday, or, t'other day,
Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,
There was he gaming; there o'ertook in his rouse:
There falling out at tennis; or, perchance,
I saw him enter such a house of sale,
( Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth. —
See you now;

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth:
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach.
With windlaces, and with assays of bias.
By indirections find directions out;
So, by my former lecture and advice.
Shall you my son: You have me, have you not?

Rey. My lord, I have.

Pol. God be wi' youj fare you well.

Rey. Good my lord,

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. '')

Rey. I shall, ray lord.

Pol. And let him play his music.

Rey. VVell, my lord.

[Exit.

Enter Ophklia.

Pol. Farewell ! — How now, Ophelia ? what's the
matter?

Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted I

Pol. With what, in the name of heaven?

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbrac'd ;
No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; "*)
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other;
And with a look so piteous in purport,
As if he had been loosed out of hell.
To speak of horrors, — he comes before me.

Pol. Mad for thy love?

Oph. My lord, I do not know;

But, truly, I do fear it.

Pol. What said he?

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard;
Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
He falls to such perusal of my face.
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so;
At last, — a little shaking of mine arm.
And thrice his head thus waving up and down, —
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound.
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk, ')
And end his being: That done, he lets me go:
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;
For out o'doors he went without their helps, •°)
And, to the last, bended their light on me.

Pal. Come, go with me; 1 will go seek the king.
This is the very ecstacy of love;
Whose violent property foredoes itself, ^ ^)
And leads the will to desperate undertakings.
As oft as any passion under heaven.
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, —
What, have you given him any hard words of late?

Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command,
I did repel his letters, and denied
His access to me.

Pol' That hath made him mad.

I am sorry, that with better heed, and judgment,
1 had not quoted him: ^-) I fear'd, he did but trifle.
And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my jealousy !
It seems, it is as proper to our age
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions,
As it is common for the younger sort
To lack discretion. *•*) Come, go we to the king:

This must be known; which, being kept close, might

move
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. **)
Come. [Exeunt.

SCENE H.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter King, QifEBN, Rosencrantz, GuiLDBNsTiiiut,
and Attendants.

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guilden-
stern !
Moreover that we much did long to see you.
The need, we have to use you, did provoke
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it.
Since not the exterior nor the inward man
Resembles that it was: What it should be.
More than his father's death, that thus hath put him
So much from the understanding of himself,
I cannot dream of: I entreat you both,
That, — being of so young days brought up with

him;
And, since, so nelghbour'd to his youth and hu-
mour, —
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time: so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures; and to gather.
So much as from occasion you may glean.
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
That, open'd, lies within our remedy.

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'dofyou;
And, sui-e I am, two men there are not living.
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
To show us so much gentry, **) ani good will,
As to expend your time with us a while.
For the supply and profit of our hope, "■)
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.

Ros. Both your majesties

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.

Guil. But we both obey ;

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, •')
To lay our service freely at your feet,
To be commanded.

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guilden-
stern.

Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen-
crantz :
And I beseech you instantly to visit '

My too much cj^anged son. — Go, some of you.
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.

Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our practices,
Pleasant and helpful to him!

Queen. Ay, amen!

[Exeunt Ro8ENCRA^Tz, GaiLUENSTEAN, and
some Attendants.

Enter Polonius.

Pol. The embassadors from Norway, my good lord.
Are joyfully return'd.

King. Thou still hast been the father of good news.

Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
Both to my God, and to my gracious king:
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy "*) so sure
As it hath us'd to do,) that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.

King. O, speak of that; that do I long to hear.

XXXVI.

840

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act II.

Pol. Give first admittance to the embassadors;
Mv news shall be the fruit '') to that great feast.
King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.

\_ExU PoLONIUS.

He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
The head and source of all your son's distemper.

Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main;
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage.

Re- enter Polonius, with Voltimand and Cor-
nelius.
King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, my
good friends!
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
Volt. Most fair return of greetings, and desires.
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack;
But, better look'd into, he truly found
It was against your highness: Whereat griev'd, —
That so his sickness, age, and impotence,
Was falsely borne in hand, — -") sends out arrests
On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys;
Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine,
Makes vow before his uncle, never more
To give the assay ^ ' ) of arms against your majesty.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy.
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee;
And his commission, to employ those soldiers,
So levied as before, against the Polack :
With an entreaty, herein further shown,

[Gives a Paper.
That it might please you to give quiet pass
Through your dominions for this enterprizej
On such regards of safety, and allowance,
As therein are set down.

King. It likes us well;

And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read,
Answer, and think upon this business.
Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour :
Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together:
Most welcome home!

[Exeunt Voltimanb and Coknei.ius.
Pol. This business is well ended.

My liege, and madam, to expostulate --)
What majesty should be, what duty is.
Why day is day, night, night, and time is time.
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit.
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, —
I will be brief: Your noble son is mad:
Mad call I it: for, to define true madness.
What is't, but to be nothing else but mad:
But let that go.
Queen. More matter, with less art.

Pol. Madam, I swear, I use no art at all.
That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure;
But farewell it, for I will use no art.
Mad let us grant him then : and now remains.
That we find out the cause of this effect;
Or, rather say, the cause of this defect;
For this effect, defective, comes by cause:
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus.
Perpend.

I have a daughter; have, while she is mine;
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark^
Hath given me this: Now gather, and surmise.
— To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most

beautified Ophelia,

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; beautified is a vile
phras«; but you shall hear. — Thus: —
In her excellent while bosom, these, Ac. —

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her?
Pol. Good Madam, stay awhile; I will be faith-
ful.—

Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; [Reads.

Doubt, that the sun doth move:
Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt, I love.

O dear Ophelia, / am ill at these numbers; I
have not art to reckon my groans: but that I
love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.

Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst
this machine is to him, Hamlet.

This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me:

And more above, -^) hath his solicitings.

As they fell out by time, by means, and place,

All given to mine ear.

King. But how hath she

Receiv'd his love ?

Pol. What do you think of me?

King. As of a man faithful and honourable.

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you
think,
When I had seen this hot love on the wing,
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that.
Before my daughter told me,) what might you,
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book;
Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb;
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;
What might you think V^*) no, I went round to work.
And mv young mistress thus did I bespeak;
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere ;
This must not be: and then I precepts gave her, -^}
That she should lock herself from his resort,
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice; -')
And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,)
Fell into a sadness; then into a fast;
Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness;
Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves.
And all we mourn for.

King. Do you think, 'tis this?

Queen. It may be, very likely.

Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain know
that,)
That I have positively said, 'Tis so,
When it prov'd otherwise?

King. Not that I know.

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise:

[jPointing to his head and shoulder.
If circumstances lead me, I will find
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
Within the centre.

King. How may we try it further?

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours
together.
Here in the lobby.

Queen. So he does, indeed.

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him :
Be you and I behind an arras then;
Mark the encounter: if he love her not.
And be not from his reason fallen thereon,
Let me be no assistant for a state.
But keep a farm, and carters.

King. We will try it.

Enter Hamt.ht, reading.

Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch

comes reading.
Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away ;

XKKVX.

Act II.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

841

I'll board him -') presently: — O, give me leave. —
[Exeunt Ki>g, Queen, and Attendants.
How does my good lord Hamlet?

Ham. Well, God-'a-mercy.

Pol. Do you know me, my lord ?

Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

Pol. Not I, my lord?

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man.

Pol. Honest, my lord?

Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes,
is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

Pol. That's very true, my lord.

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead

dog, being a god, kissing carrion, Have you

a daughter?

Pol. I have, my lord.

Ham. Let her not walk i'the sun: conception is
a blessing; but as your daughter may conceive, —
friend, look to't.

Pol. How say you by that? [Jside.] Still harping
on my daughter: — yet he knew me not at first;
he said, I was a fishmonger: He is far gone, far
gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much ex-
tremity for love; very near this. I'll speak to him
again. — What do you read, my lord?

Ham. Words, words, words!

Pol. What is the matter, my lord?

Ham. Between who?

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord?

Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says
here, that old men have grey beai'ds; that their
faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber,
and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful
lack of wit, together with most weak hams : All of
which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently
believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus
set down; for yourself, sir, shall be -*} as old as
I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method
in it. [Mide.] Will you walk out of the air, my
lord?

Ham. Into my grave?

Pol. Indeed, that is out of the air. — How pregnant
sometimes his replies are! ^^) a happiness that often
madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not
so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him,
and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between
him and my daughter. — My honourable lord, I will
most humbly take my leave of you.

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing
that I will more willingly part withal; except my
life, except my life, except my life.

Pol. Fare you well, my lord.

Ham. These tedious old fools !

Enter Rosbncrantz '") and Guildenstebn.

Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet; there he is.
Ro$. God save you, sir! [To Polonios.

[Exit POLONIDS.

Cfuil. My honour'd lord ! —

Ro8. My most dear lord! —

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost thon,
Guildenstem? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do
ye both?

Ro». As the indifferent children of the earth.

Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy;
On fortune's cap we are not the very button.

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe?

Hot. Neither, my lord.

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the
middle of her favours?

Guil. 'Faith, her privates we.

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most
true; she is a strumpet. What news?

Ro$. None, my lord; but that the world's grown
honest.

Ham. Then is doomsday near: But your news is
not true. Let me question more in particular: What
have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands
of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither?

Guil. Prison, my lord !

Ham. Denmark's a prison.

Rot. Then is the world one.

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many
confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one
of the worst-

Rot. We think not so, my lord.

Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you: for there is
nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it
so: to me it is a prison.

Rot. Why, then your ambition makes it one; 'tis
too narrow for your mind.

Ham. O God! I could be bounded in a nut-shell,
and count myself a king of infinite space; were it
not that I have bad dreams.

Crui7. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the
very substance of the ambitious is merely the sha-
dow of a dream.

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow.

Rot. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and
light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow.

Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies ; ^ ' ) and oar
monarchs, and out-stretch'd heroes, the beggars'
shadows: Shall we to the court? for, by my fay,
I cannot reason.

Rot. Guil. We'll wait upon you.

Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with
the rest of my servants ; for, to speak to you like
an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But,
in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at
Elsinore ?

Rot. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion.

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks;
but I thank you : and sure, dear friends, my thanks
are too dear, a halfpenny. ^-) Were you not sent
for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visita-
tion? Come, come; deal justly with me: come, come;
nay, speak.

Guil. What should we say, my lord ?

Ham. Any thing — but to the purpose. You were
sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your
looks, which your modesties have not craft enough
to colour: I know, the good king and queen have
sent for you.

Rot. To what end, my lord?

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure
you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the con-
sonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-
preserved love, and by what more dear a better
proposer could charge you withal, be even and di-
rect with me, whether you were sent for, or no?

Rot. What say you? [To Guildekstekn.

Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of yon; ^■') [<uide\ —
if you love me, hold not off.

Guil. My lord, we were sent for.

Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipation
prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the
king and queen moult no feather. I haye of late,
(but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth,
foregone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes
so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly
frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory;
this most exc-ellent canopy, the air, look you, this
brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof
fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other

BKKVI.

842

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act II.

thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation
of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How
noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! ^^) in
form, and moving, how express and admirable! in
action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how
like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon
of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quint-
essence of dust? man delights not me, nor woman
neither; though, by your smiling, you seem to say so.

Roa. My lord, there is no such stuff in my thoughts.

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, Man
delights not me?

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man,
what lenten entertainment ^■'') the players shall re-
ceive from you: we coted them on the way; ^^)
and hither are they coming, to offer you service.

Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome ;
his majesty shall have tribute of me : the adventur-
ous knight shall use his foil, and target: the
lover shall not sigh gratis ; the humorous man shall
end his part in peace: the clown shall make those
laugh, whose lungs are tickled o'the sere; and the
lady shall say her mind freely,^') or the blank
verse shall halt for't. — What players are they?

Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight
in, the tragedians of the city.

Ham. How chances it, they travel?* 8) their re-
sidence, both in reputation and profit, was better
both ways.

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means
of the late innovation.

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did
when I was in the city? Are they so followed?

Ros. No, indeed, they are not.

Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty?

Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted
pace: But there is, sir, an aiery of children, ^')
little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, ■">)
and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are
now the fashion ; and so berattle the common stages,
(so they call them,) that many, wearing rapiers,
are afraid of goose quills, and dare scarce come
thither.

Ham. What, are they children? who maintains
them? how are they escoted?^') Will they pursue
the quality no longer than they can sing? '*^) will
they not say afterwards, if they should grow them-
selves to common players, (as it is most like, if
their means are no better, their writers do them
wrong, '*^) to make them exclaim against their own
succession?

Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both
sides ; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them
on to controversy: *^) there was, for a while, no
money bid for argument, unless the poet and the
player went to culfs in the question.

Ham. Is it possible?

Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of
brains.

Ham. Do the boys carry it away?

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules and his
load too. •**)

Ham. It is not very strange: for my uncle *'') is
king of Denmark; and those, that would make
mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty,
forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece, for his
picture in little. *') 'Sblood, there is something in
this more than natural, if philosophy could find it
out. [^Flourish of Trumpets within.

Guil. There are the players.

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore.
Your hands. Come then: the appurtenance of wel-
come is fashion and ceremony: let me comply '*^)

with you in this garb : lest my extent to the players,
which, I tell you, must show fairly outward, should
more appear like entertainment than yours. You
are welcome: but my uncle-father, and aunt-mo-
ther, are deceived.

Guil. In what, my dear lord?

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the
wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand-
saw. *9)

Enter Polonius.

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen!

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern, — and you too; —
at each ear a hearer; that great baby, you see
there, is not yet out of his swaddling clouts.

Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them;
for, they say, an old man is twice a child.

Ham. I will prophecy, he comes to tell me of the
players ; mark it. — You say right, sir : o'Monday
morning; 'twas then, indeed.

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you.

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When
Roscius was an actor in Rome,

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord.

Ham. Buz, buz!

Pol. Upon my honour,

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass,

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for trage-
dy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral -comical,
historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comi-
cal, historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem
unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus
too light. For the law of writ, ^") and the liberty,
these are the only men.

Ham. O Jephthah, Judge of Israel, — what a
treasure hadst thou !

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord?

Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more.
The which he loved passing well.

Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside.

Ham. Am I not i'the right, old Jephthah?

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a
daughter, that 1 love passing well.

Hum. Nay, that follows not.

Pol. What follows then, my lord?

Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, *M and then,
you know. It came to pass. As most like it was,
— The first row of the pious chanson *^) will show
you more: for look, my abridgment ^^) comes.

Enter four or five Players.
You are welcome, masters; welcome, all: — I am
glad to see thee well: — welcome, good friends. —
O, old friend! why, thy face is vailanced 5*) since
I saw thee last; Com'st thou to beard me**) in
Denmark? — What! my young lady and mistress!
By-'i-lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than
when I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine, **)
Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent
gold, be not cracked within the ring. — »') Mas-
ters, you are all welcome. We'll e'en to't like
French falconers, fly at any thing we see: We'll
have a speech straight: Come, give us a taste of
your quality ; come, a passionate speech.

1 Play. What speech, my lord?

Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, —
but it was never acted; or, if it was, not above
once: for the play, I remember, pleased not the
million; 'twas caviare to the general: *") but it
was (as I received it, and others, whose judgments,
in such matters, cried in the top of mine,) **) an
excellent play; well digested in the scenes, set down
with as much modesty as cunning. I remember.

KXUVI.

Act 11.

HAMLET, PRIvNCE OF DENMARK

843

one said, there were no sailets In the lines, to make
the matter savoury ; nor no matter in the phrase,
that might indite the author of affection; '") but
called it, an honest method, ''') as wholesome as
sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine.
One speech in it 1 chiefly loved : 'tw as Eneas' tale
to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he
speaks of Priam's slaughter: If it live in your me-
mory, begin at this line; let me see, let me see; —
The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beasts —
'tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus.

The rugged Pyrrhus, — he, whose sable armtj
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
When he lay couched in the ominous horse.
Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot
Kow is he total gules;''-) horridly trick'd^^)
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons;
Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets.
That lend a tyrannous and a damned light
To their lord' s murder : Roasted in wrath, and fire.
And thus o'er-siz'd with coagulate gore.
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks; — S>o proceed you.
Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken; with good
accent, and good discretion.
1 Play. Anon he finds him
Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls.
Repugnant to command: Unequal match'd,
Pyrrhus at Priam drives: in rage, strikes wide;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
Seeming to feel his blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo! his sword
Which was declining on the milky head
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i'the air to stick:
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood;
And, like a neutral to his will and matter.
Did nothing.

But, as we often see, against some storm,
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still.
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below
As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder
Doth rend the region : So, after Pyrrhus' pause,
A roused vengeance sets him new a- work;
And never did the Cyclops^ hammers fall
On Mars' t armour, forg'd for proof eterne.
With less remorse than Pyrrhus'' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam. —

Out, out, thou strumpet. Fortune! All you gods,
In general synod, take away her power;
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel.
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
As ijw as to the fiends !
Pol. 'I'liis is too long.

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. —

'Pr'ythee, say on: — He's for a jig, or a tale of

bawdry, or he sleeps: — say on: come to Hecuba.

1 Play. But who, ah woe! had seen the mobled

queen <-*)

Ham. 'I'he mobled queen?
Pol. That's good; the mobled queen is good.
1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, threatening
the flames
With bisson rheum; '''^) a clout upon that head.
Where late the diadem stood; and, /or a robe,
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,
A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steeped,
^Gainst fortune's state would treason have pro-
nounced:

But if the gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs;
The instant burst of clamour that she made,
(Unless things mortal move them not at all,)
Would have made milch the burning eye of heaveii.
And passion in the gods.

Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour,
and has tears in's eyes. — 'Pr'ythee, no more.

Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the rest
of this soon. — Good, my lord, will you see the
players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be
well used; for they are the abstract, and brief
chronicles, of the time: After your death you were
better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report
while you live.

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their
desert.

Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better : Use every
man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping!
Use them after your own honour and dignity : The
less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.
Take them in.

Pol. Come, sirs.

[Exit P01.ONIU8, with tome of the Player*.

Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-
morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you
play the murder of Gonzago?

1 Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could,
for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen
lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? could
you not?

1 Play. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Very well. — Follow that lord; and look you
mock him not. [Exit Tlajer.] My good friends, [to
R08, and GuiL.] I'll leave you till night: you are
welcome to Elsinore.

Ros. Good my lord!

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous, that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion.
Could force his soul so to his own conceit.
That from her working, all his visage wami'd;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing!
For Hecuba I

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion, ''<')
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free.
Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed,
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
Yet I,

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak.
Like John a-dreams, <'') unpregnant of my cause, *^')
And can say nothing; no, not for a king.
Upon whose property, and most dear life,
A damn'd defeat was made. ") Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the

throat,
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha!

Why, I should take it: lor it cannot be.
But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall
To make oppression bitter; or, ere this,

UXXVI.

844

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act in.

I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal: Bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless '")

villain!
Why, what an ass am I? This is most brave;
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell.
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion!
Fye upon't! foh! About my brains! ■") Humph! I

have heard.
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play.
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck sO to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions ;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father,
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him ^-) to the quick; if he do blench, ''^)
I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen.
May be a devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,
Out of my weakness, and my melancholy,
(As he is very potent with such spirits,)
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
More relative than this: ''*) The play's the thing.
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in the Castle.

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosbn-
CRANTZ, and Guildenstern.

King. And can you, by no drift of conference
Get from him, why he puts on this confusion;
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

R(J8. He does confess, he feels himself distracted;
But from what cause he will by no means speak.

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ;
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof.
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state.

Queen. Did he receive you well?

Ros. Most like a gentleman.

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition.

Ros. Niggard of question; but, of our demands.
Most free in his reply.

Queen. Did you assay him

To any pastime?

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players
We o'er-raught on the way: ') of these we told hiin;
And there did seem in him a kind of joy
To hear of it: They are about the court;
And, as I think, they have already order
This night to play before him.

Pol. 'Tis most true:

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties.
To hear and see the matter.

King. With all my heart; and it doth much con-
tent me
To hear him so inclin'd.
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge.
And drive his purpose on to these delights.

Ros. We shall, my lord.

[Exeunt Ilo8KNORA^•Tz and Guildenstern.

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too:

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither;

That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
Aifront Ophelia: 2)

Her father, and myself (lawful espials) ')
Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen,
We may of their encounter frankly judge;
And gather by him, as he is behav'd,
It't be the altiiction of his love or no,
That thus he suffers for.

Queen. I shall obey you:

And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish,
'J'hat your good beauties be the happy cause
Of Hamlet's wildness : so shall I hope, your virtues
Will bring him to his wonted way again.
To both your honours.

Oph. Madam, I wish it may.

[Exit Qdeen.

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious, so please
you.
We will bestow ourselves: — Read on this book;

[To Ophelia.
That show of such an exercise may colour
Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, —
'Tis too much prov'd, '*) that, with devotion's visage.
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

King. O, 'tis too true! how smart

A lash that speech doth give my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art.
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, ^)
Than is my deed to my most painted word:
O heavy burden! [Aside.

Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord.

[Exeunt Kino and Polonihs.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question: —
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles.
And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — to sleep, —
No more; — and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die; — to sleep; —
To sleep ! perchance to dream; — ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, ^)
Must give us pause: There's the respect, ')
That makes calamity of so long life:
P^r who would bear the whips and scorns of time, ^)
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay.
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? ') who would fardels bear.
To grunt and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death, —
The undiscover'd country, from v^hose bourn
No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment.
With this regard, their currents turn awry.
And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now!
The fair Ophelia: — Nymph, in thy orisons '")
Be all my sins remember'd.

Oph. Good my lord.

How does your honour for this many a day?

Ham. I humbly thank you; well.

Act III.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

845

Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours,
That I have longed long to re-deliver;
I pray you, now receive them.

Ham. No, not I;

I never gave you aught.

Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well, you
did;
And, with them, words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich: their perfume lost.
Take these again; for to the noble mind.
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind.
There, my lord.

Ham. Ha, ha! are you honest?

Oph. My lord?

Ham. Are you fair?

Oph. What means your lordship?

Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, you should ' '}
admit no discourse to your beauty.

Oph. Could beauty, ray lord, have better commerce
than with honesty?

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will
sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd,
than the force of honesty can translate beauty into
his likeness; '-) this was some time a paradox, but
now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.

Ham. You should not have believed me : for virtue
cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish
of it : I loved you not.

Oph. I was the more deceived.

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery ; Why would'st thou
be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent
honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things,
that it were better, my mother had not borne me:
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more
offences at ray beck, than I have thoughts to put
them in, ^^) imagination to give them shape, or time
to act them in: What should such fellows as I do
crawling between earth and heaven ! We are arrant
knaves, all ; believe none of us : Go thy ways to a
nunnery. Where's your father?

Oph. At home, my lord.

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him; that he
may play the fool no where but in's own house.
Farewell.

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens!

Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague
for thy dowry; Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure
as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee
to a nunnery; farewell: Or, if thou wilt needs marry,
marry a fool; for wise men know well enough, what
monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go;
and quickly too. Farewell.

Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him!

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well
enough; God hath given you one face, and you
make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and
you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and 'make
your wantonness your ignorance: i*) Go to, I'll no
more oft; it hath made me mad. I say, we will
have no more marriages: those that are married
already, all but one, shall live; the rest shall keep
as they are. To a nunnery, go. [Exit Hahlet.

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword :
The expectancy and rose of the fair state.
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, '^)
The observ'd of all observers! quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched.
That suck'd the honey of his music vows.
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason.
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;

That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth.

Blasted with ecstasy: ^'') O, woe is me!

To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

Re-enter King and Polonius.

King. Love! his affections do not that way tend;
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little.
Was not like madness. There's something in his soul,
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose.
Will be some danger: Which for to prevent,
I have, in quick determination,
Thus set it down; He shall with speed to England,
For the demand of our neglected tribute:
Haply, the seas, and countries different.
With variable objects, shall expel
This something-settled matter in his heart;
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus
From fashion of himself. What think you on't?

Pol. It shall do well; but yet I do believe,
The origin and commencement of his grief
Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia?
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said;
We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please;
But, if you hold it fit, after the play.
Let his queen-mother all alone entreat him
To show his grief; let her be round with him;")
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear
Of all their conference: If she find him not.
To England send him : or confine him, where
Your wisdom best shall think.

King. It shall be so :

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.

[Exeunt,

SCENE II.

A Hall in the tame.

Enter Hamlet, and certain Players.

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as T pro-
nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue ; but if
you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as
lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw
the air too much with your hand, thus : but use all
gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I
may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must ac-
quire and beget a temperance, that may give it
smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear
a robustious periwig-pated ' *) fellow tear a passion
to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the
groundlings; ") who, for the most part, are capable
of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise;
I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing
Termagant; -") it out-herods Herod: -») 'Pray yoa,
avoid it.

1 Platf. I warrant your honour.

Ham. Be not too tame, neither, but let your own
discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word,
the word to the action; with this special observance,
that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature; for
any thing so overdone is from the purpose of play-
ing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was,
and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirrour up to na-
ture; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her
own iraage, and the very age and body of the time,
his form and pressure. --) Now this, overdone, or
come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh,
cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure
of which one, -') must, in your allowance,-*) o'er-
weigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be
players, that I have seen play, — and heard others
praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely,
that, neither having the accent of christians, nor

KXXVI.

846

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act III.

the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so
strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some
of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made
them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferently
with us.

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that
play your clowns, speak no more than is set down
for them: -^) for there be of them, that will them-
selves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren
spectators to laugh too; though, in the mean time,
some necessary question of the play be then to be
considered: that's villainous; and shows a most
pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make
you ready. [Exeunt Players.

Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.

How now, my lord? will the king hear this piece
of work?

Pol. And the queen too, and that presently.

Ham. Bid the players make haste. —

\_Exit POLONIUS.

Will you two help to hasten them?
Both. Ay, my lord.

\Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gcildenstebn.
Ham. What, ho; Horatio!

Enter Horatio.

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service.

Ham. Horatio, thou art e*ten as just a man
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.

Hor. O, my dear lord, —

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter:

For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits.
To feed, and clothe thee? Why should the poor be

flatter'd ?
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, -')
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice.
And could of men distinguish her election.
She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are those.
Whose blood and judgment ^') are so well co-

mingied.
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please : Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart.
As I do thee. — Something too much of this. —
There is a play to-night before the king;
One scene of it comes near the circumstance.
Which I have told thee of my father's death.
I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot,
Bven with the very comment of thy soul
Observe my uncle: if his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech.
It is a damned ghost that we have seen;
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan's stithy. -^) Give him heedful note:
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;
And, after, we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming.

Hor. Well, my lord:

If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing.
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
Ham. They are coming to the play; I must be
idle:

Get you a place.

Danish March. A Flourish. Enter King, Qubkn,

PoLONius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern,

and others.

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet?

Ham. Excellent, i'faith; of the camelion's dish: I
eat the air, promise- crammed: You cannot feed ca-
pons so.

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet;
these words are not mine.

Ham. No, nor mine now. ^') My lord, — you played
once in the university, you say? [To Polomus.

Pol. That did J, my lord; and was accounted a
good actor.

Ham. And what did you enact?

Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i'the
Capitol; Brutus killed me.

Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so ca-
pital a calf there. — Be the players ready?

Ros. Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more at-
tractive.

Pol. O ho! do you mark that? [To the King.

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

[Lying down at Ophelia'* Feet. ^'')

Oph. No, my lord.

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap?

Oph. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Do you think, I meant country matters?

Oph. I think nothing, my lord.

Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maid's
legs.

Oph. What is, my lord?

Ham. Nothing.

Oph. You are merry, my lord.

Ham. Who, I?

Oph. Ay, my lord.

Ham. 0 ! your only jig-maker. What should a
man do, but be merry ? for, look you, how cheer-
fully my mother looks, and my father died within
these two hours.

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.

Ham. So long? Nay, then let the devil wear black,
for I'll have a suit of sables. ^') O heavens! die
two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's
hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life
half a year: But, by'r-lady, he must build churches
then: or else shall he suffer not thinking on. with
the hobby-horse : ^-) whose epitaph is, For, O, for,
O, the hobby - horse is forgot.

Trumpets sound. The dumb Show follows. '^)

Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly; the Queen
embracing him, and he her. She kneels, and makes
show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and
declines his head upon her neck : lays him down upon
a bank of flowers ; she, seeing him asleep, leaves him.
Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it,
and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The
Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes pas-
sionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three
Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her.
The dead body is carried away. The poisoner wooes
the Queen with gifts; she seems loath and unwilling
awhile, but, in the end, accepts his love. [Exeunt.

Oph. What means this, my lord?

Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecbo; it means
mischief. ^*)

Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of
the play.

KKKVX.

Act III.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

847

Enter Prologue.

Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the players
cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all.

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant?

Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him: Be
not you ashamed to show, ^ ^) he'll not shame to
tell you what it means.

Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark
the play.

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency.
We beg your hearing patiently.

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord.

Ham. As woman's love.

Enter a Kikg and a Quebn.

P.King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart ^e)
gone round
Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground;
And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen, ^')
About the world have times twelve thirties been;
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands.
Unite commutual in most sacred bands.

P. Queen. So many journies may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done!
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late.
So far from cheer, and from your former state,
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must;
For women fear too much, even as they love;
And women's fear and love hold quantity;
In neither aught, or in extremity.
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

P. King. 'Faith I must leave thee, love, and shortly
too;
My operant powers ^^) their functions leave to do:
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd; and, haply, one as kind
For husband shalt thou

P. Queen. O, confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second, but who kill'd the first.

Ham. That's wormwood.

P. Queen. The instances, ^ ') that second marriage
move,
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love;
A second time I kill my husband dead.
When second husband kisses me in bed.

P.King. I do believe, you think what now you
speak ;
But, what we do determine, oft we break.
Purpose is but the slave to memory;
Of violent birth, but poor validity:
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree;
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be.
Most necessary 'tis, that we forget
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt: *"*)
What to ourselves in passion we propose.
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
The violence of either grief or joy
Their own enactures with themselves destroy: * *)
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange
That even our loves should with our fortunes

change ;
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,

Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.

The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies ;

The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies.

And hitherto doth love on fortune tend :

For who not needs, shall never lack a friend ;

And who in want a hollow friend doth try.

Directly seasons him his enemy.

But, orderly to end where I begun, —

Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run.

That our devices still are overthrown ;

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own :

So think thou wilt no second husband wed;

But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead.

P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven
light!
Sport and repose lock from me, day, and night!
To desperation turn my trust and hope!
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope! *^)
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy.
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy!
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife,
If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

Ham. If she should break it now,

[To Ophelia.

P.King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here

a while;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps.

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain;

And never come mischance between us twain!

[Exit.

Ham. Madam, how like you this play?

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word.

King, Have you heard the argument? Is there no
offence in't?

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no
offence i'the world.

King. What do you call the play?

Ham. The mouse-trap. ^^) Marry, how? Tropically.
This play is the image of a murder, done in Vienna :
Gonzago is the duke's name ; his wife Baptista : you
shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: But
what of that? your majesty, and we that have free
souls, it touches us not : Let the galled jade wince,
our withers are unwrung. —

Enter Lucianus.
This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.

Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love,
if I could see the puppets dallying.

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off
my edge.

Oph. Still better, and worse.

Ham. So you mistake your husbands. — Begin,
murderer; — leave thy damnable faces, and begin.

Come;

The croaking raven

Doth bellow for revenge. ""

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and
time agreeing;
Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected.
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected.
Thy natural magic and dire property,
On wholesome life usurp immediately.

[Pours the Poison into the Sleeper'* eart.

Ham. He poisons him i'the garden for his estate.
His name's Gonzago ; the story is extant, and written
in very choice Italian : You shall see anon, how the
murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

RKSVI.

848

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

Act III.

Oph. The king rises.

Ham. What! frighted with false fire!

Queen. How fares my lord?

Pol. Give o'er the play.

King. Give me some light : — away !

Pol. Lights, lights, lights!

[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio.
Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep.
The hart ungalled play:
For some must watch, while some must sleep ;
Thus runs the world away. —
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, **)
(if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk**) with me,)
with two Provencial roses on my razed *') shoes,
get me a fellowship in a cry of playei"S, *') sir?
Hor. Half a share.
Ham. A whole one, I. *8)

For thou dost know, O Damon dear, '*')

This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
A very, very — peacock.
Hor. You might have rhymed.
Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word
for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?
Hor. Very well, my lord.

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning,

Hor. I did very well note him.
Ham. Ah, ha! — Come, some music; come, the
recorders. —

For if the king like not the comedy.

Why then, belike, — *°) he likes it not, perdy.^')

Enter Ros£ncrantz and Gdildenstern.
Come, some music.

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham. Sir, a whole history.

Guil. The king, sir,

Ham. Ay sir, what of him?

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered.

Ham. With drink, sir?^^)

Guil. No, my lord, with choler.

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer,
to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to put him
to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into
more choler.

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some
frame, and start not so wildly from my affair.

Ham. I am tame, sir : — pronounce.

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great afflic-
tion of spirit, hath sent me to you.

Ham. You are welcome.

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of
the right breed. If it shall please you to make me
a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com-
mandment : if not, your pardon, and my return, shall
be the end of my business.

Ham. Sir, I cannot.

Guil. What, my lord?

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's
diseased : But, sir, such answer as I can. make, you
shall command ; or, rather, as you say, my mother :
therefore no more, but to the matter: My mother,
you say,

Rob. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath
struck her into amazement and admiration.

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a
mother ! — But is there no sequel at the heels of
this mother's admiration? impart.

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet,
ere you go to bed.

Ham. We shall obey, were she teti times our mother.
Have you any further trade *^) with us?

Ros. My lord, you once did love me.

Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. *•*)

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distem-
per? you do, surely, but bar the door upon your
own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement.

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice
of the king himself for your succession in Denmark?

Ham. Ay, sir, but, While the grass grows, —
the proverb is something musty. **)

Enter the Players, with Recorders. *^)

O, the recorders: — let me see one. — To with-
draw with you: — *') Why do you go about to
recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me
into a toil?

Guil. O, ray lord, if my duty be too bold, my love
is too unmannerly.

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you
play upon this pipe?

Guil. My lord, I cannot.

Ham. I pray you.

Guil. Believe me, I cannot.

Ham. I do beseech you.

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord.

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these vent-
ages ***) with your fingers and thumb, give it breath
with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent
music. Look you, these are the stops.

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance
of harmony; I have not the skill.

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing
you make of me. You would play upon me; you
would seem to know my stops; you would pluck
out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me
from my lowest note to the top of my compass:
and there is much music, excellent voice, in this
little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood,
do you think, I am easier to be played on than a
pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though
you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.

Enter Polonius.

God bless you, sir!

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you,
and presently.

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in
shape of a camel?

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.

Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel.

Pol. It is backed like a weasel.

Ham. Or, like a whale?

Pol. Very like a whale.

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by.
— They fool me to the top of my bent. — ^') I
will come by and by.

Pol. I will say so. [Exit PoLouirs.

Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me,
friends. [Exeunt Ros. Guil. Hob. ^c.

'Tis now the very witching time of night;
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: Now could I drink hot

blood.
And do such business as the bitter day
Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mother. —
O, heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural :
I will speak daggers to her, but use none;
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites:
How in my words soever she be shent, '"'')
To give them seals <^M never, my soul, consent!

[Exit.

KKKTI.

Act III.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

849

SCENE III.

A Room in the same.

Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guilobnstbbn.

King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us,
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you ;
I your commission will forthwith despatch,
And he to England shall along with you:
The terms of our estate may not endure
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow
Out of his lunes. '-)

Guil. We will ourselves provide:

Most holy and religious fear it is,
To keep those many many bodies safe.
That live, and feed, upon your majesty.

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound,
With all the strength and armour of the mind,
To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more
That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest
The lives of many. The cease of majesty
Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw
What's near it, with it: it is a massy wheel,
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls.
Each small annexment, petty consequence.
Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.

King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage ;
For we will fetters put upon this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.

Ros. Ouil. We will haste us.

[Exeuta RosENCBANTz and Guildenstebr.

Enter Polonius.

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet:
Behind the arras I'll convey myself, *^)
To hear the process; I'll warrant, she'll tax him

home:
And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet, that some more audience, than a mother.
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
The speech, of vantage. '*) Fare you well, my liege:
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I know.

King. Thanks, dear my lord.

[Exit F01.OKID8.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven j
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
A brother's murder! — Pray can I not.
Though inclination be as sharp as will; <>*)
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin.
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens.
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy.
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, —
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder! —
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder.
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence? ^6)
In the corrupted currents of this world.
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: But 'tis not so above:

There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults.
To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can: What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one can not repent? <'')
O wretched state ! O bosom, black as death !
O limed soul; ^*) that struggling to be free.
Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart, with strings of

steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe;
All may be well! [Retires, and kneeU.

Enter Hamlet.
Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying;
And now I'll do't; — and so he goes to heaven:
And so am I reveng'd? That would be scann'd:*')
A villain kills my father; and, for that,
I, his sole son, do this same villain send
To heaven.

Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
He took my father grossly, full of bread ;
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven?
But, in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him: And am I then reveng'd.
To take him in the purging of his soul.
When he is fit an^ season'd for his passage?
No.

Up, swocd; and know thou a more horrid hent:'")
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage;
Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed;
At gaming, swearing; or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't :
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven:
And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black.
As hell, whereto it goes. ^•) My mother stays:
Thb physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Hxit.

The Kme rises, and advances.

King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below :
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Another Room in the same.

Enter Queen and Polonius-

Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home
to him:
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear

with;
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between
Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. '^)
Pray you, be round with him.

Queen. I'll warrant you;

Fear me not: — withdraw, I hear him coming.

[Polonius hide* himself.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Now, mother; what's the matter?
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended.
Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet?
Ham. What's the matter now?

Queen. Have you forgot me?
Ham. No, by the rood, not so:

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And, — 'would it were not so! — you are my mother.
KXKVI. 54

850

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

Act hi.

Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can

speak.
Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall
not budge;
You go not, till I set you up a glass
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not mur-
der me?
Help, help, ho!
Pol. [Behind.] What, ho! help!
Ham. How now! a rat?

[Draw8.
Dead, for a ducat, dead.

[Hahlet makes a pass through the Attos.
Pol. iBehind.] O, 1 am slain.

[Falls, and dies.
Queen. O me, what hast thou done?
Ham. Nay, I know not:

Is it the king?

[Lifts up the Arras, and draws forth Polonius.
Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
Ham. A bloody deed; — almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Queen. As kill a king! '^)

Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. —

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!

[To PoiiONIOS.

I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune:
Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. —
Leave wringing of your hands: Peace; sit you down.
And let me wring your heart: for so I shall.
If it be made of penetrable stuff;
If damned custom have not braz'd it so.
That it be proof and bulwark against sense.
Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag

thy tongue
In noise so rude against me?

Ham. Such an act.

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
As from the body of contraction ''*) plucks
The very soul; and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow;
Yea, this solidity and compound mass.
With tristful visage, as against the doom.
Is thought-sick at the act.

Queen. Ah me, what act.

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? '^)
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; '^)
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow:
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury, ■")
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
This was your husband. — Look you now, what

follows :
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear.
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed.
And batten '8) on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love: for, at your age,
The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble.
And waits upon the judgment; And what judgment
Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have.
Else, could you not have motion: ■") But, sure,

that sense

Is apoplex'd: for madness would not err;

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd.

But it reserv'd some quantity of choice.

To serve in such a difference. What devil was't.

That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman- blind? ^^)

Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,

Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all.

Or but a sickly part of one ti'ue sense

Could not so mope. — *)

O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,

If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, "')

To flaming youth, let virtue be as wax.

And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame.

When the compulsive ardour gives the charge;

Since frost itself as actively doth burn,

And reason panders will.

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more :

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained ^-) spots.
As will not leave their tinct. ®^)

Ham. Nay, but to live

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed; ^'*)
Stew'd in corruption; honeying, and making love
Over the nasty stye ;

Queen. O, speak to me no more;

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
No more, sweet Hamlet.

Ham. A murderer, and a villain:

A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe
Of your precedent loi'd: — a vice of kings: ^''')
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule;
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole.
And put it in his pocket!

Queen. No more.

Enter Ghost.

A king

Ham.

Of shreds and patches: — ^^)
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings.
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious
figure?

Queen. Alas, he's mad.

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide.
That, laps'd in time and passion ^7) lets go by
The important acting of your dread command?
O, say !

Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits:
O, step between her and her fighting soul;
Conceit in weakest bodies ^s) strongest works;
Speak to her, Hamlet.

Ham, How is it with you, lady?

Queen. Alas, how is't with you?
That you do bend your eye on vacancy.
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
And as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, *')
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son.
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he
glares !
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. — '") Do not look

upon me;
Lest, with this piteous action, you convert
My stern effects: '•) then what I have to do
Will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood.

Queen. To whom do you speak this?

Ham. Do you see nothing there?

Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see.

KXUVI.

Act IV.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

851

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear?

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves.

Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals
away!
My father, in his habit as he liv'd!
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal !

[Exit Ghost.

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain:
This bodiless creation ecstasy
Is very cunning in.

Ham. Ecstasy!
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time.
And makes as healthful music : It is not madness,
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re- word; which madness
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace.
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks;
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place;
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within.
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
Repent what's past: avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost '^) on the weeds,
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue:
For in the fatness of these pursy times.
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg;
Yea, curb '^) and woo, for leave to do him good.

Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in
twain.

Ham. O throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat
Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this ;
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock, or livery.
That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night:
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence: the next more easy:
For use almost can change the stamp of nature.
And either curb the devil, or throw him out
With wond'rous potency. Once more, good night;
And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord,

[Pointing to Polonius.
I do repent: but heaven has pleas'd it so, —
To punish me with this, and this with me, '•*)
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave hiin. So, again, good night!
I must be cruel, only to be kind :
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. —
But one word more, good lady.

Queen. What shall I do?

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
Let the bloat king ' ^) tempt you again to bed ;
Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; '')
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, '')
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers.
Make you to ravel all this matter out.
That 1 essentially am not in madness.
But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know:
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, '^)
Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
No, in despite of sense, and secrecy.
Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
Let the birds fly; and, like the famous ape.
To try conclusions, ^9) jn tbe basket creep.
And break your own neck down.

Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of
breath,

And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
What thou hast said to me.

Ham. I must to England; ""') you know that?

Queen. Alack,

I had forgot; 'tis so concluded on.

Ham. There's letters seal'd: and ray two school-
fellows, —
Whom I wifl trust, as I will adders fang'd, — •<>»)
They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way,
And marshal me to knavery: Let it work;
For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer
Hoist '"-) with his own petar: and it shall go hard,
But I will delve one yard below their mines.
And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,
When in one line two crafts directly meet. — *"*)
This man shall set me packing.
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room : —
Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you: "'*)
Good night, mother.

[Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging in PoIiONIDB.

ACT

SCEIVE I.

IV. »)

The same.

KKXVI

Enter King, Qubkn, Rosencrantz, and Girii,-

DENSTERN.

King. There's matter in these sighs ; these profound
heaves ;
You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them:
Where is your son?

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. —
[To Rosencrantz and GuiIiDexstebn,
who go out.
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night!

King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?

Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both contend
Which is the mightier: In his lawless fit,
Behind the arras hearing something stir.
Whips out his rapier, cries, -} A rat! a rat!
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
The unseen good old man.

King. O heavy deed !

It had been so with us, had we been there:
His liberty is full of threats to all ;
To you yourself, to us, to every one.
Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
It will be laid to us, whose providence
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, ')
This mad young man: but, so much was our love,
We would not understand what was most fit;
But, like the owner of a foul disease.
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone?

Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd:
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore.
Among a mineral *) of metals base.
Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done.

King. O, Gertrude, come away!
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch.
But we will ship him hence: and this vile deed
We must, with all our majesty and skill,
Both countenance and excuse. — Ho! Guildenstem!

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildbnstbrn.

Friends both, go join you with some further aid:
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain.
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him:

54*

852

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

Act IV.

Go, seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body
Into the chapel, I pray you, haste in this.

[Exeunt Ros. and GciL.
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends;
And let them know, both what we mean to do.
And what's untimely done: so, haply, slander, —
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter,
As level as the cannon to his blank, ^)
Transports his poison'd shot, — may miss our name,
And hit the woundless lieir. — O come away!
My soul is full of discord, and dismay. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Another Room in the tame.

Enter Hamlet.

Ham. Safely stowed, — [Rosen, ^c. within.

Hamlet! lord Hamlet!] But soft, — what noise? who
calls on Hamlet? O, here they come.

Enter Rosencrantz and GtiiLDENsTBRN.

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead
body?

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.

Ros. Tell us where 'tis ; that we may take it thence,
And bear it to the chapel.

Ham. Do not believe it.

Ros. Believe what?

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine
own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! — what
replication should be made by the son of a king?

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord?

Ham. Ay, sir ; that soaks up the king's countenance,
his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do
the king best service in the end: He keeps them,
like an ape,') in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed,
to be last swallowed: When he needs what you
have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge,
you shall be dry again.

Ros. I understand you not, my lord.

Ham. I am glad of it: A knavish speech sleeps in
a foolish ear.

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body
is, and go with us to the king.

Ham. The body is with the king, but the king is
not with the body. The king is a thing

Guil. A thing, my lord?

Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide fox, and
all after. ') [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another Room in the same.

Enter King, attended.

King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the body.
How dangerous is it, that this man goes loose?
Yet must not we put the strong law on him:
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude.
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
And, where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is weigh'd,
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even.
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause: Diseases, desperate grown,
By desperate appliance are reliev'd,

Enter Rosencrantz.

Or not at all. — How now? what hath befallen?

Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord,
We cannot get from him.

King. But where is he?

Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your

pleasure.
King. Bring him before us.
Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord.

Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern.

King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?

Ham. At supper.

King. At supper? where?

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten:
a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at
him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet:
we fat all creatures else, to fat us; and we fat
ourselves for maggots: Your fat king, and your
lean beggar, is but variable service; two dishes,
but to one table ; that's the end.

King. Alas, alas!

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath
eat of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of
that worm.

King. What dost thou mean by this?

Ham. Nothing, but to show you how a king may
go a progress ") through the guts of a beggar.

King. Where is Polonius?

Ham. In heaven ; send thither to see : if your mes-
senger find him not there, seek him i'the other place
yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within
this month, you shall nose him as you go up the
stairs into the lobby.

King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants.

Ham. He will stay till you come.

[Exeunt Attendants.

King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety, —
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
For that which thou hast done, — must send thee

hence
With fiery quickness: Therefore, prepare thyself;
The bark is ready, and the wind at help, ')
The associates tend, and every thing is bent
B^or England.

Ham. For England?

King. Ay, Hamlet.

Ham. Good.

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.

Ham. I see a cherub, that sees them. — But, come ;
for England ! — Farewell, dear mother.

King. Thy loving father, Hamlet.

Ham. My mother: Father and mother is man and
wife; man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother.
Come, for England. [Exit.

King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed
aboard ;
Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night:
Away ; for every thing is seal'd and done
That else leans on the affair: Pray you, make haste.
[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstebn.
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,
(As my great power thereof may give thee sense;
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us,) thou may'st not coldly set*°)
Our sovereign process; which imports at full.
By letters conjuring to that effect.
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
For like the hectic in my blood he i-ages.
And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done,
Howe'er my haps, ") my joys will ne'er begin. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Plain in Denmark.

Enter Fortinbras, and Forces, marching.

For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king;

XHBVI.

Act IV.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DExNMARK.

853

Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras
Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
If that his majesty would aught with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye, •-)
And let him know so.

Cmp. I will do't, my lord.

For. Go softly on.

[Exeunt FomTisBmAS and Forces.

Enter Hamlet, Rosbnckantz, Gmi.DBNsTBRN, ^.

Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these?

Cap. They are of Norway, sir.

Ham. How purposed, sir,

I pray you?

Cap. Against some part of Poland.

Ham. Who

Commands them, sir?

Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.

Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir.
Or for some frontier?

Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition.
We go to gain a little patch. of ground.
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.

Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.

Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand
ducats.
Will not debate the question of this straw:
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace; j
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without |
Why the man dies. — I humbly thank you, sir. ]\

Cap. God be wi'you, sir. [Exit Captain. \\

Ros. Will't please you go, my lord ? jj

Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little before, ij
[Exeunt Ron. and Guu. '
How all occasions do inform against me.
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man.
If his chief good, and market of his time, '^)
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more-
Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, **)
Looking before, and after, gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be
Bestial obli>-ion, or some craven scruple *^)
Of thinking too precisely on the event, —
A thought, which, quarter 'd, hath but one part

wisdom.
And, ever, three parts coward, — I do not know
Why yet I live to say, Thit thing'$ to do;
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means.
To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me:
Witness, this army of such mass, and charge.
Let by a delicate and tender prince;
Whose spirit, with divine ambition pufTd,
Makes mouths at the invisible event:
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure.
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare.
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great.
Is, not to stir without great argument: '*)
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw.
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
That have a father kiU'd, a mother stain'd.
Excitements of my reason, and my blood,
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men.
That for a fantasy, and trick of fame.
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause.

I Which is not tomb enough, and continent, ")
To hide the slain ? — O, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Elsinore. A Room in the Cattle.

Eater Queen and Hokatio.

Queen. I will not speak with her.

Hor. She is importunate; indeed, distract;
Her mood will needs be pitied.

Queen. What would she have?

Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she
hears.
There's tricks i'the world; and hems, and beats

her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; ") speaks [things in

doubt.
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing.
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; ^°) they aim at it, ")
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield

them.
Indeed would make one think, there might be thought.
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. -^)

Queen. 'Twere good, she were spoken with; for
she may strew
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds:
Let her come in. [Exit Horatio.

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is.
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: -')
So full of artless jealousy is guilt.
It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt.

')

Re-enter Horatio, with Ophelia.

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ?
Queen. How now, Ophelia?

Oph. How should I your true love know **)
From another one?
By hi$ cockle hat and ttaffy

And his sandal shoon.-^) [Singing.

Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark.

He is dead and gone, lady^ [Singa.

He is dead and gone;
At hit head a grass-green turfy

At his heels a stone.

O, ho!

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia,

Oph. Pray you, mark.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,

[SMgS.

Enter Kma.

Queen. Alas, look here, my lord.

Oph. Larded -^) all with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grate did go.
With true-love showers.

King. How do you, pretty lady?

Oph. Well, God'ield you! ^^) They say, the owl
was a baker's daughter. -*) Lord, we know what
we are, but know not what we may be. God be
at your table!

King. Conceit upon her father.

Oph. Pray, let us have no words of tlus; hxA when
they, ask you what it means, say you this:

XXXVI. ^

854

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act IV.

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window.

To be your Valentine:

Then up he rose, and don' d his clothes,-"^)
And dupp'd the chamber door; **)

Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

King. Pretty Ophelia!

Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't

By Gis, ^°) and by Saint Charity, ^i)

Alack, and fye for shame!
Young men will do't, if they come to't;

By cock, ^^) they are to blame.

Quoth she, before you tumbled me.
You promis'd me to wed:

[He answers.]

80 would I ha' done, by yonder sun.
An thou hadst not come to my bed.

King. How long hath she been thus?

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa-
tient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they
should lay him i'the cold ground : My brother shall
know of it, and so I thank you for your good
counsel. Come, my coach ! Good night, ladies ; good
night, sweet ladies! good night, good night. [Exit.

King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I
pray you. [Exit Horatio.

O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
All from her father's death: and now behold,
O Gertrude, Gertrude,

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions! First, her father slain;
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
Of his own just remove: The people muddied,
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and

whispers.
For good Polonius' death; and we have done but

greenly, ^3)
In hugger-mugger to inter him: ^'*) Poor Ophelia
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment;
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts.
Last, and as much containing as all these.
Her brother is in secret come from France:
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd.
Will nothing stick our person to arraign
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this.
Like to a murdering piece, ^^) in many places
Gives me superfluous death. [A Noise within.

Queen. Alack! what noise is this?

Enter a Gentleman.

King. Attend.
Where are my Switzers? ^*) Let them guard the

door:
What is the matter?

Gent. Save yourself, my lord;

The ocean, overpeering of his list, ^')
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste.
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
O'erbears your officers ! The rabble call him, lord ;
And, as the world were now but to begin,
Anticjuity forgot, custom not known.
The ratifiers and props of every word,
They crj, Choose we; Laertes shall be king!

Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds,
Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry !
O, this is counter, ^*) you false Danish dogs.

King. The doors are broke. [Noise within.

Enter Labrtbs, armed; Danes following.

Laer. Where is this king? — Sirs, stand you all
without.

Dan. No, let's come in.

Laer. I pray you, give me leave.

Dan. We will, we will.

[They retire without the door.

Laer. I thank you: — keep the door. — O thou
vile king.
Give me my father.

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes.

Laer. That drop of blood, that's calm, proclaims
me bastard ;
Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow ^')
Of my true mother.

King. What is the cause, Laertes,

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like? —
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person;
There's such divinity doth hedge a king.
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes,
Why thou art thus incens'd; — Let him go, Ger-
trude; —
Speak, man.

Laer. Where is my father?

King. Dead.

Queen. But not by him.

King. Let him demand his fill.

Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit!
I dare damnation : To this point I stand, —
That both the worlds I give to negligence.
Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
Most throughly for my father.

King. Who shall stay you?

Laer. My will, not all the world's:
And, for my means, I'll husband them so well,
They shall go far with little.

King. Good Laertes,

If you desire to know the certainty
Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge.
That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe.
Winner and loser?

Laer. None but his enemies.

King. Will you know them then?

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my

arms ;
And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
Repast them with my blood.

King. Why, now you speak

Like a good child, and a true gentleman.
That I am guiltless of your fivther's death,
And am most sensibly in grief for it,
[t shall as level to your judgment 'pear, *°)
As day does to your eye.

Danes. [IFithin.] Let her come in.

Laer. How now! what noise is that?

Enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with Straws
and Flowers.

O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt.
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! —
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight.
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!

KKKVI.

Act IV.

HAvMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

855

Dear maid, kind sister, swett Ophelia! —

0 heavens! is't possible, a jviung maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
Nature is fine in love: and, where 'tis fine.
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves. -* ' )

Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier;
Hey no nonny, nanny hey nonny :
And in his grave rain'd many a tear; — -.

Fare you well, my dove!

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade
revenge, It could not move thus.

Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you call
him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! *^)
It is the false steward, that stole his master's
daughter.

Laer. This nothing's more than matter.

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance;*^)
pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's
for thoughts.

Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and re-
membrance fitted.

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines: —
there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : — we
may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays : — you may
wear your rue with a difference. — '*'*) There's a
daisy: — I would give you some violets; but they
withered all, when my father died: — They say,
he made a good end,

For bonny sweet Robin is all my Joy, —

[Sings.

Laer. Thought and affliction,''^) passion, hell itself.
She turns to favour, and to prettiness.

Oph. And will be not come again? [Sings.

And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead,

Go to thy death-bed.
He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll:

He is gone, he is gone.

And we cast away moan;
God 'a mercy on his soul!

And of all Christian souls! *<') I pray God. God
be wi' you! [ExitlOeu^LiA.

Laer. Do you see this, O God?

King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will.
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me :
If by direct or by collateral hand
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,
To you in satisfaction; but, if not.
Be you content to lend your patience to us.
And we shall jointly labour with your soul
To give it due content.

Laer. Let this be so;

His means of death, his obscure funeral, —
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones.*')
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, —
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
That I must call't in question.

King. So you shall;

And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall.

1 pray you, go with me. [Exeunt.

SCENE VL

Another Room in the same.
Enter Horatio, and a Servant.

Hor. What are they, that would speak with me?

Serv. Sailors, sir;

They say, they have letters for you.

Hor. Let them come in. —

[Exit Servant.
I do not know from what part of the world
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet.

Enter Sailors.

1 Sail. God bless you, sir.

Hor. Let him bless thee too.

1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a
letter for you, sir; it comes from the ambassador
that was bound for England; if your name be Ho-
ratio, as I am let to know it is.

Hor. [Reads.] Horatio, when thou shalt have over-
looked this, give these fellows some means to the
king; they have letters for him. Ere we were two
days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appoint-
ment gave us chace: Finding ourselves too slow
of sail, we put on a compelled valour; and in
the grapple I boarded them: on the instant, they
got clear of our ship; so I alone became their
prisoner. They have dealt with me, like thieves
of mercy; but they knew what they did; I am to
do a good turn for them. Let the king have the
letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with
as much haste as thou would'st fly death. I have
words to speak in thine ear, will make thee dumb ;
yet are they much too light for the bore of the
matter. •*■*) These good fellows will bring thee
where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold
their course for England; of them I have much
to tell thee. Farewell.

He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.

Come, I will give you way for these your letters;
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.
Another Room in the tame.
Enter King and Laertes.

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance
seal,
And you must put me in your heart for friend;
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear.
That he, which hath your noble father slain,
Pursu'd my life.

Laer. It well appears: — But tell me.

Why you proceeded not against these feats.
So crimeful and so capital in nature.
As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else.
You mainly were stirr'd up.

King. O, for two special reasons;

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd.
But yet to me they are strong. The queen, his

mother.
Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,
(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,)
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul.
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
I could not but by her. The other motive.
Why to a public count I might not go.
Is, the great love the general gender*') bear him:
Who, dipping all his faults in their aiTection,

KBKVI.

856

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK,

Act IV.

Work like the spring ^ ") that turneth wood to stone,
Convert his gyves to graces; so that iny arrows,
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind.
Would have reverted to my bow again,
And not where I had aiin'd them.

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
A sister driven into desperate terms;
Whose worth, if praises may go back again, *')
Stood challenger on mount of ail the age
For her perfections : — But my revenge will come.

King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must
not think,
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull,
That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more:
I loved your father, and we love ourself;
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, —
How now? what news?

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:

This to your majesty; this to the queen.

King. From Hamlet! Who brought them?

Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not;
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them
Of him that brought them.

King. Laertes, you shall hear them: —

Leave us. [£xif Messenger.

[Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, I
am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall
I beg leave to see your kingly eyes: when I shall,
first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the
occasion of my sudden and more strange return.

Hamlet.

What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?

Laer. Know you the hand?

King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked, —

And, in a postscript here, he says, alone:
Can you advise me?

Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come ;
It warms the very sickness in my heart.
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth.
Thus diddest thou.

King. If it be so, Laertes,

As how should it be so? how otherwise? —
Will you be rul'd by me?

Laer. Ay, my lord;

So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace.

King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd, —
As checking at his voyage,*^) and that he means
No more to undertake it, — I will work him
To an exploit, now ripe in my device.
Under the which he shall not choose but fall;
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe;
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
And call it, accident.

Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd;

The rather, if you could devise it so,
That I might be the organ.

King. It falls right.

You have been talk'd of since your travel much.
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
Did not together pluck such envy from him.
As did that one; and that, in my regard.
Of the un worthiest siege. *^)

Laer. What part is that, my lord?

King. A very ribband in the cap of youth.
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
The light and careless livery that it wears.
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds,

Importing health and ?jraveness. — * *) Two months

since.
Here was a gentlen* m of Normandy, —
I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,
And they can well on horseback: but this gallant
Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat;
And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse.
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd
With the brave beast: so far hetopp'd my thought,
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.

Laer. A Norman, was't?

King. A Norman.

Laer. Upon my life, Lamord.

King. The very same.

Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch, indeed.
And gem of all the nation.

King. He made confession of you;
And gave you such a masterly report.
For art and exercise in your defence, **)
And for your rapier most especial.
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed.
If one could match you: the scrimers ^') of their

nation.
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
If you oppos'd them : Sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy.
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you.
Now, out of this,

Laer. What out of this, my lord?

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you?
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart?

Laer. Why ask you this?

King. Not that I think, you did not love your
father;
But that I know, love is begun by time; *')
And that I see, in passages of proof, *^)
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it;
And nothing is at a like goodness still;
For goodness, growing to a plurisy.
Dies in his own too-much: That we would do.
We should do when we would; for this would

changes.
And hath abatements and delays as many
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh,
That hurts by easing. 5') But, to the quick o'the

ulcer :
Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,
To show yourself in deed your father's son
More than in words?

Laer. To cut. his throat i'the church.

King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber:
Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home:
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence.
And set a double varnish on the fame
The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, together.
And wager o'er your heads : he, being remiss,
Most generous, and free from all contriving.
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
A sword unbated, '"'), and, in a pass of practice, * ')
Requite him for your father.

Laer. I will do't

And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,

KXKVZ.

Act V.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

857

Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death,
That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death. '^)

King. Let's further think of this;

Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means,
May fit us to oar shape: *^) if this should fail,
And that our drift look through our bad performance,
'Twere better not assay'd: therefore this project
Should have a back, or second, that might hold.
If this should blast in proof. '■*) Soft; — let me

see: —
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, —
I ha't:

When in your motion you are hot and dry,
(As make your bouts more violent to that end,)
And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him *•*)
A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping.
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, *')
Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise?

Enter Qdekn.

How now, sweet queen?

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel.
So fast they follow : — Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.

Laer. Drown'd! O, where?

Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook.
That shows his hoar leaves in the grassy stream;
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal ") shepherds give a grosser name.
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them ;
There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies, and herself.
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,'^)
Or like a creature native and indu'd
Unto that element: but long it could not be.
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
PuU'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd?

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet
It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
Let shame say what it will : when these are gone.
The woman will be out. — ''') Adieu, my lord!
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze.
But that this folly drowns it. [Exit.

King. Let's follow, Gertrude;

How much I had to do to calm his rage!
Now fear I, this will give it start again;
Therefore, let's follow. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE L A Church -yard.

Enter two Clowns, with Spades, &c.

1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that
wilfully seeks her own salvation?

2 Clo. I tell thee, she is ; therefore make her grave
sti'aight: ') the crowner hath set on her, and finds
it christian burial.

1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned her-
self in her own defence?

2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so.

1 Clo. It must be «c offendendo; it cannot be else.
For here lies the point : If I drown myself wittingly,
it argues an act: and an act hath three branches;
it is, to act, to do, and to perform: ^) Argal, she
drowned herself wittingly.

2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver.

1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good:
here stands the man; good: If the man go to this
water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he
goes; mark you that: but if the water come to
him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal,
he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens
not his own life.

2 Clo. But is this law?

1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's quest law.

2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had
not been a gentlewoman, she should have been
buried out of christian burial.

1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st : And the more
pity ; that great folks shall have countenance in
this world to drown or hang themselves, more than
their even christian. 3) Come, my spade. There is
no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and
grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.

2 Clo. Was he a gentleman?

1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms.

2 Clo. Why, he had none.

1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou un-
derstand the Scripture ? The Scripture says, Adam
digged ; Could he dig without arms ? I'll put an-
other question to thee : if thou answerest me not
to the purpose, confess thyself

2 Clo. Go to.

1 Clo. What is he that builds stronger than either
the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

2 Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives
a thousand tenants.

1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the
gallows does well; But how does it well? it does
well to those that do ill: now thou dost ill, to say,
the gallows is built stronger than the church;
argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again;
come.

2 Clo. Who builds .stronger than a mason, a ship-
wright, or a carpenter?

1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

2 Clo. Rlarry, now I can tell.

1 Clo. To't.

2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance.

1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for
your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating:
and when you are asked this question next, say,
a grave-maker; the houses that he makes, last till
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me
a stoup of liquor. ^ [Exit 2 Clown.

1 Clown digs, and sings.

In youth, when I did love, did love, ^)

Methought, it was very sweet.
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove

O, methought, there was nothing meet.

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business?
he sings at grave making.

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of
easiness.

Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment
hath the daintier sense.

XXXVI.

858

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

Act V.

1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps,
Hath clawed me in his clutch.
And hath shipped me into the land.
As if I had never been such.

[Throws up a Skall.

Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could
sing once: How the knave jowls it to the ground,
as if 4t were Cain's jawbone, that did the first
murder! This might be the pate of a politician,
which this ass now o'er-reaches ; one that would
circumvent God, might it not?

Hor. It might, my lord.

Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say. Good-
morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?
This might be my lord Such-a-one, that praised my
lord Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it;
might it not?

Hor. Ay, my lord.

Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my lady Worm's;
chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a
sexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, an we had
the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more
the breeding, but to play at loggats with them?*)
mine ache to think on't.

1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, [Sings.
For — and a shrouding sheet:
O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up a Skull.

Ham. There's another: Why may not that be the
skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits '') now,
his quillets, ') his cases, his tenures, and his tricks?
why does he suifer this rude knave now to knock
him about the sconce *) with a dirty shovel, and
will not tell him of his action of battery? Humph!
This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of
land, with its statutes, his recognizances, his fines,
his double vouchers, ') his recoveries; Is this the
fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries,
to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his
vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and
double ones too, than the length and breadth of a
pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his
lands will hardly lie in this box; and must the in-
heritor himself have no more? ha?

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins?

Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calves-skins too.

Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out
assurance in that. '") I will speak to this felloyv: —
Whose grave's this, sirrah?

1 Clo. Mine, sir. —

O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.

[Sings.

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest
in't.

1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is
not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it
is mine.

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is
thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; there-
fore thou liest.

1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again,
from me to you.

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for?

1 Clo. For no man, sir.

Ham. What woman then?

1 Clo. For none neither.

Ham. Who is to be buried in't?

1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir; but, rest her
soul, she's dead.

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak
by the card, '*) or equivocation will undo us. By
the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken
note of it; the age is grown so picked, '^) that
the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of
the courtier, he galls his kibe. — How long hast
thou been a grave-maker ?

1 Clo. Of all the days i'the year, I came to't
that day that our last king Hamlet overcame For-
tinbras.

Ham. How long's that since?

1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell
that: It was that very day that young Hamlet
was born : ' ^) he that is mad, and sent into Eng-
land.

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?

1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall reco-
ver his wits there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great
matter there.

Ham. Why?

1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there the
men are as mad as he.

Ham. How came he mad?

1 Clo. Very strangely, they say.

Ham. How strangely ?

1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits.

Ham. Upon what ground?

1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark; I have been sex-
ton here, man, and boy, thirty years.

Ham. How long will a man lie i'the earth ere he
rot?

1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die,
(as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that
will scarce hold the laying in,) he will last you
some eight year, or nine year: a tanner will last
you nine year.

Ham. Why he more than another?

1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his
trade, that he will keep out water a great while;
and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson
dead body. Here's a skull now hath lain you i'the
earth three-and-twenty years.

Ham. Whose was it?

1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was ; Whose
do you think- it was?

Ham. Nay, I know not.

1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he
poured a flaggon of Rhenish on my head once.
This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's
jester.

Ham. This? [Takes the Skull.

1 Clo. E'en that.

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick! — I knew him, Hora-
tio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy :
he hath borne me on his back a thousand times;
and now how abhorred in my imagination it is!
my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I
have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your
gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes
of merriment, that were wont to set the table on
a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning?
quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's cham-
ber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to
this favour '") she must come; make her laugh at
that. — 'Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

Hor. What's that, my lord?

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o'this
fashion i'the earth?

Hor. E'en so.

Ham. And smelt so? pah!

[Throws down the Skull.

B2CKV1.

Act V.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

859

Hor. E'en so, ray lord.

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Hora-
tio I Why may not imagination trace the noble
dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-
hole?
Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider
so.
Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him
thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead
it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried,
Alexander returneth to dust; the dust is earth; of
earth we make loam: And why of that loam,
whereto he was converted, might they not stop a
beer-barrel ?

Imperious Caesar, dead, and tum'd to clay.
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
O, that the earth , which kept the world in awe.
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw! •*)
But soft ! but soft ! aside ; — Here comes the king.

Enter Priests, ^c. in Procession; the Corpse of

Ophelia, Labrtbs, and Mourners following;

King, Qcbbn, their Trains, ^c.

The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow?
And with such maimed rites! '*) This doth betoken.
The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand
Fordo its own life. ") 'Twas of some estate: '^)
Couch we a while, and mark.

[Retiring with Hoeatio.

Laer. What ceremony else?

Ham. That is Laertes,

A very noble youth: Mark.

Laer. What ceremony else?

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd
As we have warranty : Her death was doubtful ;
And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers,
Shards, ") flints, and pebbles, should be thrown

on her.
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, ^")
Her maiden strewracnts, and the bringing home
Of bell and burial.

Laer. Must there no more be done?

1 Priest. No more be done!

We should profane the service of the dead.
To sing a requiem, -') and such rest to her
As to peace-parted souls.

Laer. Lay her i'the earth ; —

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! — I tell thee, churlish priest,
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be,
When thou iiest howling.

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia!

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell!

[Scattering Flowers.
I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife;
I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.

Laer. O, treble woe

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head.
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Depriv'd thee of! — Hold off the earth a while.
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:

[Leapt into the Grave,
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead;
Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head
Of blue Olympus.

Ham. [Advancing.^ What is he, whose grief
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand

Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I,

Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the Grave.

Laer. The devil take thy soul!

[Grappling with him.

Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat;
For, though I am not splenetive and rash.
Yet have I in me something dangerous.
Which let thy wisdom fear: Hold oflf thy hand.

King. Pluck them asunder.

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet!

All. Gentlemen,

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.

[The Attendants part them, and they come mtt
of the Grave.

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme,
Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

Queen. O my son! what theme?

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers
Could not, with all their quantity of love.
Make up ray sum. — What wilt thou do for her?

King. O, he is mad, Laertes.

Queen. For love of God, forbear him.

Ham. 'Zounds, show me what thou'lt do:
Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't

tear thyself?
Woul't drink up Esil? ^-) eat a crocodile?
I'll do't. — Dost thou come here to whine?
To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and so will I:
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us; till our ground.
Singeing his pate against the burning zone.
Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou.

Queen. This is mere madness:

And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as the female dove.
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, -')
His silence will sit drooping.

Ham. Hear you, sir;

What is the reason that you use me thus?
I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter;
Let Hercules himself do what he may.
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

[Exit.

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. —

[Exit HOBATIO,

Strengthen your patience ia our last night's speech ;

[To Laertes.
We'll put the matter to the present push. —
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. —
This grave shall have a living monument :
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see:
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Hall in the Castle.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio.

Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see
the other; —
You do remember all the circumstance?
Hor. Remember it, my lord !

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of
fighting.
That would not let me sleep: methought, I lay
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. *") Rashly,
And prais'd be rashness for it, — Let us know.
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do pall; -^) and that should
teach us.

XXU.VI.

860

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

Hor. That is most certain.

Ham. Up from my cabin.
My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
Grop'd I to find out them: had my desire;
Finger'd their packet; and, in fine, withdrew
To mine own room again: making so bold.
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal
Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,
A royal knavery; an exact command, —
Larded with many several sorts of reasons,
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too.
With ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, — ^*')
That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, ^')
No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,
My head should be struck off.

Hor, Is't possible?

Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more
leisure.
But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed?

Hor. Ay, 'beseech you.

Ham. Being thus benetted round with villainies,
Or I could make -^) a prologue to my brains.
They had begun the play; — I sat me down;
Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair:
I once did hold it, as our statists do, -')
A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now
It did me yeoman's service: ^'') Wilt thou know
The effect of what I wrote?

Hor. Ay, good my lord.

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, —
As England was his faithful tributary;
As love between them like the palm might flourish ;
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear,
And stand a comma 'tween their amities ; ^ ' )
And many such like as's of great charge, —
That on the view and knowing of these contents,
Without debateraent further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not shriving time allow'd. ^*)

Hor. How was this seal'd?

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant;
I had my father's signet in my purse.
Which was the model of that Danish seal: ^^)
Folded the writ up in form of the other;
Subscrib'd it ; gave the impression ; plac'd it safely,
The changeling never known: Now the next day
Was our sea-fight: and what to this was sequent
Thou know'st already.

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't.

Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this em-
ployment ;
They are not near ray conscience: their defeat
Does by their own insinuation ^'*) grow:
'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes
Between the pass and fell incensed points
Of mighty opposites.

Hor. Why, what a king is this!

Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon?
He that hath klll'd my king, and whor'd my mother;
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes:
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with such cozenage; is't not perfect con-
science.
To quit him '^) with this arm? and is't not to be

damn'd.
To let this canker of our nature come
In further evil?

Hor. It must be shortly known to him from Eng-
land,
What is the issue of the business there*

Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine;
And a man's life's no more than to say, one.
But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
That to Laertes I forgot myself;
For by the image of my cause, I see
The portraiture of his: I'll count his favours: ^'^)
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
Into a towering passion.

Hor. Peace; who comes here?

Enter Osric.

0»r. Your lordship is right welcome back to Den-
mark.

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this
water-fly? ^')

Hor. No, my good lord.

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a
vice to know him: He hath much land, and fertile:
let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall
stand at the king's mess: 'Tis a chough; ^^) but,
as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.

Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure,
I should impart a thing to you from his majesty.

Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of
spirit: Your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the
head.

Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot.

Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is
northerly.

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.

Ham. But yet, methinks, it is very sultry and
hot; or my complexion

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, —
as 'twere, — I cannot tell how. — My lord, his
majesty bade me signify to you, that he has laid
a great wager on your head: Sir, this is the
matter, —

Ham. I beseech you, remember

[Hamlet moves Mm to put on his Hat.

Osr. Nay, good my lord; for my ease, in good
faith. ^'') Sir, here is newly come to court, Laer-
tes : believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most
excellent differences, ^'>) of very soft society, and
great showing: Indeed, to speak feelingly of him,
he is the card or calender of gentry, '*') for you
shall find in him the continent of what part a
gentleman would see. '*-)

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in
you; — *^) though, I know, to divide him inven-
torially, would dizzy the arithmetic of memory;
and yet but raw neither, in respect of his quick
sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to
be a soul of great article; and his infusion of such
dearth and rareness, as, to make true diction of
him, his semblable is his mirrour; and, who else
would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.

Ham. The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap
the gentleman in our more rawer breath?

Osr. Sir?

Hor. Is't not possible to understand in another
tongue? You will do't, sir, really.

Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentle-
man?

Osr. Of Laertes?

Hor. His purse is empty already; all his golden
words are spent.

Ham. Of him, sir.

Osr. I know, you are not ignorant

Ham. I would, you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you
did, it would not much approve me; — '*'*) Well,
sir.

XUKVI.

Act V.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

861

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence j
Laertes is

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should compare
with him in excellence; but, to know a man well,
were to know himself.

0»r. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the im-
putation laid on him by them, in his meed "**) he's
nnfellowed.

Ham. What's his weapon?

Osr. Rapier and dagger.

Ham. That's two of his weapons: but, well.

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six
Barbary horses: against the which he had impawn-
ed, *') as I take it, six French rapiers and pon-
iards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, ■*'')
and so: Three of the carriages, in faith, are very
dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most
delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit.

Ham. What call you the carriages?

Hor. I knew, you must be edified by the margent, * ")
ere you had done.

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers.

Ham. The phrase would be more german *') to
the matter, if we could carry a cannon by our
sides; I would, it might be hangers till then. But,
on : Six Barbary horses against six French swords,
their assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages;
that's the French bet against the Danish: Why is
this impawned, as you call it?

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, *°) that in a dozen
passes between yourself and him, he shall not ex-
ceed you three hits; he hath laid, on twelve for
nine ; and it would come to immediate trial, if your
lordship would vouchsafe the answer.

Ham. How, if I answer, no?

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your per-
son in trial.

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall; If it
plccise his majesty, it is the breathing time of day
with me: let the foils be brought, the gentleman
willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win
for him, if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but
mv shame, and the odd hits.

Osr. Shall I deliver you so?

Ham. To this effect, sir; after what flourish your
nature will.

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship.

[Exit.

Ham. Yours, yours. — He does well, to commend
it himself; there are no tongues else for's turn.

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on
his head.

Ham. He did comply **) with his dug, before he
sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the
same breed, that, I know, the drossy age dotes
on,) only got the tune of the time, and outward
habit of encounter; s^) a kind of yesty collection,
which carries them through and through the most
fond and winnowed opinions; *^) and do but blow
them to their trial, the bubbles are out.

Enter a Lord.

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to
you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that
you attend him in the hall: He sends to know, if
your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that
you will take longer time.

Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow
the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, mine is
ready; now, or whensoever, provided I be so able
as now.

Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming
down.

Ham. In happy time.

Lord. The queen desires you, to use some gentle
entertainment **) to Laertes, before you fall to
play.

Ham. She well instructs ine. \_Exit Lord.

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord.

Ham. I do not think so; since he went into
France, I have been in continual practice; I shall
win at the odds. *^) But thou would'st not think,
how ill all's here about my heart: but it is no
matter.

Hor. Nay, good my lord,

Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of
gain-giving,^'') as would, perhaps, trouble a woman.

Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: *')
I will forestal their repair hither, and say, you are
not fit.

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there is a
special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it
be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it
will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come:
the readiness is all : Since no man, of aught he
leaves, knows, what is't to leave betimes? **)
Let be.

Enter King, Quken, Labrtbs, Lords, Os&ic,
and Attendants with Foils, ^c.

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand
from me.

[The King pitts the Hand of Laertes
into that of Hamlet.

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: ^') I have done
you wrong;
But pardon it, as you are a gentleman.
This presence knows, and you must needs have

heard.
How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. *•**)
What I have done.

That might your nature, honour, and exception.
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never, Hamlet:
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it then? His madness: If't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy-
Sir, in this audience.
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts.
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house.
And hurt my brother.

Laer. I am satisfied in nature, '*)

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
To my revenge: but in my terms of honour,
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement.
Till by some elder masters, of known honour,
I have a voice and precedent of peace.
To keep my name ungor'd : But till that time,
I do receive your offer'd love like love.
And will not wrong it. "^

Ham. I embrace it freely;

And will this brother's wager frankly play. —
Give us the foils; come on.

Laer. Come, one for me.

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes : in mine ignorance
Your skill shall, like a star i'the darkest night,
Stick fiery off indeed.

Laer. You mock me, sir.

Ham. No, by this hand.

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cousin

Hamlet,
You know the wager?

UUXVI.

862

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Act V.

Ham. Very well, my lord;

Your grace hath laid the odds o'the weaker side.

King. I do not fear it : I have seen you both : —
But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. *^)

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another.

Ham. This likes me well: These foils have all a
length? [They prepare to play.

Osr. Ay, my good lord.

King. Set me the stoups of wine ®^) upon that
table: —
If Hamlet give the first or second hit.
Or quit in answer of the third exchange.
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire;
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath;
And in the cup an union ''") shall he throw,
Richer than that which four successive kings
In Denmark's crown have worn; Give me the cups;
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth.
Now the king drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin ; —
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.

Ham. Come on, sir.

Laer. Come, my lord. [Tbey play.

Ham. One.

Laer. No.

Ham. Judgment.

Otr. A hit, a very palpable hit.

Laer. Well, — again.

King. Stay, give me drink: Hamlet, this pearl is
thine; ^*)
Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup.

[Trumpets Bound; and Cannon shot off within.

Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by awhile.
Come. — Another hit; What say you?

[They play.

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess.

King. Our son shall win.

Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. —

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows:
The queen carouses ''*) to thy fortune, Hamlet.

Ham. Good madam,

King. Gertrude, do not drink.

Queen. I will, my lord ; — I pray you, pardon me.

King. It is the poison'd cup; it is too late.

[Aside.

Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by.

Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face.

Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now.

King. I do not think it.

Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience.

[Aside.

Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes: You do but
dally;
I pray you, pass with your best violence;
I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. ^')

Laer. Say you so? come on. [They play.

Osr. Nothing neither way.

Laer. Have at you now,

[Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling,
they change Rapiers, and Habii.et wounds
Laehteb.

King. Part them, they are incens'd.

Ham. Nay, come again. [The Qdeen falls.

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho!

Hor. They bleed on both sides : — How is it, my
lord?

Osr. How is't, Laertes?

Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own ''^} springe,
Osric ;
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.

Ham. How does the queen?

King. She swoons to see them bleed.

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my
dear Hamlet! —
The drink, the drink; — I am poison'd! [Dies.

Ham. O villainy! — Ho! let the door be lock'd:
Treachery! seek it out. [Laehtes falls.

Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain;
No medicine in the world can do thee good,
In thee there is not half an hour's life ;
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
Unbated, and envenom'd : the foul practice
Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie.
Never to rise again : Thy mother's poison'd ;
I can no more; the king, the king's to blame.

Ham. The point
Envenom'd too ! — Then, venom, to thy work.

[Stabs the King.

Osr. 4" Lords. Treason ! treason !

King. O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt.

Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned
Dane,
Drink off this potion: — Is the union here? ")
Follow my mother. [King dies,

Laer. He is justly serv'd;

It is a poison temper'd by himself. —
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee;
Nor thine on me! [Dies.

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee.
I am dead, Horatio : — Wretched queen, adieu ! —
You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act, '")
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, "') death.
Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you, —
But let it be: — Horatio, I am dead;
Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

Hor. Never believe it;

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane,
Here's yet some liquor left.

Ham. As thou'rt a man, —

Give me the cup ; let go ; by heaven, I'll have it. —

0 God! — Horatio, what a wounded name.
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me ?
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart.

Absent thee from felicity awhile.
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story. — [March afar off, and Shot within.
What warlike noise is this?

Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from
Poland,
To the ambassadors of England gives
This warlike volley.

Ham. O, I die, Horatio;

The potent poison quite o'er-crows ^-) my spirit;

1 cannot live to hear the news from England:
But I do prophecy, the election lights

On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice;

So tell him, with the occurrents, '*) more or less,

Which have solicited, — '*) The rest is silence.

[Dies.
Hor. Now cracks a noble heart; — Good night,
sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Why does the drum come hither? [March within.

Enter Fortinbras, tJie English Ambassadors,
and others.

Fort. Where is this sight?

Hor. What is it, you would see?

If aught of woe, or wonder, cease your search.
Fort. This quarry cries on havock! — '^) O proud
death!

KXXVI.

Act V.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

863

What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, '^)
That thou so many princes, at a shot,
So bloodily hast struck?

1 Amb. The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless, that should give us hearing,
To tell him, his commandment is fultillM,
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead :
Where should we have our thanks?

Her. Not from his mouth, ")

Had it the ability of life to thank you;
He never gave commandment for their death.
But since, so jump upon this bloody question,
You from the Polack wars, and you from Eng-
land,
Are here arriv'd; give order, that these bodies
High on a stage be placed to the view;
And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world,
How these things came about: So shall you hear
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts; '*)
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters;
Of deaths put on ' ') by cunning, and forc'd cause ;
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook

FalFn on the inventors' heads : all this can I
Truly deliver.

Fort. Let us haste to hear it,

And call the noblest to the audience.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune;
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, * °)
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.

Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak,
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more :
But let this same be presently perform'd.
Even while men's minds are wild : lest more mischance,
On plots, and errors, happen.

Fort. Let four captains

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;
For he was likely, had he been put on.
To have prov'd most royally : and, for his passage,
The soldier's music, and the rites of war,
Speak loudly for him. —
Take up the bodies : — Such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. ,
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A Dead March.

^Exeunt, bearing off the dead Bodie:); after
which a Peal of Ordnance is shot off.

KKHVI.

XXXVII.
OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Clown, Servant to Othello.
Herald.

Duke of Vbmck.
Brabantio, a Senator.
Two other Senators.
Gratiano, Brother to Brabantio.
LoDo-vico, Kinsman to Brabantio.
Othello, the Moor:
Cassio, his Lieutenant;
Iago, his Ancient.
RoDERico, a Venetian Gentleman.
MoNTANo, Othello'* Predecessor in the Government
of Cyprus. ')

ScENB — for the first Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-Port in Cyprus.

Dbsdemona, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to

Othello.
Emilia, Wife to Iago.
BiANCA, a Courtezan, Mistress to Cassio.

Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors,
Attendants, ^c.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Venice. A Street.

Enter Rodbrigo and Iago.

Roderigo,

Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly.

That thou, Iago, — who hast had my purse,

As if the strings were thine, — should'st know of this.

Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: —
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me.

Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones

of the city.
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant.
Oft capp'd to him: — ^) and, by the faith of man,
I know ray price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes.
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, ^)
Horribly stufTd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion, nonsuits
My mediators ; for, certes, *) says he,
/ have already chose my officer.
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician.
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; *)
That never set a squadron in the field.
Nor the division of a battle knows.
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, ^)
Wherein the toged consuls ') can propose
As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practice.
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election :
And I, — of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus; and on other grounds
Christian and heathen, — must be be-lee'd and

calm'd 8)
By debitor and creditor, this counter- caster; ')
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be.
And I, (God bless the mark!) ^") his Moor-ship's
ancient.

Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his
hangman.

Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of service;
Preferment goes by letter, ") and affection.
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affin'd ^-)
To love the Moor.

Rod. I would not follow him then.

Iago. O, sir, content you;
I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage.
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass.
For nought but provender; and, when he's old,

cashier'd:
Whip me such honest knaves:*^) Others there are.
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty.
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords.
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd

their coats.
Do themselves homage : these fellows have some soul ;
And such a one do I profess myself.
For, sir.

It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty.
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, ^'*) 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
'*) For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,»')
If he can carry't thus!

Iago. Call up her father.

Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight.
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,

KKKVII.

Act I.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VEMCE.

865

And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague hiiu with flies: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation oa't.
As it may lose some colour.

Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.

Jago. Do ; with like timorous accent, and dire yell,
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

Rod. What ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho!

lago. Awake ! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves ! thieves!
thieves !
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags !
Thieves! thieves!

Brabantio, above, at a Window.

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons?
What is the matter there?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within?

Ingo. Are your doors lock'd ?

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this?

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are robb'd ; for shame, put
on your gown;
Your heart is burst, ' ') you have lost half your soul;
Even now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell.
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.

Bra. What, have you lost your wits?

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?

Bra. Not I; what are you?

Rod. My name is — Roderigo-

Bra. The worse welcome:

I have charg'd thee, not to haunt about ray doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say,
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness.
Being full of supper, and distempering draughts, * *)
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir,

Bra. But thou must needs be sure,

My spirit, and my place, have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good sir.

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is
"Venice ;
My house is not a grange. ' ')

Rod. Most grave Brabantio,

In simple, and pure soul I come to you.

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will
not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we
come to do you service, you think we are ruffians:
You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary
horse: you'll have your nephews neigh to you:*")
you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for
germans. ^*)

Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your
daughter and the Moor are now making the beast
with two backs.

Bra. Thou art a villain.

i^^go- _ You are — a senator.

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Ro-
derigo.

lago. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I be-
seech you,
If't be your pleasure, and most wise consent,
(As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter.
At this odd-even and dull watch o'the night, **)
Transported — with no worse nor better guard,
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier.
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, —
If this be known to you, and your allowance,*^)

HHXVII

We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;

But, if you know not this, my manners tell me,

We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe,

That, from the .sen.se of all civility,*'')

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:

Your daughter, — if you have not given her leave,

I say again, hath made a gross revolt;

Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes.

In an extravagant - ■*) and wheeling stranger.

Of here and every where: Straight satisfy yourself:

If she be in her chamber, or your hou.se,

Let loose on me the justice of the state

For thus deluding you.

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho!

Give me a taper: — call up all my people: —
This accident is not unlike my dream;
Belief of it oppresses me already: —
Light, I say! light! [Exit, from above,

lago. Farewell; for I must leave you:

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place.
To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall,)
Against the Moor : For, I do know, the state, —
However this may gall him with some check, — **)
Cannot with safety cast him;*') for he's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars,
(Which even now stand in act,) that, for their souls.
Another of his fathom they have not.
To lead their business: in which regard.
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains,
Yet, for necessity of present life,
I must show out a flag and sign of love.
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely

find him,
Lead to the sagittary * 8) the rais'd search ;
And there will 1 be Avith him. So, farewell. \Exit,

Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants with
Torches.

Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is;
And what's to come of my despised time, *')
Is nought but bitterness. — Now, Roderigo,
Where didst thou see her? — O, unhappy girl! —
With the Moor, say'st thou? — Who would be a

father? —
How didst thou know 'twas she? — O, thou de-

ceiv'st me
Past thought! — What said she to you? — Get

more tapers;
Raise all my kindred. — Are they married, think
you?
Rod. Truly, I think, they are.
Bra. O heaven ! — How got she out ! — O treason
of the blood ! —
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
By what you see them act. — Are there not

charms, ^°)
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?
Rod. Yes, sir; I have indeed.

Bra. Call up my brother. — O, that you had had
her! —
Some one way, some another. — Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?

Rod. I think, I can discover him; if you please
To get good guard, and go along with me.
Bra. 'Pray you, Itad on. At every house I'll call;
I may command at most; — Get weapons, ho!
And raise some special officers of night. —
On, good Roderigo; — I'll deserve your pains.

[Exeunt.

55

866

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act I.

SCENE II.

Tlie tame. Another Street.
Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants.

lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
Yet do I hold it very stuff o'the conscience, ^ ' )
To do no contriv'd murder; I lack iniquity
Sometimes, to do me service: Nine or ten times
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under
the ribs.

OtU. 'Tis better as it is.

lago Nay, but he prated,

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
Against your honour.
That, with the little godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir.
Are you fast married? for, be sure of this, —
That the magnifico^-) is much beloved;
And hath, in his effect, a voice potential
As double as the duke's; he will divorce you;
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance
The law (with all his might, to enforce it on,)
Will give him cable.

0th. Let him do his spite:

My services, which I have done the signiory.
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know,
(Which, when I know that boasting is an honour,
I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being
From men of royal siege; ^^) and my demerits^'*)
May speak, unbonneted, ^^) to as proud a fortune
As this that I have reach'd: For know, lago.
But that I love the gentle Desdemona,
I would not my unhoused ^^) free condition
Put into circumscription and confine
For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come
yonder?

Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain
Officers with TorcJies.

Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends:
You were best go in.

0th. Not I: I must be found;

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul,
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?

Iago. By Janus, I think no.

0th. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant.
The goodness of the night upon you, friends!
What is the news?

Cas. The duke does greet you, general ;

And he requires your haste-post-haste^') appearance.
Even on the instant.

Oth. What is the matter, think you?

Cag. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine;
It is a business of some heat: the gallies
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers
This very night, at one another's heels;
And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met.
Are at the duke's already: You have been hotly

call'd for;
When, being not at your lodging to be found.
The senate hath sent about three several quests, ^ 8)
To search you out.

Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you.

I will but spend a word here in the house.
And go with you. [Exit.

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here?

Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land
carack; ^')
If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever.

Cas. I do not understand.

Iago. He's married.

Cas. To who?

Re-enter Othbllo.

Iago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ?
Oth. Have with you.

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you.

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers of
night, with Torches and Weapons.

Iago. It is Brabantio: — general, be advis'd;*")
He comes to bad intent.

Oth. Hola! stand there!

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor.

Bra. Down with him, thief!

[They draw on both gidea.

Iago. You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you.

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew
will rust them. —
Good signior, you shall more command with years.
Than with your weapons.

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd
my daughter?
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her:
For I'll refer me to all things of sense,
If she in chains of magic were not bound.
Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy;
So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation,'*')
Would ever have, to incur a general mock.
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom
Of such a thing as thou : to fear, not to delight. **)
Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense,
That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms;
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or minerals.
That waken motion: — *^) I'll have it disputed on ;
'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking.
I therefore apprehend and do attach thee,
B'or an abuser of the world, a practiser
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant: —
Lay hold upon him; if he do resist,
Subdue him at his peril.

Oth. Hold your hands.

Both you of my inclining, and the rest:
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it
Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go
To answer this your charge?

Bra. To prison : till fit time

Of law, and course of direct session.
Call thee to answer.

Oth. What if I do obey?

How may the duke be therewith satisfied;
Whose messengers are here about my side,
Upon some present business of the state.
To bring me to him ?

Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior.

The duke's in council; and your noble self,
I am sure, is sent for.

Rra. How! the duke in council!

In this time of the night ! — Bring him away :
Mine's not an idle cause: tl>e duke himself,
Or any of my brothers of the state.
Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own:
For if such actions may have passage free.
Bond-slaves, and pagans**) shall our statesmen be.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The same. A Council-Chamber.

The DuKB and Senators, sitting at a Table;
Officers attending.

Duke. There is no composition**) in these news,
That gives them credit.

xKxvn.

Act I.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

867

1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ;

My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies.

Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty.

2 Sen. And mine, two hundred:

But though they jump not on a just account,
(As in these cases, where the aim reports, * 6)
'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus.

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment;
I do not so secure me in the error,
But the main article I do approve
In fearful sense.

Sailor. [IFithin.] What ho! what ho! what ho!

Enter an Officer, tcitk a Sailor.

Off. A messenger from the gallies.

Duke. Now? the business?

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Biiodes;
So was I bid report here to the state,
By signior Angelo.

Duke. How say you by this change ?

1 Sen. This cannot be,

By no assay of reason; '*') 'tis a pageant.
To keep us in false gaze: When we consider
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk;
And let ourselves again but understand.
That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes,
So may he with more facile question "* ^) bear it.
For that it stands not in such warlike brace, ^')
But altogether lacks the abilities
That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought of this.
We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful.
To leave that latest which concerns him first;
Neglecting an attempt of ease, and gain.
To wake, and wage, ^'') a danger profitless.

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes.

Off. Here is more news.

Enter a Messenger.

Met$. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious.
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes,
Have there injointed them with an after fleet.

1 Sen. Ay, so I thought: — How many, as you
guess ?

Mess. Of thirty sail: and now do they re-stem
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance
Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano,
Your trusty and most valiant servitor.
With his free duty, recommends you thus,
And prays you to believe him.

Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. —
Marcus Lucchese, is he not in town?

1 Sen. He's now in Florence.

Duke. Write from us; wish him*^) post-post-haste:
despatch.

1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor.

Enter Brabantio, Othbllo, Iago, Rodbrico, and
Officers.

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you
Against the general enemy Ottoman.
I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior;

[To Bkabantio.
We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night.

Bra. So did I yours: Good your grace, pardon me;
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business.
Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the general care
Take hold on me; for my particular grief
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature,
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
And it is still itself.

KKXVII.

Duke. Why, what's the matter?

Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter!

Sen. Dead?

Bra. Ay, to me;

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks:
For nature so preposterously to err,
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense,
Sans witchcraft could not

Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding.
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself,
And you of her, the bloody book of law
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter.
After your own sense; yea, though our proper son
Stood in your action. *^)

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace.

Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems,
Your special mandate, for the state afl'airs.
Hath hither brought.

Duke 4" Sen. We are very sorry for it.

Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to this?

[To Othello.

Bra. Nothuig, but this is so.

0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters, —
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending*^)
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech.
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace;
B^or since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd
Their dearest action * *) in the tented field ;
And little of this great world can I speak.
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause.
In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa-
tience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms.
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,
(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,)
1 won his daughter with. ^*}

Bra. A maiden never bold;

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion
Blush'd at herself; And she, — in spite of nature.
Of years, of country, credit, every thing, —
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on?
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect,
That will confess — perfection so could err
Against all rules of nature; and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell.
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again,
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood.
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect.
He wrought upon her.

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof;

Without more certain and more overt test, ^*)
Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods
Of modern seeming, *') do prefer against him.

1 Sen. But, Othello, speak ; —
Did you by indirect and forced courses
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections?
Or came it by request, and such fair question
As soul to soul affordeth?

0th. I do beseech you.

Send for the lady to the sagittary, *»)
And let her speak of me before her father:
If you do find me foul in her report.

The trust, the office, I do hold of you,
Not only take away, but let your sentence
Even fall upon my life.

Duke Fetch Desdemona hither.

55*

868

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENIiCE.

Act /.

Otb. Ancient, conduct them : you best know the
place. — [Exeunt Iago and Attendants.

And, till she come, as truly as to heaven
I do confess the vices of my blood.
So justly to your grave ears I'll present
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love,
And she in mine.

Duke. Say it, Othello.

0th. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes.
That I have pass'd.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days.
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth scapes i'the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And portance *') in my travel's history:
Wherein of antres'°) vast, and desarts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch

heaven,
It was my hint to speak, such was the process;
And of the cannibals that each other eat.
The anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders.'*) These things

to hear.
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: Which I observing.
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart.
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate.
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: '^) I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears.
When I did speak of some distressful stroke.
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing

strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
She wish'd, she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man: she

thank'd me;
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake :
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd;
Here comes the lady, let her witness it.

Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants.

Duke. I think, this tale would win ray daughter
too. —
Good Brabantio,

Take up this mangled matter at the best:
Men do their broken weapons rather use,
Than their bare hands.

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak;

If she confess, that she was half the wooer,
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame
Light on the man ! — Come hither, gentle mistress ;
Do you perceive in all this noble company.
Where most you owe obedience?

De$. My noble father,

1 do perceive here a divided duty:
To you, I am bound for life, and education;

My life, and education, both do learn me

How to respect you; you are the lord of duty,

I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband;

And so much duty as my mother show'd

To you, preferring you before her father.

So much I challenge that I may profess

Due to the Moor, my lord.

Bra. God be with you ! — I have done: —

Please it your grace, on to the state affairs;
I had rather to adopt a child, than get it. —
Come hither, Moor:

I here do give thee that with all my heart,
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart
I would keep from thee. — For your sake, jewel,
I am glad at soul I have no other child;
For thy escape would teach me tyranny.
To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord.

Duke. Let me speak like yourself; '3) and lay a
sentence,
Which, as a grise, <''*) or step, may help these lovers
Into your favour.

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended.
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone,
Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes,
Patience her injury a mockery makes.
The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the

thief;
He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief.

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile;
We lose it not, so long as we can smile.
He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears
But the free comfort which from thence he hears: ^*)
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow,
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow.
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall.
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal:
But words are words ; I never yet did hear,
That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the

ear. ^^)
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state.

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation
makes for Cyprus: — Othello, the fortitude of the
place is best known to you: And though we have
there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet
opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a
more safer voice on you : you must therefore be
content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes")
with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition.

0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators,
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war
My thrice-driven bed of down: ''®) I do agnize'')
A natural and prompt alacrity,
I find in hardness; and do undertake
These present wars against the Ottomites.
Must humbly thei'efore bending to your state,
I crave fit disposition for my wife;
Due reference of place, and exhibition; '")
With such accommodation, and besort,
As levels with her breeding.

Duke. If you please,

Be't at her father's.

Bra. I'll not have it so.

Olh. Nor I.

Des. Nor I; I would not there reside,

To put my father in impatient thoughts,
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke,
To my unfolding lend a gracious ear;
And let me find a charter in your voice, '*)
To assist my simpleness.

Duke. What would you, Desdemona?

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him,

L-^

HHKVn.

Act J.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

869

My downright violence and storm of fortunes")

May trumpet to the world; my heart's subdued

Even to the very quality of my lord:'^)

I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; '' *)

And to his honours, and his valiant parts,

Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.

So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,

A moth of peace, and he go to the war,

The rites, for wliich I love him, are bereft me,

And I a heavy interim shall support

By his dear absence : Let me go with him.

0th. Your voices, lords : — 'beseech you, let her wili
Have a free way.

Vouch with me, heaven; I therefore beg it not,
To please the palate of my appetite;
Nor to comply with heat, the young effects.
In my distinct'^} and proper satisfaction;
But to be free and bounteous to her mind :
And heaven defend ^ '') your good souls, that you think
I will your serious and great business scant.
For she is with me: No, when light-wing'd toys
Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dulness
My speculative and active instruments, '''')
That my disports corrupt and taint my business,
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm.
And all indign and base adversities
Make head against my estimation!

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine.
Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries — haste.
And speed must answer it; you must hence to-night.

Des. To-night, my lord ?

Duke. This night.

0th. With all my heart.

Duke. At nine i'the morning here we'll meet again.
Othello, leave some officer behind.
And he shall our commission bring to you;
With such things else of quality and respect,
As doth import yoik

0th. Please your grace, ray ancient;

A man he is of honesty, and trust:
To his conveyance I assign my wife.
With what else needful your good grace shall think
To be sent after me.

Duke. Let it be so. —

Good night to every one. — And, noble signior,

[To BUABANTIO.

If virtue no delighted beauty lack, ''*)
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black.

1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ! use Desdenjona well.

Bra. Look to her. Moor; have a quick eye to see;
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee.

[Exeunt Dcke, Senators, Officers, ^c.

0th. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago,
My Desdemona must I leave to thee;
I pry'thee, let thy wife attend on her;
And bring them after in the best advantage. — ■")
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour
Of love, of worldly matters and direction.
To spend with thee: we must obey the time.

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.

Rod. lago!

lago. What say 'st thou, noble heart?

Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou?

lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep.

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself.

lago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee
after it. Why, thou silly gentleman?

Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor-
ment : and then have we a preBcriptiou to die, when
death is our physician.

lago. O villainous ! I have looked upon the world
for four times seven years! and since I could dis-
tinguish between a benefit and an injury, 1 never

found a man that knew how to love himself. Ere
I would say, I would drown myself for the love
of a Guinea-hen, ^") I would change my humanity
with a baboon.

Rod. What should I do? I confess, it is my shame
to be so fond; but it is not in virtue to amend it.

lago. Virtue! a fig! 'tis in ourselves, that we are
thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens; to the
which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we will
plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed
up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or
distract it with many; either to have it steril with
idleness, or manured with industry; why, the power
and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.
If the balance of our lives had not one scale of
reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and
baseness of our natures would conduct us to most
preposterous conclusions: But we have reason to
cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our un-
bitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call —
love, to be a sect, ^ *) or scion.

Rod. It cannot be.

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per-
mission of the will. Come, be a man: Drown thy-
self! drown cats, and blind puppies. I have pro-
fessed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy
i deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I
could never better stead thee than now. Put mo-
i ney in thy purse; follow these wars; defeat thy
favour with an usurped beard; ^^) I say, put mo-
ney in thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona
should long continue her love to the Moor, — put
money in thy purse; — nor he his to her: it was
a violent commencement, and thou shall see an an-
swerable sequestration — ^^) put but money in thy
purse. — These Moors are changeable in their
wills; — fill thy purse with money; the food that
to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to
him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must
change for youth: when she is sated with his body,
she will find the error of her choice. ■ — She must
have change, she must: therefore put money in thy
purse. — If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a
more delicate way than drowning. Make all the
money thou canst: If sanctimony and a frail vow,
betwixt an erring barbarian""*) and a supersubtle
Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all the
tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make
money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean out
of the way : seek thou rather to be hanged in
compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go
without her.

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend
on the issue?

lago. Thou art sure of me; — Go, make money: —
I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again aiwl
again, I hate the Moor: My cause is hearted; thine
hath no less reason: Let us be conjunctive in our
revenge against him: If thou canst cuckold him,
thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. There
are many events in the womb of time, which will
be delivered. Traverse;**) go; provide thy money.
We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu.

Rod. Where shall we meet i'the morning?

lago. At my lodging.

Rod. I'll be with thee betimes.

lago. Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo?

Rod. What say you?

lago. No more of drowning, do you hear.

Rod. I am changed. I'll sell all my land.

lago. Go to; farewell: put money enough in your
purse. [Exit RoDEaico.

Thus do I ever make my fool my purse:

RXRVn.

870

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE

Act II.

For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,
If I would time expend with such a snipe,
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor;
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets
He has done my office: I know not if't be true;
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,
Will do, as if for surety. ^^) He holds me well; ^'')
The better shall my purpose work on him.
Cassio's a proper man: Let me see now;
To get his place, and to plume up my will;
A double knavery, ^- How? how? — Let me see; —
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear.
That he is too familiar with his wife: —
He hath a person, and a smooth dispose.
To be suspected; fram'd to make women false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature.
That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so;
And will as tenderly be led by the nose,
As asses are.

I have't; — it is engender'd: — Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCEIVE I.

A Sea-port Town in Cyprus.
A Platform.

Enter Montano and two Gentlemen.

Man. What from the cape can you discern at sea?

1 Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood;
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven '} and the main,
Descry a sail.

Man. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land ;
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements :
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea.
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them.
Can hold the mortise? what shall we hear of this?

2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet:
For do but stand upon the foaming shore,
The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds;

The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous

main,
Seems to cast water on the burning bear.
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : ')
I never did like molestation view
On th' enchafed flood.

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet

Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd;
It is impossible they bear it out.

Enter a third Gentleman.

3 Gent. News, lords ! our wars are done;

The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks,
That their designment halts : A noble ship of Venice
Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance
On most part of their fleet.

Mon. How! is this true?

3 Gent. The ship is here put in,
A Veronese ; Michael Cassio,
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello,
Is come on shore: the Moor himself's at sea.
And is in full commission here for Cyprus.

Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor.

S Gent. But this same Cassio, — though he speak

of comfort,
Touching the Turkish loss, — yet he looks sadly.
And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted
With foul and violent tempest.

Mon. 'Pray heaven he be;

For I have serv'd him, and the man commands
Like a full soldier. ^) Let's to the sea-side, ho!
As well to see the vessel that's come in.
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello;
Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue.
An indistinct regard.
3 Gent. Come, let's do so ;

For every minute is expectancy
Of more arrivance.

Enter Cassio.

Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle,
That so approve the Moor; O, let the heavens
Give him defence against the elements,
For 1 have lost him on a dangerous sea !

Mon. Is he well shipp'd?

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot
Of very expei't and approv'd allowance;*)
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death.
Stand in bold cure. ^)

[TFithin.] A sail, a sail, a sail!

Enter another Gentleman.

Cas. What noise?

4:Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o'the sea
Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail.

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor.

2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy :

[Guns heard.
Our friends, at least.

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth,

And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd.

2 Gent. I shall. [Exit.

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd?

Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid
That paragons description, and wild fame;
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens,
And in the essential vesture of creation,
Does bear all excellency.') How now? who has
put in?

Re-enter second Gentleman.

2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general.

Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed:
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, —
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel,
As having sense of beauty, do omit
Their mortal natures, ') letting go safely by
The divine Desdemona.

Mon. What is she?

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's
captain.
Left in the conduct of the bold lago;
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts,
A se'nnight's speed. — Great Jove, Othejlo guard,
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath;
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship,
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms,
Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits.
And bring all Cyprus comfort! — O, behold,

Enter Dksdbmona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, and

Attendants.

The riches of the ship is come on shore!
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees: —
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven.
Before, behind thee, and on every hand,
Enwheel thee round!

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio.

What tidings can you tell me of my lord?

BBKVII.

Act II.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

871

Cat. He is not yet arriv'd; nor know I aught
But that he's well, and will be shortly here.

Dei. O, but I fear; — How lost you company?

Cat. The great contention of the sea and skies
Parted our fellowship : But, hark ! a sail.

\Crij within, A sail, a sail ! Then Guns heard.

2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel;
This likewise is a friend.

Cat. See for the news. —

[JExit Geiitlcumii.
Good ancient, you are welcome; — Welcome, mis-
tress: — [To EaiiiiiA.
Let it not gall your patience, good lago,
That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding
That gives me this bold show of courtesy.

[Kianing her.

logo. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips,
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me,
You'd have enough.

Det. Alas, she has no speech.

logo. In faith, too much;
I find it still, when I have list to sleep :
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant.
She puts her tongue a little in her heart,
And chides with tliinking.

Emit. You have little cause to say so.

lago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of
doors,
Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens.
Saints in your injuries, *) devils being offended,
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in
your beds.

Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer !

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk;
You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

Emit. You shall not wiite my praise.

lago. No, let me not.

Det. What wouW^st thou write of me, if thou
should'st praise me?

lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't;
For I am nothing, if not critical. ')

Des. Come on, assay: — There's one gone to the
harbour?

lago. Ay, madam.

Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing 1 am, by seeming otherwise. —
Come, how would'st thou praise me?

lago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention
Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize.
It plucks out brains and all : But my muse labours,
And thus she is deliver'd.
If she be fair and wise, — fairness, and wit.
The one's for use, the other useth it.

Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and witty ?

lago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit,
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit.

Des. Worse and worse.

Emit. How, if fair and foolish?

lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair;
For even her folly help'd her to an heir.

Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools
laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise hast
thou for her that's foul and foolish?

lago. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto.
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

Des. O heavy ignorance! — thou praisest the worst
best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a
deserving woman indeed? one, that, in the authority
of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very
malice itself? '">)

lago. She that was ever fair, and never proud;
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud;
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay;

Fled from her wish, and yet said, — now I may;
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh.
Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly:
She that in wisdom never was so frail.
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail;
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind,
See suitors following, and not look behind ;
She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, —

Des. To do what?

lago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer.

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! — Do
not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy hus-
band. — How say you, Cassio? is he not a most
profane") and liberal counsellor?'-)

Cat. He speaks home, madam; you may relish him
more in the soldier, than in the scholar.

lago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm : Ay, well
said, whisper: with as little a web as this, will I
ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon
her, do; I will gyve '^) thee in thine own courtship.
You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as
these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been
better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft,
which now again you are most apt to play the sir
in. — ' "*) Very good ; well kissed ! an excellent
courtesy! »*) 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fin-
gers to your lips? 'would, they were clyster-pipes

for your sake! [Trumpet.] The Moor, I know

his trumpet.

Cas. 'Tis truly so.

Des. Let's meet him, and receive him.

Cat. Lo, where he comes!

Enter Otiibllo, and Attendants.

0th. O my fair warrior!

Det. My dear Othello?

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content.
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy !
If after every tempest come such calms.
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death !
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas,
Olympus-high; and duck again as low
As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
My soul hath her content so absolute,
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.

Des. The heavens forbid,

But that our loves and comforts should increase.
Even as our days do grow !

0th. Amen to that, sweet powers ! —

I cannot speak enough of this content.
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy :
And this, and this, the greatest discords be,

[Kissing her.
That e'er our hearts shall make !

lago^ O, you are well tun'd now !

But I'll set down the pegs that make this music.
As honest as I am. [Aside.

0th. Come, let's to the castle. —

News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are

drown'd.
How do our old acquaintance of this isle?
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, ' *")
I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet,
I prattle out of fashion, *') and I dote
In mine own comforts: — I pr'ythee, good lago,
Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers:
Bring thou the master to the citadel;
He is a good one, and his worthiness
Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona,
Once more well met at Cyprus.

[Exeunt Othello, DEsoEsioKi, and Atteudaata.

KKKVU.

872

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act II.

lago. Do thou meet me presently at the harbour.
Come hither. If thou be'st valiant as (they say)
base men, being in love, have then a nobility in
their natures more than is native to them, — list
me. The lieutenant to-night watches on the court
of guard : — ^ ^) First, I must tell thee this — Des-
demona is directly in love with him.

Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible.

lago. Lay thy finger — thus, and let thy soul be
instructed. Mark me with what violence she first
loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her
fantastical lies: And will she love him still for
prating V let not thy discreet heart think it. Her
eye must be fed; and wl\at delight shall she have
to lock on the devil? When the blood is made dull
with the act of sport, there should be, — again to
inflame it, and to give satiety a fresh appetite, —
loveliness in favour; sympathy in years, manners,
and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in:
Now, for want of these required conveniences, her
delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to
heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor, very
nature will instruct her in it, and compel her to
some second choice. Now, sir, this granted, (as it
is a most pregnant and unforced position,) who
stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune,
as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further
conscionable, than in putting on the mere form of
civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing
of his salt and most hidden loose all'ection? why,
none; why, none: A slippery and subtle knave; a
finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp
and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage
never present itself: A devilish knave! besides, the
knave is handsome, young; and hath all those re-
quisites in him, that folly and green minds ") look
after: A pestilent complete knave; and the woman
hath found him already.

Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she is full of
most blessed condition.^")

lago. Blessed fig's end! the wine she drinks is
made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would
never have loved the Moor: Blessed pudding! Didst
thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand ?
didst not mark that?

Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy.

lago. Lechery, by this hand; an index, and ob-
scure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts.
They met so near with their lips, that their breaths
embraced together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo !
when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard
at hand comes the master and main exercise, the
incorporate conclusion: Pish! — But, sir, be you
ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice.
Watch you to-night; for the command, I'll lay't
upon you: Cassio knows you not; — I'll not be far
from you: Do you find some occasion to anger Cas-
sio, either by speaking too loud, or tainting^') his
discipline; or from what other course you please,
which the time shall more favourably minister.

Rod. Well.

lago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler; ^-)
and, haply, with his truncheon may strike at you:
Provoke him, that he may: for, even out of that,
will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qua-
lification shall come into no true taste again, ^^)
but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you
have a shorter journey to your desires, by the means
I shall then have to prefer them; ^'*) and the im-
pediment most profitably removed, without the which
there were no expectation of our prosperity.

Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any op-
portunity.

lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the
citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell.

Rod. Adieu. [Exit.

lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;
That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit:
The Moor — howbeit that I endure him not, —
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature;
And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband. Now I do love her too;
Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure,
I stand accountant for as great a sin,)
But partly led to diet my revenge.
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leap'd into my seat: the thought whereof
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;
And nothing can or shall content my soul,
Till I am even with him, wife for wife;
Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor
At least into a jealousy so strong
That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, —
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash -^)
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip ;
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb. — ^'^)
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too;
Make the Moor ihank me, love me, and reward me,
For making him egregiously an ass,
And practising upon his peace and quiet
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd;
Knaveiy's plain face is never seen,-') till us'd.

{Exit.

SCENE II.

A Street.

Enter a Herald, with a Proclamation; People
following.

Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and va
liant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived,
importing the mere -®) perdition of the Turkish fleet,
every man put himself into triumph : some to dance,
some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and
revels his addiction leads him; for, besides these
beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptials:
So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed.
All offices are open; -') and there is full liberty
of feasting, from this present hour of five, till the
bell hath told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cy-
prus, and our noble general, Othello! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Hall in, the Castle.

Enter Othello, Desdbmona, Cassio, and
Attendants.

Olh. Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night:
Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop.
Not to out-sport disci'etion.

Cas. lago hath direction what to do;
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye
Will I look to't.

0th. lago is most honest.

Michael, good night: To-morrow, with our earliest.
Let me have speech with you. — Come, my dear love,
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;

[To Desdbmona.
That profit's yet to come 'twixt me and you. —
Good night. [Exeunt 0th. Des. and Attcud.

Enter Iago.
Cat. Welcome, lago: We must to the watch.

KRKVn.

Act II.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

873

lago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten
o'clock: Our general cast us^°) thus early, for the
love of his Desdemona; whom let us not therefore
blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with
her: and she is sport for Jove.

Cat. She's a most exquisite lady.

lago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game.

Cos. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate
creature.

lago. What an eye she has! methinks it sounds
a parley of provocation.

Cos. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right
modest.

lago. And when she speaks, is it not an alarm to
love V

Cas. She is, indeed, perfection.

lago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, lieu-
tenant, I have a stoop of wine: and here without
are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain
have a measure to the health of the black Othello.

Cas. Not to-night, good lago; I have very poor
and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish
courtesy would invent some other custom of enter-
tainment.

lago. O, they are our friends; but one cup: I'll
drink for you.

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that
was craftily qualified^') too, and, behold, what in-
novation it makes here: 1 am unfortunate in the
infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any
more.

lago. What, man! 'tis a night of revels; the gal-
lants desire it.

Cas. Where are they?

lago. Here at the door; I pray you call them in.

Cas. I'll do't; but it dislikes me. [Exit Cassio.

lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him,
With that which he hath drunk to-night alieady,
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool,

Roderigo,
Whom love has turn'd almost the wrong side out-
ward,
*To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd
Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch:
Three lads of Cyprus, — noble swelling spirits,
That hold their honours in a wary distance,
The very elements ^^) of this warlike isle, —
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups,
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of

drunkards,
Am I to put our Cassio in some action
That may offend the isle: — But here they come:
If consequence do but approve my dream, ^^)
My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream.

Re-enter Cassio, with him Montano, and
Gentlemen.

Cas. 'B'ore heaven, they have given me a rouse

already. ^■*)
Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as
I am a soldier.
lago., Some wine, ho!

And let me the canakin clink, clink;
And let me the canakin clink:
A soldier's a 7nan;
A life's but a span;
Why then, let a soldier drink.

[Sings.

Some wine, boys! [l^ine brought in.

Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song.
lago. 1 learned it in England, where (indeed) they

are most potent in potting: your Dane, your Ger-
man, and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink,
ho! — are nothing to your English.

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

Jago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane
dead drunk: he sweats not to overthrow your Al-
main; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the
next pottle can be tilled.

Cas. To the health of our general.

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you
justice. ^^)

lago. O sweet England!

King Stephen^'') was a worthy peer, ^'')
His breeches cost him but a crown;

He held them sixpence all too dear,

With that he call'd the tailor — lown. ^^)

He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis pride that pulls the country down.

Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

Some wine, ho !

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the
other.

lago. Will you hear it again?

Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his
place, that does those things. — Well, — Heaven's
above all; and there be souls that must be saved,
and there be souls that must not be saved.

lago. It's true, good lieutenant.

Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the ge-
neral, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be saved.

lago. And so do I too, lieutenant.

Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the
lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's
have no more of this; let's to our affairs. — For-
give us our sins! — Gentlemen, let's look to our
business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk:
this is my ancient; — this is my I'ight hand, and
this is my left hand: — I am not drunk now; I can
stand well enough, and speak well enough.

All. E:;cellent well.

Cas. Why, very well, then: you must not think
then that I am drunk. [Exit.

Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set
the watch.

lago. You see this fellow, that is gone before; —
He is a soldier, fit to stand by Caesar,
And give direction: and do but see his vice;
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox,
The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him.
I fear, the trust Othello puts him in.
On some odd time of his infirmity.
Will shake this island.

Mon. But is he often thus?

Jago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep :
He'll watch the horologe a double set, ^')
If drink rock not his cradle.

Mon. It were well.

The general were put in mind of it.
Perhaps, he sees it not; or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio,
And looks not on his evils; Is not this true?

Enter Rodebigo.

lago. How now, Roderigo? [Aride.

I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. [Exit Roderigo.

Mon. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor
Should hazard such a place, as his own second,
With one of an ingraft infirmity: *")
It were an honest action, to say
So to the Moor.

KXKVn.

874

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act II.

Jago, Not I, for this fair island:

I do love Cassio well; and would do niucti
To cure him of this evil. But hark! what noise?
[Cry within, — Help ! help !

Re-enter Cassio, driving in Rodbbigo.

Cas. You rogue! you rascal!

Mom. What's the matter, lieutenant?

Cas. A knave ! — teach me my duty !
I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. '*')

Rod. Beat me!

Ca$. Dost thou prate, rogue?

[Striking Rodkrigo.

Mon. Nay, good lieutenant;

[Slaying him.
I pray you, sir, hold your hand.

Cas. Let me go, sir,

Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard.

Mon. Come, come, you're drunk.

Cas. Drunk ! [They fight.

logo. Away, I say ! go out, and cry — a mutiny.
[Asidu to Rod. who goes out.
Nay, good lieutenant, — • alas, gentlemen, —
Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir ; —
Help, masters! — Here's a goodly watch, indeed!

[Bell rings.
Who's that that rings the bell? — Diablo, ho!
The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant! holdj
You will be sham'd for ever.

Enter Othello, and Attendants.

0th. What is the matter here?

Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death; — he
dies.* 2)

0th. Hold, for your lives.

Jago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, — sir, Montano, —
gentlemen, —
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty?
Hold, hold! the general speaks to you; hold, for
shame !

0th. Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this?
Are we turn'd Turks; and to ourselves do that.
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites?
B'or christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl:
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage, * 3)
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. —
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle
From her propriety. — '**) What is the matter,

masters? —
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving.
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee.

lago. I do not know; — friends all but now, even now,
In quarter,**) and in terms like bride and groom
Devesting them for bed: and then, but now,
(As if some planet had unwitted men,)
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast.
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds;
And 'would in action glorious I had lost
These legs, that brought me to a part of it!

0th. How comes it, Michael, you are thus for-
got? *')

Ca$. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak.

0th. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil;
The gravity and stillness of your youth
The world hath noted, and your name is great
In mouths of wisest censure; What's the matter,
That you unlace your reputation thus.
And spend your rich opinion, for the name
Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it.

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger;
Your officer, lago, can inform you —

While I spare speech, which something now offends

me; —
Of all that I do know: nor know I aught
By me that's said or done amiss this night;
Unless self-charity*') be sometime a vice;
And to defend ourselves it be a sin,
When violence assails us.

0th. Now, by heaven,

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ;
And passion, having my best judgment collicd, ^ ^)
Assays to lead the way : If I once stir.
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began, who set it on;
And he that is approv'd *') in this offence.
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth.
Shall lose me. — What! in a town of war.
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear,
To manage private and domestic quarrel.
In night, and on the court and guard *°} of safety!
'Tis monstrous. — lago, who began it?

Mon. If partially affin'd, *') or leagu'd in office.
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth.
Thou art no soldier.

lago. Touch me not so near:

I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth.
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio;
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth
Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general.
Montano and myself being in speech,
There comes a fellow, crying out for help;
And Cassio following him with determin'd sword.
To execute upon him: Sir, this gentleman
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause;
Myself the crying fellow did pursue.
Lest, by his clamour, (as it so fell out^^
The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot.
Outran my purpose; and 1 return'd the rather
For that I heard the clink aivd fall of swords.
And Cassio high in oath; which, till to-night,
I ne'er might say before: When I came back,
(For this was brief,) I found them close together.
At blow, and thrust; even as again they were.
When you yourself did part them.
More of this matter can I not report: —
But men are men; the best sometimes forget: —
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, —
As men in rage strike those that wish them best, —
Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, receiv'd.
From him that fled, some straage indignity.
Which patience could not pass.

0th. I know, lago.

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter.
Making it light to Cassio : — Cassio, I love thee ;
But never more bo officer of mine. —

Enter Dbsdbmona, attended.

Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up; —
I'll make thee an example.

Des. What's the matter, dear?

0th. All's well now, sweeting; Come away to bed.
Sir, for your hurts.
Myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off.

[To Montano, who t« led off.
lago, look with care about the town;
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. —
Come, Desdemona; 'tis the soldiers' life.
To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife.

[Exeunt all but I ago and Cassio.

lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant?

Cas. Ay, past all surgery.

lago. Marry, heaven forbid!

8KKVII.

Act in. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

875

Cat. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have |
lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part, !
sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. — My
reputation, lago, my reputation.

lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had
received some bodily wound: there is more offence
in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle
i and most false imposition; oft got without merit,
and lost without deserving: You have lost no re-
putation at all, unless you repute yourself such a
loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the
general again: You are but now cast in his mood,*^)
a punishment more in policy than in malice; even
so as one would beat his offenceless dog, to af-
fright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and
he's yours.

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to de-
ceive so good a commander, with so slight, so drunk-
en, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak
parrot? *^) and squabble? swagger? swear? and
discourse fustian with one's own shadow ? — O thou
invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to
be known by, let us call thee — devil!

lago. What was he that you followed with your
sword? What had he done to you?

Cas. I know not.

lago. Is it possible?

Cat. I remember a mass of things, but nothing
distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — O,
that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to
steal away their brains! that we should, with joy,
revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves
into beasts !

lago. Why, but you are now well enough: How
came you thus recovered?

Cas. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to
give place to the devil, wrath; one unperfectness
shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.

lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler: As the
time, the place, and the condition of this country
stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen;
but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good.

Cat. I will ask him for my place again; he shall
tell me, I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths
as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all.
To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and
presently a beast! O strange! — Every inordinate
cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil.

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar
creature, if it be well used ; exclaim no more against
it. And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love you.

Cas. I have well approv'd it, sir. — I drunk !

lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at
some time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do.
Our general's wife is now the general ; — I may
say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and
given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and
denotement of her parts and graces : — confess your-
self freely to her; importune her; she'll help to put
you in your place again : she is of so free, so kind,
so apt, so blessed a disposition, that she holds it a
vice in her goodness, not to do more than she is
requested: This broken joint, between you and her
husband, entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes
against any lay*'*) worth naming, this crack of your
love shall grow stronger than it was before.

Cat. You advise me well.

lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest
kindness.

Cat. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morning,
I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake
for me: I am desperate of my fortunes, if they
check me here.

lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant;
I must to the watch.

Cat. Good night, honest lago. [Exit Cassio.

lago. And what's he then, that says, — I play the
villain ?
When this advice is free, I give, and honest,
Probal*^) to thinking, and (indeed) the course
To win the Moor again? For 'tis most easy
The inclining Desdemona^') to subdue
In any honest suit; she's fram'd as fruitful
As the free elements.*') And then for her
To win the Moor, — were't to renounce his baptism,
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, —
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love.
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function. How am I then a villain.
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,**)
Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!
When devils vdll their blackest sins put on,
They do suggest*') at first with heavenly shows.
As I do now: For while this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes.
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, —
That she repeals <'°) him for her body's lust;
And, by how much she strives to do him good,
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch;
And out of her own goodness make the net.
That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Roderigo ?

Enter Rodbrigo.

Rod. I do follow here in the chace, not like a
hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My
money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceed-
ingly well cudgelled; and, I think, the issue will
be — I shall have so much experience for my pains:
and so, with no money at all, and a little more
wit, return to Venice.

lago. How poor are they, that have not patience ! —
What wound did ever heal, but by degrees?
Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by witch-
craft ;
And wit depends on dilatory time.
Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee.
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio :
Though other things grow fair against the sun,
Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe:
Content thyself a while. — By the mass, 'tis morning;
Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. —
Retire thee: go where thou art billeted:
Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter:
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rod.] Two things are to

be done, —
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress;
I'll set her on;

Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart,
And bring him jump*"*) when he may Cassio find
Soliciting his wife: — Ay, that's the way;
Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Before the Cattle.

Enter Cassio, and tome Musicians.

Cat. Masters, play here, I will content your pains.

Something that's brief; and bid — good morrow,

general. ') [Miuie.

KKXVII.

876

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE

Act hi.

Enter Clown.

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been at
Naples, that they speak i'the nose thus?

1 Mus. How, sir, how !

Clo. Are these, I pray you, called wind-instruments?

1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir.

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail.

1 Mus. Whereby hangs a tail, sir?

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind-instrument that
I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and
the general so likes your music, that he desires you,
of ail loves, to make no more noise with it.

1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not.

Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard,
to't again : but, as they say, to hear music, the ge-
neral does not greatly care.

1 Mus. We have none such, sir.

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll
away: Go; vanish into air; away. [Exeunt Musicians .

Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.

Cas. 'Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There's a
poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman
that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her,
there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of
speech: Wilt thou do this?

Clo. She is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, 1
shall seem to notify unto her. [Exit.

Enter Iago.

Cas. Do, good my friend. — In happy time, Iago.

Iago. You have not been a-bed then?

Cas. Why, no; the day had broke
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,
To send in to your Avife: My suit to her
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona
Procure me some access.

Iago. I'll send her to you presently ;

And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor
Out of the way, that your converse and business
May be more free. [Exit.

Cas. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew
A Clorentine more kind and honest.

Enter Emilia.

Emit. Good morrow, good lieutenant: I am sorry
For your displeasure; -) but all will soon be well.
The general, and his wife, are talking of it;
And she speaks for you stoutly: The Moor replies.
That he, you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus,
And great affinity; and that, in wholesome wisdom.
He might not but refuse you: but, he protests, he

loves you;
And needs no other suitor, but his likings,
To take the safst occasion by the front.
To bring you in again.

Cas. Yet, I beseech you, —

If you think fit, or that it may be done, —
Give me advantage of some brief discourse
With Desdemona alone.

Emit. Pi-ay you, come in;

I will bestow you where you shall have time
To speak your bosom freely.

Cas. I am much bound to you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter Othel,lo, Iago, and Gentlemen.

Olh. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot;
And, by him, do my duties to the state:

That done, I will be walking on the works,
Repair there to me.

Iago- ^ Well, my good lord, I'll do't.

0th. This fortification, gentlemen, — shall we
see't?

Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exema.

SCENE III.

Before the Castle.

Enter Desdkmona, Cassio, and Emilia.

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do
All my abilities in thy behalf.

Einil. Good madam, do; I know, it grieves my
husband.
As if the case were his.

Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt,
Cassio,
But I will have ray lord and you again
As friendly as you were.

Cas. Bounteous madam,

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio,
He's never any thing but your true servant.

Des. O, sir, I thank you: You do love my lord:
You have known him long; and be you well assur'd,
He shall in strangeness stand no further off
Than in a politic distance.

Cas. Ay, but, lady,

That policy may either last so long,
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet,
Or breed itself so out of circumstance.
That, I being absent, and my place supplied.
My general will forget my love and service.

Des. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here,
I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee,
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it
To the last article: my lord shall never rest;
I'll watch him tame, ') and talk him out of patience;
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;
I'll intermingle every thing he does
With Cassio's suit: Therefore be merry, Cassio;
For thy solicitor shall rather die.
Than give thy cause away.

Enter Othbllo and Iago, at a distance.

Emil. Madam, here comes

My lord.

Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave.

Des. Why, stay,

And hear me speak.

Cas. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease,
Unfit for mine own purposes.

Des. Well, well.

Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio.

Iago. Ha! I like not that.

0th. What dost thou say?

Iago. Nothing, my lord: or if — I know not what.

0th. Was not that Cassio, paited from my wife?

Iago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think it.
That he would steal away so guilty-like.
Seeing you coming.

0th. I do believe 'twas he.

Des. How now, my lord?
I have been talking with a suitor here,
A man that languishes in your displeeisure.

0th. Who is't, you mean?

Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord.
If I have any grace, or power to move you,
His present reconciliation take;'*)
For, if he be not one that truly loves you,
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, ^)

XKRTII.

Act III. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

877

I have no judgment in an honest face:
I pr'ythee, call him back.

Olh. Went he hence now?

De$. Ay, sooth; so humbled.
That he hath left part of his grief with me;
I sulfer v>ith him. Good love, call him back.

0th. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time.

Des. But shall't be shortly 'i

0th. The sooner, sweet, for you.

De$. Shall't be to-night at supper?

0th. No, not to-night.

Det. To-morrow dinner then ?

0th, I shall not dine at home;

I meet the captains at the citadel.

Des. Why then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn;
Or Tuesday noon, or night; or Wednesday morn; —
I pray thee, name the time; but let it not
Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent;
And yet his trespass, in our common reason,
(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples
Out of their best,) ^) is not almost a fault
To incur a private check: When shall he come?
Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul.
What you could ask me, that I should deny.
Or stand so mamniering on. ') What! Michael Cassio,
That came a wooing with you ; and many a time, *}
When 1 have spoke of you dispraisingly.
Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do
To bring him inl Trust me, I could do much, —

0th. 'Pr'ythee, no more: let him come when he will;
I will deny thee nothing.

Det. Why, this is not a boon;

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves.
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm;
Or sue to you to do peculiar profit
To your own person: Nay, when I have a suit,
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed.
It shall be full of poize ') and difficulty.
And fearful to be granted.

0th. I will deny thee nothing:

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this,
To leave me but a little to myself.

Det. Shall I deny you? no: Farewell, my lord.

0th. Farewell, my Desdemona : I will come to thee
straight.

Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach

you;
Whate'er you be, I am obedient.

\_Exit, tcith Emilia.

0th. Excellent wretch ! '■ ") Perdition catch my soul.
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,
Chaos is come again.

Jago. My noble lord,

0 th. What dost thou say, lago?

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady.
Know of your love?

0th. He did, from first to last: Why dost thou ask?

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought;
No further harm.

0th. Why of thy thought, lago ?

lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted
with her.

Olh. O, yes; and went between us very oft.

lago. Indeed?

0th. Indeed! ay, indeed: — Discern'st thou aught
in that?
Is he not honest?

lago. Honest, my lord?

0th. Ay, honest. ")

lago. My lord, for ought I know.

0th. What dost thou think?

lago. Think, my lord?

0th. Think, my lord !

By heaven, he echoes me.
As if there were some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean some-
thing:
I heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that.
When Cassio left my wife; What did'st not like?
And, when I told thee — he was of my counsel
In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, Indeedf
And did'st contract and purse thy brow together,
As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain
Some horrible conceit: If thou dost love me.
Show me thy thought.

lago. My lord, you know I love you.

0th. I think, thou dost;

And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty,
And weigh'st thy words before thoa giv'st them

breath, —
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the moret
For such things, in a false disloyal knave.
Are tricks of custom; but, in a man that's just.
They are close denotements, working from the heart.
That passion cannot rule. ^-)

lago. For Michael Cassio, —

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest.

0th. I think so too.

lago. Men should be what they seem;

Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none !

0th. Certain, men should be what they seem.

Jago. Why then,

I think, that Cassio is an honest man. '3)

0th, Nay, yet there's more in this:
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings,
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts
The worst of words.

lago. Good my lord, pardon me;

Though I am bound to every act of duty,
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. • *)
Utter my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and

false, —
As where's that palace, whereinto foul things
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure.
But some uncleanly apprehensions
Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit
With meditations lawful?

0th. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago.
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear
A stranger to thy thoughts.

lago. I do beseech you, —

Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess.
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague
To spy into abuses; and, oft, my jealousy
Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then.
From one that so imperfectly conjects, **)
You'd take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble
Out of his scattering and unsuie observance: —
It were not for your quiet, nor your good.
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom.
To let you know my thoughts.

0th. What dost thou mean?

lago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord.
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something,

nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ;
But he, that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that, which not enriches him.
And makes me poor indeed.

0th. By heaven, I'll know thy thought.

lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand;
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

0th. Ha!

lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;

It is the green ey'd monster, which doth mock

XUUVII.

878

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act III.

The meat it feeds on: *') That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er.
Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves!
0th. O misery!

lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough ;
But riches, fineless, ^') is as poor as winter,
To him that ever fears he shall be poor: —
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend
From jealousy!

0th. Why! why is this?

Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon.
With fresh suspicions? INo: to be once in doubt,
Is — once to be resolv'd : Exchange me for a goat.
When I shall turn the business of my soul
To such exsufflicate • ^) and blown surmises.
Matching thy inference. '') 'Tis not to make me

jealous.
To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company.
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well;
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : ^ ")
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt;
For she had eyes, and chose me; No, lago;
I'll see, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
And, on the proof, there is no more but this, —
Away at once with love, or jealousy.

lago. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason
To show the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound,
Receive it from me: — I speak not yet of proof.
Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio;
Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure:
I would not have your free and noble nature,
Out of self-bounty^^) be abus'd; look to't:
I know our country disposition well ;
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks
They dare not show their husbands ; their best con-
science
Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown.
0th. Dost thou say so?

lago. She did deceive her father, marrying you;
And, when she seem'd 2^) to shake, and fear your

looks.
She lov'd them most.
0th. And so she did.

lago. Why, go to, then ;

She that, so young, could give out such a seeming,
To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak, — ^^)
He thought, 'twas witchcraft: — but I am much to

blame ;
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon,
For too much loving you.
0th. I am bound to thee for ever.

lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits.
0th. Not a jot, not a jot.

lago. Trust me, I fear it has.

I hope, you will consider, what is spoke
Comes from my love; — But, I do see you are

mov'd : —
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech
To grosser issues,^*) nor to larger reach,
Than to suspicion.
0th. I will not.

lago. Should you do so, my lord.

My speech should fall into such vile success
As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy

friend: —
My lord, I see you are mov'd.

0th. No, not much mov'd: —

I do not think but Desdemona's honest.
lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think so !

0th. And yet, how nature erring from itself, —

lago. Ay, there's the point : — As, — to be bold
with you, —
Not to affect many proposed matches.
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree;
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends:
Fob! one may smell, in such, a will most rank,*')
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. —
But pardon me! I do not, in position.
Distinctly speak of her: though I may fear,
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment.
May fall to match you with her country forms,
And (happily) repent.

0th. Farewell, farewell:

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more;
Set on thy wife to observe: Leave me, lago.

lago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going.

0th. Why did I marry? — This honest creature,
doubtless,
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

lago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your

honour
To scan this thing no further; leave it to time:
And though it be fit that Cassio have his place,
(For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,)
Yet, if you please to hold him off a while.
You shall by that perceive him and his means:*')
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment*')
With any strong or vehement importunity;
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time,
Let me be thought too busy in my fears,
(As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,)
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour.

0th. Fear not my government.^*)

lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit.

0th. This fellow's of exceeding honesty.
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit,*')
Of human dealings: If I do prove her haggard,*")
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-
strings, *^)
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind,
To prey at fortune. '*) Haply, for I am black;
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers *^) have: Or, for I am declin'd
Into the vale of years; — yet that's not much; —
She's gone; I am abus'd; and my relief
Must be — to loath her. O curse of marriage.
That we can call these delicate creatures ours,
And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad.
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon.
Than keep a corner in the thing I love,
For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones ;
Prerogativ'd are they less than the base;
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ;
Even then this forked plague^*) is fated to us.
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes:

Enter Desdemona and Emilia.

If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! —
I'll not believe it.

De$. How now, my dear Othello?

Your dinner, and the generous islanders
By you invited, do attend your presence.

0th. I am to blame.

Des. Why is your speech so faint? are you not well?

0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here.

Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

Olh. Your napkin is too little;

[He puts the Handkerchief from him, and it dropt.
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

KKXVU.

Act III.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

879

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well.

[Exeunt 0th. and DE8.

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin;
This was her first remembrance from the Moor:
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it: but she so loves the token,
(For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,)
That she reserves it evermore about her.
To kiss, and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, ^•^)
And give it lago:

What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I;
I nothing, but to please his fantasy.

Enter Iago.

lago. How now! what do you here alone?

Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

Iago. A thing for me? — it is a common thing.

Emil. Ha!

Iago. To have a foolish wife.

Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me now
For that same handkerchief?

Iago. What handkerchief?

JEhi»7. What handkerchief?
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

Iago. Hast stolen it from her?

Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence;
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up. ^')
Look, here it is.

Iago. A good wench; give it me.

Emil. What will you do with it, that you have
been so earnest
To have me filch it?

Iago. Why, what's that to you?

[Snatching it.

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import.
Give it me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad,
When she shall lack it.

Iago. Be not you known oft; '') I have use for it.
Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia.

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin.
And let him find it: Trifles, light as air,
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ. This may do something.
The Moor already changes with my poison: —
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons.
Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste;
But with a little act upon the blood.
Bum like the uiines of sulphur. — I did say so : —

Enter Othello.

Look where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, ^ ^)
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world.
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday. ^')

Oth. Ha! ha! false to me?

To me?

Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of that.

Oth. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the
rack: —
I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd.
Than but to know't a little.

Iago. How now, my lord?

Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust?
I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me:
I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips:
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen.
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.

Iago. I am sorry to hear this.

Oth, I had been happy, if the general camp.
Pioneers and all,*") had tasted her sweet body.

So I had nothing known: O now, for ever.
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars.
That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife.
The royal banner; and all quality.
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit.
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!

Iago. Is it possible? — My lord, •

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore;
Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof;

[Taking him by the Throat.
Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul.
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog.
Than answer my wak'd wrath.

Iago. Is it come to this?

Oth. Make me to see it; (or at the least) so prove it.
That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop.
To hang a doubt on: or, woe upon thy life!

Iago. My noble lord,

Oth. If thou dost slander her and torture me.
Never pray more: abandon all remorse;'*')
On horror's head horrors accumulate :
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd.
For nothing; canst thou to damnation add.
Greater than that.

Iago. O grace! O heaven defend me!

Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense? —
God be wi' you; take mine office. — O wretched fool,
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice! —

0 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world,
To be direct and honest, is not safe. —

1 thank you for this profit; and, from hence,

I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence,

Oth. Nay, stay : — Thou should'st be honest.

Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool.
And loses that it works for.

Oth. By the world,

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not;
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not;
I'll have some proof: Her name, that was as fresh
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black
As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives.
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams,
I'll not endure it. — 'Would, I were satisfied!

Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion:
I do repent me, that I put it to you.
You would be satisfied?

Oth. Would! nay, I will.

Iago. And may: But, how? how satisfied, my lord?
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on?
Behold her tupp'd?

Oth. Death and damnation! O!

Iago, It were a tedious difficulty, I think.
To bring them to that prospect: Damn them then,
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster.
More than their own! What then? how then?
What shall I say? Where's satisfaction?
It is impossible, you should see this,
Were they as prime as goats,"*-) as hot as monkeys.
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say.
If imputation, and strong circumstances, —
Which lead directly to the door of truth, —
Will give you satisfaction, you may have it.

Oth. Give me a living reason*^) she's disloyal.

Iago. I do not like the office:
But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, —
Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love, —
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately;

KKKVn.

880

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act III.

And being troubled wiih a raging tooth;

I could not sleep.

There are a kind of men so loose of soul,

That in their sleeps will mutter their ailairs;

One of this kind is Cassio:

In sleep I heard him say, — Sweet Desdemona,

Let us be wary, let us hide our loves!

And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand,

Cry — 0, sweet creature! and then kiss me hard,

As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots.

That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg

Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then

Cry'd — Cursed fate! that gave thee to the Moor!

0th. O monstrous! monstrous!

lago. Nay, this was but his dream.

0th. But this denoted a foregone conclusion;'**)
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.

Jago. And this may help to thicken other proofs.
That do demonstrate thinly.

0th. I'll tear her all to pieces.

logo. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing done ;
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, —
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief.
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand?

0th. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift.

lago. I know not that: but such a handkerchief,
(I am sure it was your wife's) did I to-day
See Cassio wipe his beard with.

0th. If it be that, —

lago. If it be that, or any that was her's.
It speaks against her, with the other proofs.

0th. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives;
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge!
Now do I see 'tis true. — Look here, lago;
All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven:
'Tis gone. —

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, * *)
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy

fraught, '"')
For 'tis of aspicks' tongues!

lago. 'Pray, be content.

0th. O, blood, lago, blood!

lago. Patience, I say; your mind, perhaps, may
change.

0th. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, .
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic, and the Hellespont;
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace.
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love.
Till that a capable'") and wide revenge
Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven.
In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kjieela.

I here engage my words.

lago. Do not rise yet. — [Kneeh.

Witness, you ever-burning lights above!
You elements that clip us round about!
Witness, that here lago doth give up
The execution***) of his wit, hands, heart.
To wrong'd Othello's service! let him command.
And to obey shall be in me remorse,
What bloody work soever.*')

0th. I greet thy love.

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance boun-
teous.
And will upon the instant put thee to't:
Within these three days let me hear thee say,
That Cassio's not alive.

lago. My friend is dead; 'tis done at your request :
But let her live.

0th. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her !

Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw.

To furnish me with some swift means of death
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant.
lago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The same.

Enter Dbsdemona, Emilia, and Clown.

Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant Cas-
sio lies?

Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where.

Des. Why, man?

Clo. He is a soldier; and for me to say a soldier
lies, is stabbing.

Des. Go to; Where lodges he?

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you
where I lie.

Des. Can any thing be made of this?

Clo. I know not where he lodges; and for me to
devise a lodging, and say — he lies here, or he lies
there, were to lie in my own throat.

Des. Can you enquire him out, and be edified by
report?

Clo. I will catechize the world for him; that is,
make questions, and by them answer. *")

Des. Seek him, bid him come hither; tell him, I
have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope, all
will be well.

Clo. To do this, is within the compass of man's
wit; and therefore I will attempt the doing it.

[Exit.

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief,
Emilia?

Emil. I know not, madam.

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse
Full of cruzadoes. * *) And, but my noble Moor
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness
As jealous creatures are, it were enough
To put him to ill thinking.

Emil. Is he not jealous?

Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was born,
Drew all such humours from him.

Eviil. Look, where he comes.

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio
Be call'd to him. — How is't with you, my lord ?

Enter Othello.

0th. Well, my good lady: — [aside] O, hardness
to dissemble! —
How do you, Desdemona?

Des. Well, my good lord.

0th. Give me your hand: This hand is moist, my
lady.

Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no soiTOw.

Olh. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart; —
Hot, hot, and moist: This hand of yours requires
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer.
Much castigation, exercise devout; *^)
For here's a young and sweating devil here.
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand,
A frank one.

Des. You may, indeed, say so;

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart.

0th. A liberal hand : The hearts, of old, gave hands :
But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts.

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now your promise.

0th. What promise, chuck?

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you.

0th. I have a salt and sullen rheum *^) offends me;
Lend me thy handkerchief.

Des. Here, my lord.

xxxvn.

Act III.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE

881

I have it not about me.

0th. That which I gave you
Des.

0th. Not?

Des. No, indeed, iny lord.

0th. That is a fault:

That handkerchief

Did an Egyptian to my mother give;

She was a charmer, and could almost read

The thoughts of people: she told her, while she

kept it,
'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father
Entirely to her love; but if she lost it.
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt
After new fancies: She, dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,
To give it her. I did so: and take heed oft,
Make it a darling like your precious eye;
To lose or give't away, were such perdition.
As nothing else could match.

Des. 1 Is it possible?

0th. 'Tis true: there's magic in the web of it;
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world
The sun to make two hundred compasses.
In her prophetic fury sew'd the woik :
The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk:
And it was died in mummy, **) which the skilful
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts.

Des. Indeed! is't true?

0th. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.

Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never
seen it.

0th. Ha! wherefore?

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? ^^)

0th. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the
way?

Des. Heaven bless us!

0th. Say you?

Des. It is not lost; But what an if it were?

0th. Ha!

Des. I say, it is not lost.

0 th. Fetch't, let me see it.

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now;
This is a trick, to put me from my suit;
I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again.

0th. Fetch me that handkercliief : my mind misgives.

Des. Come, come;
You'll never meet a more sufficient man.

0th. The handkerchief,

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio.

0th. The handkerchief,

Des. A man that, all his time,
Hath founded his good fortune on your love;
Shar'd dangers with you;

0th. The handkerchief,

Des, In sooth,
You are to blame.

0th. Away! [Exit Othello.

Emit. Is not this man jealous?

Des. I ne'er saw this before.
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief:
I am most unhappy in the loss of it.

Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man;
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full.
They belch us. Look you! Cassio, and my husband.

Enter Iago and Cassio.

lago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do't;
And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her.
Des. How now, good Cassio? what's the news
with you?

Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you,
That, by your virtuous means, I may again
Exist, and be a member of his love,
Whom I, with all the duty of my heart.
Entirely honour; I would not be delay'd:
If my offence be of such mortal kind,
That neither service past, nor present sorrows.
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity,
Can ransome me into his love again.
But to know so must be my benefit;
So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content,
And shut myself up in some other course,
To fortune's alms. ^*)

Des. Alas! thrice-gentle Cassio,

My advocation is not now in tune;
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,
Were he in favour, * ' ) as in humour, alter'd.
So help me, every spirit sanctified.
As I have spoken for you all my best.
And stood within the blank of his displeasure, ^ ^)
For my free speech! You must awhile be patients
What I can do, I will; and more I will,
Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you.

Iago. Is my lord angry?

Emil. He went hence, but now.

And, certainly, in strange unquietness.

Iago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the cannon,
When it hath blown his ranks into the air; ^')
And, like the devil, from his very arm
Puff'd his own brother; — And can he be angry?
Something of moment, then: I will go meet him;
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry.

Des. I pr'ythee, do so. — Something, sure, of state, —

[Exit Iago.
Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice,'")
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, —
Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, in such cases,
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things,
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so;
For let our finger ache, and it indues '■')
Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense
Of pain: Nay, we must think, men are not gods;
Nor of them look for such observances
As fit the bridal. — '-) Beshrew me much, Emilia,
I was (unhandsome warrior as I am) ^^)
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul;
But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness,
And he's indited falsely.

Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think :
And no conception, nor no jealous toy.
Concerning you.

Des. Alas the day! I never gave him cause.

Emil. But jealous souls will not be auswer'd so;
They are not ever jealous for the cause.
But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster,
Begot upon itself, born on itself.

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind !

Emil. Lady, amen.

Des. I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk hereabout:
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit,
And seek to effect it to my uttermost.

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship.

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.

Enter Bianca.

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio !

Cas. What make you from home?

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca?
I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house.

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio.
What! keep a week away? seven days and nights?
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours,

KXXTII.

56

882

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act if.

More tedious than the dial eight score times?

0 weary reckoning!

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca;

1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ;
But I shall in a more continuate time, ''■*)

Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,

[Giving her De8debiona'« Handkerchief.
Take me this work out. ^*)

Bian. O, Cassio, whence came this?

This is some token from a newer friend.
To the felt absence now I feel a cause :
Is it come to this? Well, well.

Cas. Woman, go to!fi<^]i

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth,
From whence you have them. You are jealous now.
That this is from some mistress, some remembrance;
No, in good troth, Bianca.

Bian. Why, whose is it?

Cas. I know not, sweet: I found it in my chamber.
I like the work well; ere it be demanded,
(As like enough, it will,) I'd have it copied:
Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time.

Bian. Leave you! wherefore?

Cas. I do attend here on the general;
And think it no addition, nor my wish,
To have him see me woman'd.

Bian. Why, I pray you?

Cas. Not that I love you not.

Bian. But that you do not love me.

I pray you, bring me on the way a little;
And say, if I shall see you soon at night.

Cas. 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you,
For I attend here : but I'll see you soon,

Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanc'd. *')

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same.
Enter Othello and Iaco.

lago. Will you think so?

0th. Think so, lago ?

lago. What,

To kiss in private?

0th. An unauthoriz'd kiss.

lago. Or to be naked with her friend abed,
An hour, or more, not meaning any harm?

Oth. Naked abed, lago, and not mean harm?
It is hypocrisy against the devil: ')
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so,
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven.

lago. So tliey do nothing, 'tis a venial slip:
But if I give my wife a handkerchief,

Oth. What then?

lago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord; and, being hers,
She may, I think, bestow't on any man.

Oth. She is protectress of her honour too;
May she give that?

lago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen;
They have it very oft, that have it not:
But, for the handkerchief,

Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot
it: —
Thou said'st, — O, it comes o'er my memory,
As doth the raven o'er the infected house.
Boding to all, — ^) he had my handkerchief.

lago. Ay, what of that?

Oth. That's not so good, now.

lago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you
wrong ?

Or heard him say, — As knaves be such abroad,
Who having, by their own importunate suit.
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress.
Convinced or supplied them, ^) cannot choose
But they must blab

Oth. Hath he said any thing?

lago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well assur'd,
No more than he'll unswear.

Oth. What hath he said?

lago. 'Faith, that he did, — I know not what he did.

Oth. What? what?

lago. Lie

Oth. With her?

lago. With her, on her ; what you will.

Oth. Lie with her! lie on her! — We say, lie on
her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's ful-
some. — Handkerchief, — confessions, — handker-
chief. — To confess, and be hanged *) for his la-
bour. — First, to be hanged, and then to confess : —
I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself
in such shadowing passion, without some instruction.*)
It is not words that shake me thus: — Pish! —
Noses, ears, and lips: — Is it possible? — Con-
fess! — Handkerchief! — O devil! —

[Falls into a Trance.

lago. Work on,
My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are caught;
And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus.
All guiltless meet reproach. — What, ho ! my lord !

Enter Cassio.

My lord, I say ! Othello ! — How now, Cassio ?

Cas. What is the matter?

lago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy;
This is his second fit; he had one yesterday.

Cas. Rub him about the temples.

lago. No, forbear:

The lethargy must have his quiet course:
If not, he foams at mouth; and, by and by.
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs:
Do you withdraw yourself a little while.
He will recover straight; when he is gone,
I would on great occasion speak with you. —

[Exit Cassio.
How is it, general? have you not hurt your head?

Oth. Dost thou mock me ?

lago. I mock you ! no, by heaven :

'Would, you would bear your fortunes like a man.

Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast.

lago. There's many a beast then in a populous city,
And many a civil monster.

Oth. Did he confess it?

lago. Good sir, be a man;

Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd.
May draw with you: there's millions now alive,
That nightly lie in those unproper beds, *)
Which they dare swear peculiar; your case is better.
O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock.
To lip a wanton in a secure couch, ')
And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know;
And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be.

Oth. O, thou art wise; 'tis certain.

lago. Stand you awhile apart;

Confine yourself but in a patient list. ^)
Whilst you were here, ere while mad with your grief,
(A passion most unsuiting such a man,)
Cassio came hither: I shifted him away.
And laid good 'sense upon your ecstasy;
Bade him anon return, and here speak with me;
The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself, ')
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns,
That dwell in every region of his face;

KXKVII.

Act IV. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

883

For I will make him tell the tale anew, —
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when
He hath, and is again to cope your wife;
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience;
Or 1 shall say, you are all in all in spleen,
And nothing of a man.

Qt^^ Dost thou hear, lago?

I will be found most cunning in my patience;
But (dost thou hear?) most bloody.

Jago. That's not amiss ;

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?

[Othello withdraws.
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,
A housewife, that, by selling her desires.
Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature,
That dotes on Cassio, — as 'tis the strumpet's plague,
To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one; —
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain
From the excess of laughter. — Here he comes: —

Re-enter Gassio.

As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad;
And his unbookish jealousy ^<>) must construe
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour.
Quite in the wrong. — How do you now, lieutenant?
Cfl«. The worser, that you give me the addition,
Whose want even kills me.

lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure oft.
Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power,

[Sjfcaking lower.
How quickly should you speed?
Ca». Alas, poor caitiff!

Oth. Look, how he laughs already! [Aside,

lago. I never knew a woman love man so.
Cas. Alas, poor rogue! I think i'faith, she loves me.
Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out.

[Aside.
lago. Do you hear, Cassio ?

Oth. Now he importunes him

To tell it o'er: Go to; well said, well said. [Aside.
lago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her :
Do you intend it?
Cas. Ha, ha, ha!

Oth. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? * ')

[Aside.
Cas. I marry her! — what? a customer! i-) 1
pr'ythee, bear some charity to my wit; do not think
it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha!
Oth. So, so, so, so: They laugh that win. [Aside.
lago. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her.
Cas. 'Pr'ythee, say true. ■

lago. I am a very villain else.
Oth. Have you scored me?^^) Well. [Aside.

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she is
persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love
and flattery, not out of my promise.
Oth, lago beckons me; now he begins the story.

[Aside.

Cas. She was here even now; she haunts me in

every place. I was, the other day, talking on the

sea-bank with certain Venetians ; and thither comes

this bauble; by this hand, she falls thus about my

neck ;

Oth. Crying, O dear Cassio! as it were: his gesture
imports it. [Aside.

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so
hales, and pulls me: ha, ha, ha! —

Oth. Now he tells, how she plucked him to my
chamber: O, I see that nose of yours, but not that
dog I shall throw it to. [Aside.

Cas. Well, I must leave her company.
lago. Before me! look, where she comes.

KBKVn.

Enter Bianca.

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew! •*) marry, a per-
fumed one. — What do you mean by this haunting
of me?
Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ! What
did you mean by that same handkerchief, you gave
me even now ? I was a fine fool to take it. I must
take out the whole work? A likely piece of work,
that you should find it in your chamber, and not
know who left it there ! This is some minx's token,
and I must take out the work? There, — give it
your hobby horse : wheresoever you had it, I'll take
out no work on't.

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca? how now?
how now?
Oth. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief!

[Aside.

Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, you may:

an you will not, come when you are next prepared

for. [Exit.

lago. After her, after her.

Cas. 'Faith, I must, she'll rail in the street else.
lago. Will you sup there?
Cas. 'Faith, I intend so.

lago. Well, I may chance to see you; for I would
very fain speak with you.
Cas. 'Pr'ythee, come; Will you?
lago. Go to; say no more. [Exit Cassio.

Oth. How shall I murder him, lago?
lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice?
Oth. O, lago!

lago. And did you see the handkerchief?
Oth. Was that mine?

lago. Yours, by this hand: and to see how he
prizes the foolish woman, your wife! she gave it
him, and he hath given it his whore.

Oth. I would have him nine years a killing: —
A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman!
lago. Nay, you must forget that.
Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned
to-night; for she shall not live: No, my heart is
turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. ' *)
O, the world hath not a sweeter creature : she might
lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks.
lago. Nay, that's not your way.
Oth. Hang her ! I do but say what she is : — So
delicate with her needle! — An admirable musi-
cian! — O, she will sing the savageness out of a
bear ! — Of so high and plenteous wit and invention !
lago. She's the worse for all this.
Oth. O, a thousand, a thousand times: — And
then, of so gentle a condition! *')
lago. Ay, too gentle.

Oth. Nay, that's certain: But yet the pity of it,
lago ! — O, lago, the pity of it, lago !

lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give
her patent to offend; for if it touch not you, it
comes near nobody.
Oth. I will chop her into messes : — Cuckold me !
lago. O, 'tis foul in her.
Oth. With mine officer!
lago. That's fouler.

Oth. Get me some poison, lago ; this night : — I'll
not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty
vmprovide my mind again: — this night, lago.

lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her
bed, even the bed she hath contaminated.

Oth. Good, good: the justice of it pleases; vei7
good.

lago. And, for Cassio, — let me be his undertaker.
You shall hear more by midnight.

[A Trumpet within.

56*

884

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act IV.

0th. Excellent good. — What trumpet is that same?

lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico,

Come from the duke: and, see, your wife is with him.

Enter Lodovico, Dbsdbmona, and Attendants.

Lod. 'Save you, worthy general !

0th. With all my heart, sir.

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you.

[Gives him a Packet.

Olh. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures.

[Opens the Packet, and reads.

Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico?

lago. I am very glad to see you, signior;
Welcome to Cyprus.

Lod. I thank you: how does lieutenant Cassio?

lago. Lives, sir.

Des. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my lord
An unkind breach: but you shall make all well.

0th. Are you sure of that?

Des. My lord?

0th. This fail you not to do, as you will —

[Reads.

Lod. He did not call: he's busy in the paper.
Is there division 'twixt thy lord and Cassio?

Des. A most unhappy one; I would do much
To atone them, ^'') for the love I bear to Cassio.

0th. Fire and brimstone !

Des. My lord?

0th. Are you wise?

Des. What, is he angry?

Lod. 'May be, the letter mov'd him;

For, as I think, they do command him home.
Deputing Cassio in his government.

Des. By my troth, I am glad on't.

0 th. Indeed?

Des. My lord?

0th. I am glad to see you mad.

Des. How, sweet Othello?

0th. Devil! [Striking her.

Des. I have not deserv'd this.

Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice,
Though I should swear I saw it: 'Tis very much;
Make her amends, she weeps.

Olh. O devil! devil!

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, *^)
Each drop she falls ^') would prove a crocodile: —
Out of my sight !

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going.

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady: —
I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Olh. Mistress

Des. My lord?

Oth. What would you with her, sir?

Lod. Who, I, my lord?

Oth. Ay; you did wish, that I would make her
turn :
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on.
And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep;
And she's obedient, as you say, — obedient, —
Very obedient: — Proceed you in your tears. —

Concerning this, sir, • — O well-painted passion !

I am commanded home : — Get you away :

I'll send for you anon. — Sir, I obey the mandate,

And will return to Venice; — Hence, avaunt!

[Exit Desdeuona.

Cassio shall have my place. And, — sir, to-night,

I do entreat that we may sup together.

You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and mon-

kies ! [Exit.

Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate

Call — all-in-all sufficient? — This the noble nature

Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue

The shot of accident, nor dart of chance.
Could neither graze, nor pierce?

lago. He is much chang'd.

Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain?

lago. He is that he is ; I may not breathe my censure.
What he might be, — if, what he might, he is not, —
I would to heaven, he were.

Lod. What, strike his wife!

lago. 'Faith, that was not so well; Yet 'would I
knew.
That stroke would prove the worst.

Lod. Is it his use?

Or did the letters work upon his blood.
And new-create his fault?

lago. Alas, alas,

It is not honesty in me, to speak
What I have seen and known. You shall observe him ;
And his own courses will denote him so.
That I may save my speech: Do but go after.
And mark how he continues.

Lod. I am sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Castle.

Enter Othello and Emilia.

Oth. You have seen nothing then?

Emit. Nor ever heard; nor ever did suspect.

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together.

Emil. But then I saw no harm; and then I heard
Each syllable, that breath made up between them.

Oth. What, did they never whisper?

Emil. Never, my lord.

Oth. Nor send you out o'the way?

Emil. Never.

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor
nothing?

Emil. Never, my lord.

Oth. That's strange.

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest,
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other,
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom.
If any wretch hath put this in your head.
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse!
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true,
There's no man happy; the purest of their wives
Is foul as slander.

Oth. Bid her come hither: — go. —

[Exit EmiIiIA.
She says enough ; — yet she's a simple bawd,
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore,
A closet-lock-and-key of villainous secrets:
And yet she'll kneel, and pray ; I have seen her do't.

Re-enter Emilia with Desdbmona.

Des. My lord, what is your will ?

Olh. Pray^ chuck, come hither.

Des. What is your pleasure?

Oth. Let me see your eyes ;

Look in my face.

Des. What horrible fancy's this?

Oth. Some of your function, mistress ; [To Emima,
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door;
Cough, or cry — hem, if any body come :
Your mystery, your mystery; nay, despatcli.

[Exit Emilia.

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech import ?
I understand a fury in your words.
But not the words.

Oth. Why, what art thou?

HKXVII.

Act IV.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

885

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true

And loyal wife.

0th. Come, swear it, damn thyself;

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves
Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double-

damn'd.
Swear — thou art honest.

Des. Heaven doth truly know it.

0th. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell.

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? How am
I false?

0th. O Desdemona ! — away ! away ! away !

Des. Alas, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep ?
Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord?
If, haply, you my father do suspect.
An instrument of this your calling back.
Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him.
Why, I have lost him too.

Olh. Had it pleas'd heaven

To try me with affliction; had he rain'd
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head;
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips;
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes;
I should have found in some part of my soul
A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me
A fixed figure, for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at, —
O! O!

Yet could I bear that too; well, very well:
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart; ^°)
Where either I must live, or bear no life;
The fountain from the which my current runs,
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence!
Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads
To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion there !
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin;
Ay, there, look grim as hell! ^ ')

Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest.

0th. O, ay; as summer-flies are in the shambles,
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed.
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet.
That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would, thou had'st
ne'er been born!

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed?

0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
Made to write whore upon? What committed!
C^ommitted! — O thou public commoner!
I should make very forges of my cheeks.
That would to cinders burn up modesty.
Did I but speak thy deeds. — What committed!
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks;
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets.
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth.
And will not hear it; What committed!
Impudent strumpet!

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong.

0th. Are not you a strumpet?

Des. No, as I am a christian :

If to preserve this vessel for my lord.
From any other foul unlawful touch.
Be — not to be a strumpet, I am none.

Olh. What, not a whore?

Des. ^ No, as I shall be saved.

0th. Is it possible?

Des. O, heaven forgive us !

0th. I cry you mercy, then :

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice,
That married with Othello. — You, mistress.

Re-enter Emilia.

That have the office opposite to Saint Peter,
And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, you!

We have done our course; there's money for your

pains ;
I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel.

[Exit.

Emit. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? —
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady?

Des. 'Faith, half asleep.

Emit. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord?

Des. With who?

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam.

Des. Who is thy lord?

Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady.

Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Emilia:
I cannot weep; nor answer I have none.
But what should go by water. 'Pr'ythee, to-night
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember; —
And call thy husband hither.

Emil. Here is a change, indeed.

[Exit.

Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet.
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick
The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse?

Re-enter Emilia, with Iago.

lago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is it
with you?

Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young babes,
Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks:
He might have chid me so; for, in good faith,
I am a child to chiding.

Iago. What's the matter, lady?

Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her.
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her.
As true hearts cannot bear.

Des. Am I that name, Iago ?

Jago. What name, fair lady ?

Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was.

Emil. He call'd her, whore; a beggar, in his drink.
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. ^-)

Iago. Why did he so?

Des. I do not know; I am sure, I am none such.

lago. Do not weep, do not weep; Alas, the day!

Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches.
Her father, and her country, and her friends,
To be call'd — whore? would it not make one weep?

Des. It is my wretched fortune.

Iago, Beshrew him for it !

How comes this trick upon him?

Des. Nay, heaven doth know.

Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain,
Some busy and insinuating rogue.
Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office.
Have not devis'd this slander; I'll be hang'd, else.

Iago. Fye, there is no such man; it is impossible.

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him!

Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw his bones!
Why should he call her, whore? who keeps her

company?
What place? what time? what form? what likeli-
hood?
The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave.
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow: —
O, heaven, that such companions -^) thou'dst unfold;
And put in every honest hand a whip,
To lash the rascal naked through the world,
Even from the east to the west !

Iago. Speak within door. ^ *)

Emil. O, fye upon him ! some such squire he was.
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, * *)
And made you to suspect me with the Moor.

lago. You are a fool; go to.

Des. O, good Iago,

KXKVII.

886

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act IV.

What shall I do to win my lord again?
Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of heaven,
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel: —
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love.
Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense.
Delighted them in any other form;
Or that I do not yet, and ever did.
And ever will, — though he do shake me off
To beggarly divorcement, — love him dearly.
Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love. I cannot say, whore ;
It does abhor me, now I speak the word ;
To do the act that might the addition earn.
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.
lago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour;
The business of the state does him offence,
And he does chide with you.

Des. If 'twere no other, —

lago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets,

Hark how these instruments summon to supper!
And the great messengers of Venice stay:
Go in, and weep not: all things shall be well.

[Exeunt Desdeuona and Emilia.

Enter Rodbrico.

How now, Roderigo?

Rod. I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with me.

Jago. What in the contrary?

Rod. Every day thou dofPst me with some device,
lago; and rather (as it seems to me now) keep'st
from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the
least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer
endure it; Nor am I yet persuaded, to put up in
peace what already I have foolishly suffered.

lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo?

Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much; for your words,
and performances, are no kin together.

lago. You charge me most unjustly.

Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted my-
self out of my means. The jewels you have had
from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have
corrupted a votarist: You have told me — she has
received them, and returned me expectations and
comforts of sudden respect and acquittance;-*) but
I find none.

Jago. Well; go to; very well.

Rod. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor
'tis not very well : By this hand, 1 say, it is very
scurvy; and begin to find myself fobbed in it.

Jago. Very well.

Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make
myself known to Desdemona: If she will return me
roy jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent
my unlawful solicitations; if not, assure yourself, I
will seek satisfaction of you.

lago. You have said now.

Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I protest
intendment of doing.

lago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and
even, from this instant, do build on thee a better
opinion than ever before. Give uie thy hand, Ro-
derigo : Thou hast taken against me a most just
exception; but, yet, I protest, 1 have dealt most
directly in thy affair.

Rod. it hath not appeared.

Jago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared; and
your suspicion is not without wit and judgment.
But, Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee indeed,
which 1 have greater reason to believe now than
ever, — 1 mean, purpose, courage, and valour, —

this night show it: if thou the next night following
enjoyest not Desdemona, take me from this world
with treachery, and devise engines for my life. ^')

Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason, and
compass ?

Jago. Sir, there is especial commission come from
Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place.

Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and Desde-
mona return again to Venice.

Jago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode
be lingered here by some accident; wherein none
can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio.

Rod. How do you mean — removing of him?

Jago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's
place; knocking out his brains.

Rod. And that you would have me do?

Jago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit, and a
right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither
will I go to him; — he knows not yet of his ho-
nourable fortune ; if you will watch his going thence,
(which I will fashion to fall out between twelve
and one,) you may take him at your pleasure; I
will be near to second your attempt, and he shall
fall between us. Come, stand not amazed at it,
but go along with me; I will show you such a ne-
cessity in his death, that you shall think yourself
bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-
time, and the night grows to waste: about it.

Rod. I will hear further reason for this.

Jago. And you shall be satisfied. [ExeurU.

SCETVE III.

Another Room in the Castle.

Enter Othbllo, Lodovico, Dbsdbmona, Emilia,
and Attendants.

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no
further.

0th. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.

Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your
ladyship.

Des. Your honour is most welcome.

0th. Will you walk, sir ? —

O, — Desdemona,

Des. My lord?

0th. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be re-
turned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; look,
it be done.

Des. I will, my lord.

[Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants.

Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did.

Des. He says, he will return incontinent;
He hath commanded me to go to bed,
And bade me to dismiss you.

Emil. Dismiss me!

Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia,
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu:
We must not now displease him.

Emil. I would, jou had never seen him!

Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him.
That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, —
'Pr') thee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in them.

Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on
the bed.

Des. All's one: — Good father! how foolish are
our minds ! —
If I do die before thee, 'pr'ythee, shroud me
In one of those same sheets.

Emil. Come, come, you talk.

Des. My mother had a maid call'd — Barbara ;
She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad, ^^^

xxxvn.

Act r.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

887

And did forsake her: she had a song of — willow,
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: That song, to-night.
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do,
But to go hang my head -') all at one side,
And sing it, like poor Barbara. 'Pr'ythee, despatch.

Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown?

Des. No, unpin me here. —

This Lodovico is a proper man.

Emil. A very handsome man.

Des. And he speaks well.

Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have
walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his
nether lip.

Des. Thepoor soul ^ °) sat sighing by a sycamore tree.
Sing all a green willow; [Singiog.

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee.
Sing willow, willow, willow:

The fiesh streams ran by her, and murmur'd
her moans;
Sing willow, «J-c.
Her salt tears fell from her, and sofleiCd
the stones;

Lay by these:

Sing willow, willow, willow;
'Pr'ythee, hie thee; he'll come anon. —

Sing all a green willow must he my garland.

II.
Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve, —

Nay, that's not next. — Hark! who is it that knocks?
Emil. It is the wind.

Des. I call'd nty love, false love; ^ •) but what said
he then ?
Sing willow, ^c.
If I court mo women, you'll couch with mo men.

So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch;
Doth that bode weeping.

Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there.

Des. I have heard it said so. — O, these men,
these men ! —
Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia, —
That there be women do abuse their husbands
In such gross kind ?

Emil. There be some such, no question.

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emil. Why, would not you?

Des. No, by this heavenly light !

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light;
I might do't as well i'the dark.

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world?

Emil. The world is a huge thing: 'Tis a great price
For a small vice.

Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not.

EmU. By my troth, I think I should; and undo't,
when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a
thing for a joint-ring;*^) nor for measures of lawn;
nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty
exhibition; but, for the whole world, — Why, who
would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him
a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't.

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for
the whole world.

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'the world;
and, having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong
in your own world, and you might quickly make
it right.

Des. I do not think there is any such woman.

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many
To the vantage,*^) as would store the world they

play'd for.
But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults.
If wives do fall: Say, that they slack their duties,
And pour out treasures into foreign laps;
Or else break out in peevish jealousies.
Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us,
Or scant our former having ^*) in despite;
Why we have galls; and, though we have some grace.
Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know.
Their wives have sense like them : they see, and smell,
And have their palates both for sweet and sour,
As husbands have. What is it that they do.
When they change us for others? Is it sport?
I think, it is; And doth affection breed it?
I think, it doth; Is't frailty, that thus errs?
It is so too: And have not we affections?
Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have?
Then, let them use us well: else, let them know.
The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. ^*)

Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such
usage send,
Not to pick bad from bad; but, by bad, mend!

[Exema.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A Street.

Enter Iago and Rodbbigo.

lago. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight will
he come:

I Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home;

i Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow:

I It makes us, or it mars us; think on that,
And fix most firm thy resolution.

I Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't.

i lago. Here, at thy hand ; be bold, and take thy sword.

i [Retires to a little distance.

; Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed;

; And yet he has given me satisfying reasons: —
'Tis but a man gone : — forth, my sword ; he dies.

I [Goes to his stand,

lago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the
sense.
And he grows angry. •) Now whether he killCasno,
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other.
Every way makes my gain: Live Roderigo,
He calls me to a restitution large
Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him, ^)
As gifts to Desderaona;
It must not be: if Cassio do remain.
He hath a daily beauty in his life.
That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor
May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril:
No, he must die : — But so, I hear him coming.

Enttr Cissio. ^

Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he; — Villain, thou diest.
[Rushes from his post, and makes a pass at Casbio.
Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed.
But that my coat is better than thou think'st;
I will make proof of thine.

[Draws, and wounds Rodeeico.
Rod. O, I am slain!

[Iago rushes from kis post, cuts Cassio behind in
the leg, ■*) and exit.
Co*. I am maim'd for ever: — Help, ho! murder!
murder ! [Fulls.

XXKVII.

888

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act V.

Enter Othello, at a distance.

0th. The voice of Cassio : — lago keeps his word.

Rod. O, villain, that I am!

0th. Hark! 'tis even so.

Cas. O, help! ho! light! a surgeon!

Oth. 'Tis he; — O brave lago, honest, and just.
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong!
Thou teachest me, — Minion, your dear lies dead,
And your fate hies apace: — Strumpet, I come:
Forth of my heart ■*) those charms, thine eyes, are

blotted ;
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be spotted.

[Exit Othello.

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano, at a distance.

Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage?*) murder!
murder !

Gra. 'Tis some mischance ; the cry is very direful.

Cas. O, help!

Lod. Hark!

Rod. O wretched villain!

Lod. Two or three groans; — it is a heavy night: *)
These may be counterfeits: let's think't unsafe
To come in to the cry, without more help.

Rod. No body come ? then shall I bleed to death.

Enter Iago, with a Light.

Lod. Hark!

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and
weapons.

Iago. Who's there? whose noise, is this, that cries
on murder? ')

Lod. We do not know.

Iago. Did you not hear a cry?

Cas. Here, here; for heaven's sake, help me.

Iago. What's the matter?

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it.

Lod. The same, indeed; a very valiant fellow.

Iago. What are you here, that cry so grievously ?

Cas. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains!
Give me some help.

Iago. O me, lieutenant ! what villains have done this?

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout.
And cannot make away.

Iigo. O treacherous villains ! —

What are you there? come in, and give some help.

[To Lodovico and Ghatiano.

Rod. O, help me here !

Cas. That's one of them.

Iago. O murderous slave ! O villain !

[Iago stabs Rodebigo.

Rod. O damn'd Iago ! O inhuman dog ! —
O! O! O!

Iago. Kill men i'the dark! — Where be these
bloody thieves? —
How silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder!
What may you be? are you of good, or evil?

Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us.

Iago. Signior Lodovico ?

Lod. He, sir.

Iago. I cry you mercy; Here's Cassio hurt

By villains.

Gra. Cassio ?

Iago. How is it, brother?

Cas. My leg is cut in two.

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! —

Light, gentlemen; I'll bind it with my shirt.

Enter Bianca.

Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't that cry'd?
Iago. Who is't that cry'd?

Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio !
O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio !

Iago. O notable strumpet! — Cassio, may you
suspect
Who they should be, that have thus mangled you?

Cas. No.

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have been to
seek you.

Iago. Lend me a garter : So. — O, for a chair.
To bear him easily hence!

Bian. Alas, he faints : — O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio !

Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash
To be a party in this injury. —
Patience a while, good Cassio. — Come, come;
Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no?
Alas! my friend, and my dear countryman,
Roderigo? no: — Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo.

Gra. What, of Venice?

Iago. Even he, sir ; did you know him ?

Gra. Know him? ay.

Iago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle pardon ;
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners.
That so neglected you.

Gra. I am glad to see you.

Iago. How do you, Cassio? — O, a chair, a chair!

Gra. Roderigo!

Iago. He, he, 'tis he: — O, that's well said; —
the chair : — [A Chair brought in.

Some good man bear him carefully from hence;
I'll fetch the general's surgeon. — For you, mistress,

[To Bianca.
Save you your labour. — He that lies slain here,

Cassio,
Was my dear friend: What malice was between you?

Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the man.

Iago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale ? — O bear
him out o'the air.

[Cassio and Rod. are borne off.
Stay you, good gentlemen. — ^) Look you pale,

mistress?
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye? —
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon : —
Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her;
Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak.
Though tongues were out of use.

Enter Emilia.

Emit. 'Las, what's the matter; what's the matter,
husband?

Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark.
By Roderigo, and fellows that are scap'd;
He's ahnost slain, and Roderigo dead.

Etnil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio !

Iago. This is the fruit of whoring. — 'Pr'ythee,
Emilia,
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night : —
What, do you shake at that?

Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore
shake not.

Iago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me.

Emit. Fye, fye upon thee, strumpet!

Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest,
As you that thus abuse me.

Eviil. As I? fob! fye upon thee!

Iago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio
dress'd: —
Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale. —
Emilia, run you to the citadel.
And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd. —
Will you go on, I pray? This is the night, [Aside
That either makes me, or fordoes me quite. ')

[Exeunt

XBKVII.

Act V.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

889

SCENE II.

A Bedchamber : Dbsdbmona in Bed, asleep.
A Light burning.

Enter Othello.

0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, —
Let me not name it ' °) to you, you chaste stars ! —
It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood;
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow.
And smooth as monumental alabaster.

[Taite* off hit Sword.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light: ")
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore.
Should I repent me : — but once put out thine,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat.
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd

thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again.
It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree. —

[X/e«in^ her.

0 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. —
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after: — One more, and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep.

But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly;
It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes —

Des. Who's there? Othello?

0th. Ay, Desdemona.

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord?

Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona ?

Des. Ay, my lord.

Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace.
Solicit for it straight.

Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that?

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:

1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit;

No, — Heaven forefend. — I would not kill thy
soul. »^)

Des. Talk you of killing?

Oth. Ay, I do.

Des. Then, Heaven

Have mercy on me!

Oth. Amen, with all my heart!

Des. If you say so, I kope you will not kill me.

Oth. Humph!

Des. And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then.
When your eyes roll so: Why I should fear, I

know not.
Since guiltiness I know not; but yet, I feel, I fear.

Oth. Think on thy sins.

Des. They are loves I bear to yon.

Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest.

Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. —
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame:
These are portents; but yet, I hope, I hope.
They do not point on me.

Oth. Peace, and be still!

Des. I will so: What's the matter?

Oth. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and
gave thee.
Thou gav'st to Cassio.

Oes. No, by my life and soul;

Send for the man, and ask him.

Oth. Sweet soul, take heed.

Take heed of -perjury; thou'rt on thy death-bed.

Des. Ay, but not yet to die.

Oth. Yes, presently:

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin;
For to deny each article with oath.
Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception.
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me!

Oth. I say, amen.

Des. And have you mercy too ! — I never did
Offend you in my life; never lov'd Cassio,
But with such general warranty of heaven
As I might love: I never gave him token.

Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his
hand.

0 perjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart.
And mak'st me call, what I intend to do, —
A murder, which I thought a sacrifice: •^)

1 saw the handkerchief.

Des. He found it then;

I never gave it him: — Send for him hither.
And let him confess a truth.

Oth. He hath confessed.

Des. What, my lord?

Oth. That he hath — us'd thee.

Des. How? unlawfully?

Oth. Ay.

Des. He'll not say so.

Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd ;

Honest lago hath ta'en order for't. •*)

Des. My fear interprets then, — What, is he dead ?

Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
Had stomach for them all.

Des. Alas! he is betray 'd, and I undone.

Oth. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my
face?

Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not.

Oth. Down, strumpet!

Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.

Oth. Nay, if you strive,

Des. But half an hour.

Oth. Being done,

There is no pause.

Des, But while I say one prayer.

Oth. It is too late. '*) [He tmother* her.

Emit. [Within.'] My lord, my lord! what ho! my
lord! my lord!

Oth. What noise is this? — Not dead! not yet
quite dead?
I, that am cruel, am yet merciful;
I would not have thee linger in thy pain. —
So, so.

Emil. [Within.] What ho, my lord! my lord!

Oth. Who's there?

Emil. [Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak
a word with you.

Oth. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by. — She's
dead.
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death;
The noise was high. — Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good?
I think, she stirs again: — No. — What's the best?
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife:
My wife! my wife! what wife? — I have no wife:
O, insupportable! O heavy hour!
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe
Should yawn at alteration.

Emil. [Within.] I do beseech you, I may speak
with you.
O, good my lord !

Oth. I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia: —
Soft, — by and by: — Let me the curtains draw. —
Where art thou? What's the matter with thee now?

[Unloclft the Ifoor.

KHKVU.

890

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act V.

Enter Emilia.

Emil. O, good my lord, yonder's foul murder done.

0th. What? now?

Emil. But now, my lord!

0th. It IS the very error of the moon;
She comes more near the earth than she was wont;
And makes men mad.

Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Venetian,
CalI'd — Roderigo.

0th. Roderigo kill'd!

And Cassio kill'd?

Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd.

0th. Not Cassio kill'd? Then murder's out of tune,
And sweet revenge grows harsh.

Deg. O, falsely, falsely murder'd !

Emil. Alas! what cry is that?

0th. That! what?

Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice : —
Help! help, ho! help! — O lady, speak again!
Sweet Desdemona! O, sweet mistress, speak!

Des. A guiltless death I die.

Emil. O, who hath done

This deed?

Des. Nobody; I myself; farewell:

Commend me to my kind lord; O, farewell. [Dies.

0th. Why, how should she be murder'd?

Emil. Alas, who knows?

0th. You heard her say herself, it was not I.

Emil. She said so; I must needs report the truth.

0th. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell;
'Twas I that kill'd her.

Emil. O, the more angel she,

And you the blacker devil!

0th. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. ' ')

Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.

0th. She was false as water.")

Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say

That she was false; O, she was heavenly true!

0th. Cassio did tup her; ask thy husband else.
O, I were dainn'd beneath all depth in hell.
But that I did proceed upon just grounds
To this extremity; Thy husband knew it all.

Emil. My husband?

0th. Thy husband.

Emil. That she was false to wedlock ?

0th. Ay, with Cassio.

Nay, had she been true.

If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
I'd not have sold her for it.

Emil. My husband?

0th. Ay, 'twas he that told me first;

An honest man he is, and hates the slime
That sticks on filthy deeds.

Emil. My husband?

0th. What needs this iterance, woman? I say, thy
husband.

Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with

love! — '8)
My husband say, that she was false?

Olh. He, woman;

I say, thy husband; Dost understand the word?
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago.

Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart;
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

0th. Ha!

Emil. Do thy worst:

'I'his deed of thine is no more worthy heaven.
Than thou wast worthy her.

0th. Peace, you were best.

Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do me harm.

As I have to be hurt. '9) O gull! O dolt!
As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed, —
I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known.
Though I lost twenty lives: — Help! help, ho! help!
The Moor has kill'd my mistress ; Murder ! murder j

Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago.

Mon. What is the matter! — How now, general?

Emil. O, are you come, Iago ? you have done well,
That men must lay their murders on your neck.

Gra. What is the matter?

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man;
He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false:
I know, thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain;
Speak, for my heart is full.

Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no more
Than what he found himself was apt and true.

Emil. But did you ever tell him, she was false?

Ingo. I did.

Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned lie;
Upon my sou!, a lie ; a wicked lie : —
She false with Cassio! — Did you say with Cassio?

Iago. With Cassio, mistress; Go to, charm your
tongue.

Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound
to speak;
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed.

All. O heavens forfend!

Emil. And your reports have set the murder on.

Olh. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true, indeed.

Gra. 'Tis a strange truth.

Mon. O monstrous act!

Emil. Villainy, villainy, villainy ! —

I think upon't, — I think, — I smell't ; — O villainy !
I thought so then ; — - ") I'll kill myself for grief. —

0 villainy, villainy !

Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you
home.

Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak ;
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now:
Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

0th. O! O! O! [Hanging over his Wife.

Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar:

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent.
That e'er did lift up eye.

0th. O, she was foul ! — [Rising.

1 scarce did know you, uncle: There lies your niece.
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly

stopp'd ;
I know, this act shows horrible and grim.

Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead:
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now.
This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
And fall to reprobation.

0th. 'Tis pitiful: but yet Iago knows,
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it:
And she did gratify his amorous works
With that recognizance and pledge of love
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand;
It was a handkerchief, an antique token
My father gave my mother.

Emil. O heaven ! O heavenly powers !

Iago. Come, hold your peace.

Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out; — I hold my peace,
sir? no;
No, I will speak as liberal -') as the air;
Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all.
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

Iago. Be wise, and get you home.

XKKVII.

Act V.

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

891

Emit. I >^ill no^

[L16O ttffera to tab hi* Wife.

Gra. Fye!

Your sword upon a woman?

Emil. O thou dull Moor! that handkercMef thou
speak'st of,
I found by fortune, and did give my husband;
For often, with a solemn earnestness,
(More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,)
He begg'd of me to steal it-

lago. Villainous whore!

Emil. She give it Cassio! no, alas; I found it.
And I did give't my husband.

lago. Filth, thou liest

Emil. By heaven, I do not; I do not, gentlemen:

0 nmrd'rous coxcomb! what should such a fool
Do with so good a wife?

[Iago stabs Ehilia, then runs oat.

0th. Are there no stones in heaven.

But what serve for the thunder? — ^^) Precious
villain !

Cfra. The woman falls; sure, he has kill'd his wife.

Emil. Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' side!

Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

S/lon. Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
Which I have here recover'd from the Moor:
Come, guard the door without; let him not pass.
But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain.
For 'tis a damned slave.

[Exeunt Moktano and Gratuko.

OtJL I am not valiant neither.

But every pony whipster gets my sword: —
But why should honour outlive honesty?
Let it go all.

Emit. What did thy song bode, lady?

Hark, can'st thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in music; — Wiilow, willow , tpillow. —
Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor;
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
So speaking as I think, I die, — I die. [Die*.

0th. I have another weapon in this chamber.
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper; — -^)
O, here it is: — Uncle, I must come forth.

Gra. [Within.'l If thou attempt it, it wiU cost thee
dear;
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

0th. Look in upon me then, and speak with me.
Or, naked as i am, I will assault thee.

Re-enter Gbatiano.

Gra. What is the matter?

Oth. Behold! I have a weapon;

A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day.
That, with this little arm, and this good sword,

1 have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop: — But, O vain boast!
Who can controul his fate? 'tis not so now. —
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt.

And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.

Do you go back dismay 'd ? 'TIS a lost fear;

Man but a rush against Othello's breast.

And he retires; — Where should Othello go? —

Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench!

Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt,

1 his look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.

And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?

Even like thy chastity. —

O cursed, cursed slave ! — Whip me, ye devils.

From the possession of this heavenly sight!

Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!

Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! —
O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?
Dead? O! O! O!

Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio, carried in m
Cliair, and Officers, with Iago, prisoner.

Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate
man?

Otk. That's he, that was Othello; here I am.

Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth.

Otk. I look down towards his feet; — ^*) but that's
a fable:
If th^t tbou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.

[OTHKU.0 wounds Iac«.

Lod. Wrench his sword from him.

logo. I bleed, sir; but not kill'd.

Oth. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee liyej
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

Lod. O thou, Othello, that was once so good,
Fall'n in the practice-*) of a cursed slave,
What shall be said to thee?

Oth. Why, any thing:

An honourable murderer, if you will;
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.

Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villeuny:
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?

Oth. Ay.

Ca$. Dear general, I never gave you cause.

Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
Will you, I pray yoxi, demand that denii-devil.
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body?

lago. Demand me nothing: What you know, yon

know :
From this time forth I never will speak word.

Lod. What? not to pray?

Gra. Torments will ope your lips.

Oth. Well, thou dost best.

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n.
Which, as I think, you know not: Here is a letter.
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo;
And here, another: the one of them imports
The death of Cassio to be undertook
Bv Roderigo.

Oth. O villain!

Cat. Most heathenish, and most gross!

Lod. Now here's another discontented paper,
Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain:
But that, belike, lago in the interim
Came in and satisfied him.

Oth. O the pernicious caitiff! —

How came yoo, Cassio, by that handkerchief
That was my wife's?

Ca$. I found it in my chamber:

And he himself confess'd, but even now,
That there he dropp'd it, for a special purpose.
Which wrought to his desire.

Oth. O fool! fool! fool!

Cos. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter, —
How be upbraids lago, that he made him
Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came
That I was cast: And even but now be spake.
After long seeming dead, — lago hurt him,
lago set him on.

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with os;
Your power and your command is taken off.
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, —
If there be any cunning cruelty.
That can torment him much, and hold bim long.
It shall be his: You shall close prisoner rest.
Till that the nature of your fault be known
To the Venetian state: ~— Come, bring him away.

HKKVU.

892

OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.

Act V'

0th. Soft you; a word or two, before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they

know it;
No more of that: — I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate.
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate.
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you

speak
Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well;
Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away.
Richer than all his tribe; ^^) of one, whose subdu'd

eyes,
Albeit unused to the melting mood.
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinal gum: Set you down this:
And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once.
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state.

I took by the throat the circumcised dog.

And smote him — thus. [Stabs hinuelf.

Lod, O bloody period !

Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd.

0th. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee; — No way

but this, [Falling upon Desdemona.

Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Diet.

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon ;
For he was great of heart.

Lod. O Spartan dog, ^ ^)

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; [To Iago.
This is thy work: the object poisons sight; —
Let it be hid. — Gratiano, keep the house,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed to you. — To you, lord governor.
Remains the censure -^) of this hellish villain;
The time, the place, the torture, — O enforce it!
Myself will straight aboard; and, to the state,
This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeunt.

L

XKxvn.

I.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

/ ilia miretur valgus, niihi Jlavus Jpollo
Pocula Castalia -plena minittret aqua. — Ovid.

TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield*

Right Honourable,

1 KNOW not how I shall oflFend in dedicating
my unpolished lines to your Lordship, nor how
the world will censure me for choosing so strong
a prop to support so weak a burthen: only if
your honour seem but pleased, I account my-
self highly praised, and vow to take advantage
of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with
some graver labour. But if the first heir of
my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry
it had so noble a godfather, and never after
ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still
so bad a harvest, I leave it to your honourable
survey, and your honour to your heart's content ;
which I wish may always answer your ovra wish,
and the world's hopeful expectation,*)
Your Honour's in all duty,

William Shakespeare.

EvBN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek' (1 Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn:
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo bim.

Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began)
The field's chief flower, '} sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, ^)
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed,
A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know :

Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses.
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses.

And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty.
Making them red and pale with fresh variety.
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short.
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.

With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm.
The precedent of pith and livelihood.
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force.
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,

Under the other was the tender boy.

Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain.

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;

She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire.
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens (O how quick is love!)
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:

Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust.
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown.
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
"If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open."

He bums with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks:
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs.
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks;
He says, she is immodest, blames her 'miss; ')
What follows more, she smothers with a kiss. *)

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast.
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone, *)
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stufTd, or prey be gone;
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin.
And where she ends, she doth anew begin.

Forc'd to content, *) but never to obey.
Panting he lies, and breathing in her face;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey.
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace.

Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

896

VENUS AND ADONIS.

M.P.

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,

So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;

Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret,

Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank, ')
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy-pale;

Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd ^) with a more delight.

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears.

Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin.
Like a dl-dapper peering through a wave.
Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But whetii her lips were ready for his pay.
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet in fire must burn:

"Oh pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy;

'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now.
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow.
Who conquers where he comes, in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

Over my altars hath he hung his lance.
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest.
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;
Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red.
Making my arms Ids field, his tent my bed.

Thus him that over-rul'd, I oversway'd.
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.

O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might.
For mast'ring her that foil'd the god of tight.

Touch but my lipa with those fair lips of thine,
(Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,)
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine: —
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head;
Look in mine eye-balls where thy beauty lies:
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes?

Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again.

And I will wink, so shall the day seem night;

Love keeps his revels where there be but twain;

Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean.
Never can blab, nor know they what we mean.

The tender spring upon thy tempting lip

Shows thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be tasted;

Make use of time, let not advantage slip;

Beauty within itself should not be wasted:

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime,
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
lU-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic and cold.
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice.

Then might'st thou pause,for then I were not for thee ;

But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;

Mine eyes are grey,') and bright, and quick in turning;

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow.

My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt.
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green.
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair.
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;

These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;

Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,

From morn till night, even where I list to sport me :
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected.

Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft.
Narcissus so, himself himself forsook,
And dy'd to kiss his shadow in the brook.

Torches are made to light, jewels to wear.
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use.
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse: *°)
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty.
Thou wert begot, — to get it is thy duty.

Upon the earth's increase ' ') why should'st thou feed.
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of Nature thou art bound to breed.
That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead;
And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive."

By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat.
For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them.
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat.
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him, and by Venus' side.

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright.

And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,

His low'ring brows o'er-whelming his fair sight,

Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky,

Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fye, no more of love;

The sun doth burn my face; I must remove."

"Ah me, (quoth Venus,) young, and so unkind!
What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun;

I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;

If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm,
And lo, I lie between that sun and thee;
The heat I have from thence doth little harm.
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me:
And were I not immortal, life were done, * ^)
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

MP.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

897

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love torraenteth?
O had thy mother borne so bad a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.' ^)

What am I, that thou should'st contemn me this?

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?

Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again.
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.

Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well painted idol, image, dull and dead,
Statue, contenting but the eye alone.
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred;

Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion.
For men will kiss even by their own direction."

This said, impatience cliokes her pleading tongue,

And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;

Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;

Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause;
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak.
And now her sobs do her intendments '*) break.

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,

Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;

Sometimes her arms infold him like a band ;

She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers, one in one.

"Fondling, she saith, since I have hemm'd thee here,

Within the circuit of this ivory pale,

I'll be the park, and thou shall be my deer;

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry.
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Within this limit is relief enough.
Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain.
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain;

Then be my deer, since 1 am such a park;

No dog shall rouze thee, though a thousand bark."

At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain.
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Fore-knowing well, if there he came to lie.
Why there love liv'd, and there he could not die.

These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking:
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn.
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing.
The time is spent, her object will away.
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:
"Pity,(she cries) — some favour — some remorse — "
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.

But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy.
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds.
And now his woven girts he breaks asunder,
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds.
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth.
Controlling what he was controlled with.

His ears up prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest '*) now stands on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again.
As from a furnace, vapoui's doth he send :
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire.
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps.
With gentle majesty, and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps.
As who should say, lo! thus my strength is try'd;
And thus I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,

His flattering holla, or his Stand, I say?

What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur?

For rich caparisons, or trappings gay?

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees.
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life.
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with Nature's workmanship at strife.
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one.
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.

Round-hoofd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide.
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong.
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look what a horse should have, he did not lack.
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometimes he scuds far off", and there he stares,
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base ' '') he now prepares.
And whe'r he run, ") or fly, they knew not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings.
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
She answers him, as if she knew his mind :
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her.
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind;
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels.
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

Then, like a melancholy malecontent,
He vails his tail, '*) that, like a falling plume.
Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent;
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume;
His love perceiving how he is enrag'd.
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.

His testy master goeth about to take him;
When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him.
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them.
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly thenu

All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits.
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong.
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.,

57

898

VENUS AND ADONIS.

M.P.

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,

Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:

So of concealed sorrow may be said;

Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney *') once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
(Even as a dying coal revives with wind),
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow ;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind;
Taking no notice that she is so nigh.
For all askaunce he holds her in his eye.

O what a sight it was, wistly to view

How she came stealing to the wayward boy !

To note the fighting conflict of her hue!

How white and red each other did destroy !
But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheeks feels:
His tender cheeks receive her soft hands' print,
As apt as new fallen snow takes any dint.

O what a war of looks was then between them!

Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing;

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ;

Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing :
And all this dumb play had his acts^") made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow.

Or ivory in an alabaster band;

So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like to silver doves that sit a billing.

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
"O fairest mover on this mortal round,
'Would thou wert as I am, and I a man.
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; ^ * )
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee."

Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it?
Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have it ;

0 give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it.
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:*^)

Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.

For shame, he cries, let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so;

1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone :
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care.
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.

Thus she replies: "Thy palfrey, as he should.

Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.

Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;

Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none.
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

How like a jade he stood, tied to a tree.
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee.
He held such petty bondage in disdain;

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest.
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

Who sees his true love in her naked bed.
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?

Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold,
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,

To take advantage on presented joy;

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.
O learn to love; the lesson is but plain.
And, once made perfect, never lost again.

I know not love (quoth he) nor will I know it.

Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;

'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;

My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; * ^)
For I have heard it is a life in death.
That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath.

Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd?

Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?

If springing things be any jot diminish'd,

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being young,
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarm it will not ope the gate-
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;
For where a heart is hard, they make no battery.

What! canst thou talk (quoth she), hast thou a tongue?

0 'would thou hadst not, or 1 had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;

1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh-sounding.
Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore

wounding.

Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love

That inward beauty and invisible;

Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move

Each part in me that were but sensible:

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see.
Yet should 1 be in love, by touching thee.

Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me.
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the still'tory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by
smelling.

But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast should ever last,
And bid suspicion double-lock the door?
Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest.
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd.
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the sea-man, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds.
Gust and foul flaws - *) to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth.
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun.
His meaning struck her ere his words begun »

MP.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

899

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth.
A smile recures the wounding of a frown,
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead.
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And in amaze brake off his late intent.
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard;
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd ;
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue Avindows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth:
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye.

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd.
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd.
Had not his clouded with his brows' repine;

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light.
Shone like the moon, in water seen by night.

O, where am I, quoth she? in earth or heaven.
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or lite desire?

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy;

But now I dy'd, and death was lively joy.

O thou didst kill me; — kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain.
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen.
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.

Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!

Oh never let their crimson liveries wear!

And as they last, their verdure still endure.

To drive infection from the dangerous year!^*)
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted.
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented.
So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, -<')
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;

And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.

What is ten hundred kisses unto thee?

Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double.
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me,

Measure my strangeness^') with my unripe years;

Before 1 know mjself, seek not to know me;

No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears :

The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast.
Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste.

Look, the world's comforter, -*) but weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the West:
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late;
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest;
The coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light.
Do summon us to part, and bid good night.

Now let me say good night, and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.
Good night, quoth she; and, ere he says adieu.
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;

Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth.
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drought:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth,
(Their lips together glew'd) fail to the earth.

Now quick Desire hath caught her yielding prey.
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey.
Pacing what ransom the insuiter wilieth;

Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high.
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure drj.

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blind -fold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil.
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage;
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's wrack.

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing.
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handlifig.
Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tir'd with chasing.
Or like the froward infant, still'd with dandling.
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth.
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.

What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring.
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with vent'ring,
Chiefly in love, whose leave-') exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward.
But then woos best, when most his choice is froward.

When he did frown, O had she then gave over,

Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.

Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;

What though the rose have pricks? yet is it pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast.
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last.

For pity now she can no more detain him;

The poor fool prays her that he may depart:

She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him;

Bids him farewel, and look well to her heart.
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest.
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

Sweet boy, she says, this night I'll waste in sorrow.
For ray sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me. Love's master,^") shall we meet to-morrow V
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of Lis friends.

The boar! (quoth she) whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose.
Usurps her cheeks; she trembles at his tale.
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws;
She sinketh down, still hanging on his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.

57*

900

VENUS AND ADONIS.

M.P.

Now is she in the very lists of love,

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter;

All is imaginary she doth prove.

He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy.
To clip Elysinm, and to lack her joy.

Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw.
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps.
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw:^')
The warm effects which she in him finds missing,
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay 'd as much as may be prov'd;
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.

Fie, fie, he says, you crush me; let me go;

You have no reason to withhold me so.

Thou hadst been gone, quoth she, sweet boy, ere this.
But that thou told'st me, thou would'st hunt the boar.
O be advis'd; thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never-sheath'd he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher, ^-) bent to kill.

On his bow-back he hath a battle set

Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ;

His eyes, like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;

His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;

Being mov'd, he strikes what e'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay.

His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed.

Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;

His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed;

Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes.
As fearful of him, part ; through whom he rushes.

Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eye pays tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne.
Whose full perfection ail the world amazes;

But having thee at vantage (wond'rous dread!)
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;

Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends.

Come not within his danger by thy will ;

They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
1 fear'd thy foilune, and my joints did tremble.

Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white?

Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?

Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright?

Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie.

My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy

Doth call himself affection's centinel;

Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny.

And in a peaceful hour doth cry, hill, kill;
Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire,
As air and water doth abate the fire.

This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, ^•')

This canker that eats up love's tender spring,^*)

This carry-tale, dissensions jealousy.

That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth bring.
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear.
That if I love thee, 1 thy death should fear:

And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed.
Doth make them droop with grief, and hang the head.

What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,

That trembling at the imagination,
I The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed?

And fear doth teach it divination :

I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow.
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty.
Or at the roe, which no encounter dare:

Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs.
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds.

And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshut his troubles.
How he out-runs the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles:
The many musits^*) through the which he goes.
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

Sometime he runs among the flock of sheep.
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell.
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, ^^)
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell;

And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;*')
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snufting hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ;

Then do they spend their mouths : Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill.
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear.
To hearken if his foes pursue him still;
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore-sick, that hears the passing bell.

Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch.
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay :
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low, never reliev'd by any.

Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike thyself, thou hear'st me moralize,

Applying this to that, and so to so;

For love can comment upon every woe.

Where did I leave? — No matter where, quoth he;
Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent. Why, what of that, quoth she,
I am, quoth he, expected of my friends;

And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall. —
In night, quoth she, desire sees best of all.

But if thou fall, O then imagine this.

The earth in love with thee thy footing trips,

And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.

Rich preys make true men thieves; 3*) so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn.
Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn.")

M.P.

VENUS AND ADONIS.

001

Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason :
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine.
Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason.
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine,
Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day, and her by night.

And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature.
To mingle beauty with intirmities.
And pure perfection with impure defeature;
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of sad mischances and much misery;

As burning fevers, agues pale and faint.
Life-poising pestilence, and frenzies wood,*")
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:

Surfeits, impostumes, grief, and damn'd despair.
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.

And not the least of all these maladies.
But in one minute's sight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities.
Whereat th' imperial gazer late did wonder,

Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done,*')
As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun.

Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity.
Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity.
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons.
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night.
Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light.

What is thy body but a swallowing grave.

Seeming to bury that posterity

Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,

If thou destroy them not in their obscurity V
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

So in thyself thyself art made away;

A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife.

Or their's, whose desperate hands themselves do slay.

Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life.
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets.
But gold that's put to use, more gold begets.

Nay then, quoth Adon, you will fall again

Into your idle over-handled theme;

The kiss 1 gave you is bestow'd in vain.

And all in vain you strive against the stream;
B'or by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues.
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;
For know, my heart stands armed in my ear.
And will not let a false sound enter there;

Lest the deceiving harmony should run

Into the quiet closure of my breast;

And then my little heart were quite undone.

In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.

No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan.
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooUi that leadeth unto danger;
I hate not love, but your device in love.
That lends embracements unto every stranger.

You do it for increase; O strange excuse!

When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.

Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name:
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;

Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves.

As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

Love comforteth, like sun-shine after rain.
But lust's effect is tempest after sun.
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.
Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies:
Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies.

More I could tell, but more I dare not say ;

The text is old, the orator too green.

Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;

My face is full of shame, my heart of teen;
Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended.
Do burn themselves for having so offended.

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast
And homeward through the dark lawnd * - ) runs apace
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky.
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye;

Which after him she darts, as one on shore

Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,

Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,

Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend;
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are.
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood;
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans.
That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:

Ah me! she cries, and twenty times, woe, woe!

And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

She marking them, begins a wailing note,

And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty;

How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote;

How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe.
And still the choir of echoes answers so.

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night.
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight
In such like circumstance, with such like sport:
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
End without audience, and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal.
But idle sounds, resembling parasites.
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wit«»?

She said, 'tis so: they answer all, 'tis so;

And would say after her, if she said no.

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest.
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;

Who doth the world so gloriously behold.
That cedar-tops and hills seem bumish'd gold.

902

VENUS AND ADONIS.

MP.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn.
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. ^^)

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay;
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace.
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake.
Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake.

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay,
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder:
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses, and her spright confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase.
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineih in one place.
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:

Finding their enemy to be so curst.

They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprize her heart.
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield.
They basely fly, and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, chearing up her senses sore- dismay 'd,
She tells them, 'tis a causeless fantasy.
And childish error that they are afraid;

Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more; —
And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar;

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither;
This way she runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires, to rate the boar for murder.

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;

She treads the paths that she untreads again;

Her more than haste is mated with delays,

Like the proceedings of a drunken brain;
Full of respect, yet not at all respecting.
In hand with all things, nought at all efl'ectlng.

Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound.
And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling.
To whom she speaks ; and he replies with howling.

When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise.
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin vollies out his voice ;
Another and another answer him,

Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratched ears, bleeding as they go.

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed

At apparitions, signs, and prodigies.

Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed.

Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;

So she at these sad signs draws up her breath,
And, sighing it again, exclaims on death.

Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love, (thus chides she death)
Grim-grinningghost,earth'sworm,what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath.

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

If he be dead, — O no, it cannot be.
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it —
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see.
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.

Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.

Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled.
And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead-
Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weeping ?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee ?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,**)
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.

Here overcome, as one full of despair.
She vail'd her eye-lids,**) who, like sluices, stopp'd
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd;

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.

O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!

Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye;

Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow.

Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain.
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

Variable passions throng her constant woe.
As striving which should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seeineth chief.

But none is best; then join they all together.
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound ot hope doth labour to expell;

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,

And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice.

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide.
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside.
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass.
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground.
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems

Not to believe, and yet too credulous!

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes,

Despair and hope make thee ridiculous:

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely.
With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

M.P.

VENUS AND ADONIS

903

Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought;

Adonis lives, and death is not to blame;

It was not she that call'd him all to naught;

Now she adds honour to his hateful name;

She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,
Imperial supreme of all mortal things.

No, no, (quoth she) sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
I'hen, gentle shadow, (truth 1 must confess)
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue;

Be wreak'd on hiin, invisible commander;

'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;

I did but act, he's author of thy slander:

Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both, without ten women's wit.

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive.

Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;

And that his beauty may the better thrive,

With death she humbly doth insinuate;-**)

Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.

O Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I,

To be of such a weak and silly mind,

To wail his death, who lives, and must not die.

Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind!

For, he being dead, with him is beauty slain.
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear.
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear.
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn.

As faulcon to the lure, away she flies;

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;

And in her haste unfortunately spies

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view.
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew.

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit.
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain.
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit.
Long after fearing to creep forth agedn;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head.

Where they resign'd their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who, like a king perplexed in his throne.
By their suggestion gives a deadly groau.

Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground.
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes.
Which with cold terrors doth men's mind confound:
This mutiny each part doth so surprize.
That from their dark beds, once more, leap her eyes;

And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd :
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed.
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed.

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.

Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow;

Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.

Upon his hurt she looks so stedfastly.

That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem thiee;

And then she reprehends her mangling eye.

That makes more gashes where no breach should be:

His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.

My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
! And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons deadi
j My sighs are blown away, ray salt tears gone,
j Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
I Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire!
j So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

I Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
I What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.

Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you :
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
, The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you:
! But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
I Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fur;

i And therefore would he put his bonnet on,

! Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;

The wind would blow it oft, and, being gone.

Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep:

And straight, in pity of his tender years.

They both w ould strive who first should dry histears.

To see his face, the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; * ')
To recreate himself, when he hath sung.
The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him:
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,
And never fright the silly lamb that day.

When he beheld his shadow in the brook.
The fishes spread on it .their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took.
That some would sing, some other in their bills

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries ;

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave.
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave;
If he did see his face, why then I know.
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain;
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear.
Who would not whet his teeth at him again.
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheath'd, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin.

Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess.
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more I am accurst
With this she falleth in the place she stood.
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

904

VENUS AND ADONIS

MP.

She looks upon his lips, and tiiey are pale;

She takes hiin by the hand, and that is cold;

She whispers in his ear a heavy tale.

As if he heard the woeful words she told:
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
'Where lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies :

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd.
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:

Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite, '*^)
That, you being dead, the day should yet be light.

Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend;
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;

Ne'er settled equally, to high or low;

That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud.
And shall be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the. top o'er-straw'd
With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak.
Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak.

It shall be sparing, and too full of riot.
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;*')
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet.
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures:
It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild.
Make the young old, the old become a child.

It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear;

It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust;

It shall be merciful, and too severe.

And most deceiving, when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.

It shall be cause of war, and dire events,

And set dissention 'twixt the son and sire;

Subject and servile to all discontents.

As dry combustions matter is to fire;

Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy,
They that love best, their love shall not enjoy.

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd.
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, checquer'd with white;
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell.

Comparing it to her Adonis' breath;

And says, within her bosom it shall dwell.

Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise,
(Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire)
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,

And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast, as in his blood.

Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest.
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night;
There shall not be one minute of an hour.
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.

Thus weary of the world, away she hies.
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd.

Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself, and not be seen.

II.

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

TO THB
RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

Bail of Soutbampton, ind Banm of Tichfield.

The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without
end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning,
is but a superfluous raoiety. The warrant I
have of your honourable disposition, not the
worth of my untutored lines, mcdi.es it assured
of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what
I have to do is yours; being part in jJl 1 have
devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty
would show greater: mean time, as it is, it is
bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long
life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your Lordship's in all duty,

William Shakespeare.

Froh the besieged Ardea all in post, ')
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire.
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host.
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire.
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of CoUatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of chatte unhapp'ly set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight.

Where mortal stars, 2) as bright as heaven's beauties,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate.
That kings might be espoused to more fame.
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!

And, if possess'd, as soon decayed and done

As is the morning's silver-melting dew

Against the golden splendour of the sun!

An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun:
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms.
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

The eyes of men without art orator;

What needeth then apology be made

To set forth that which is so singular?

Or why is Collatine the publisher

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing.
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting

His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should
vaunt

The golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state.
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows. ^)
O rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold.
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! •*)

When at Collatium this false lord arrived.
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame.
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. *)

But beauty, in that white intituled, ')
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red.
Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, —
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white.
Of cither's colour was the other queen.
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great.
That oft they intercharge each other's seat.

n.

906

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

M,P.

This silent war of lilies and of roses
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be killM,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue
(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so)
Jn that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which CoUatine doth owe, ')
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest.
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd;

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store.
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes.
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks.
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books;
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, *)
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;

And decks with praises CoUatine's high name,

Made glorious by his manly chivalry.

With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:

Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express.
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

Far from the purpose of his coming thither,

He makes excuses for his being there.

No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather

Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;

Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vanity prison stows the day.

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed.
Intending ') weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest himself betakes.
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that
wakes.

As one of which doth Tarquin He revolving

The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;

Yet ever to obtain his will resolving.

Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining;

Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed.
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.

Those that much covet, are with gain so fond,
That what they have not (that which they possess)
They scatter and unloose it from their bond.
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain.
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age;
And 4n this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour, in fell battles' rage;

Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

So that in vent'ring ill, ' ") we leave to be
The things we are, for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity.
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have : so then we do neglect

The thing we have, and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself, himself he must forsake:
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just.
When he himself himself confounds,*') betrays
To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days ?

Now stole upon the time the dead of night.
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes;
No comfortable star did lend his light.
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries:
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still.
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed.

Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm;

Is madly toss'd between desire and dread;

The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm;

But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm.
Doth too too oft betake him to retire.
Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth.
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly,
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he llghteth.
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly:
As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire.
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprize.
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise:
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust.
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust.

Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine!
And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine!
Ofl'er pure incense to so pure a shrine:

Let fair humanity abhor the deed

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white
weed.

II.

3J.P,

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE

907

O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!

O foul dishonour to ray household's grave!

O impious act, including all foul harms!

A martial man to be soft fancy's slave! ")

True valour still a true respect should have;
Then my digression ' ^) is so vile, so base.
That it will live engraven in my face.

Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive.
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald >\ill contrive, '*)
To cipher me, how fondly. I did dote;
That my posterity, sham'd with the note,
Shall curse ray bones, and hold it for no sin
To wish that I their father had not been.

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy:

Who buys a minute's mirth, to wail a week?

Or sells eternity, to get a toy ?

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown.
Would with the scepter straight be strucken down ?

If CoUatinus dream of my intent.
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage.
This dying virtue, this surviving shame
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame?

O what excase can my invention make.

When thou shall charge me with so black a deed?

Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake?

Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?

The guilt being ^reat, the fear doth still exceed;
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly.
But coward-like with trembling terror die.

Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire.
Or lain in ambush to betray my life.
Or were he not ray dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife;
As in revenge or quittal of such strife:
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

Shameful it it; — ay, if the fact be known:
Hatejul it it; — there is no hate in loving:
I'll beg her love; — but the it not her own:
The worst is but denial, and reproving:
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw.
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. ^ *)

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will.
And with good thoughts makes dispensation.
Urging the worser sense for vantage still;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure efi"ects, and doth so far proceed.
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand,
And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes.
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn we lay.
Then white as lawn, the roses took away.

And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd,
Forc'd it to tremble wiih her loyal fear!
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd.
Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer.
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood.
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.

Why hunt I then for colour or excu.ses?

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;

Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;

Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth :
i Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
And when his gaudy banner is display'd.
The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd.

Then childish fear avatint! debating die!
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand mine eye:
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
My part is youth, and beats these fi-om the stage:

Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;

Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?

As com o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear

Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust.

Away he steals with open listening ear.

Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;

Both which, as servitors to the unjust.

So cross him with their opposite persuasion.
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

Within his thought her heavenly image sits.
And in the self same seat sits Collatine :
That eye which looks on her, confounds his \ni».
That eye which him beholds, as more divine.
Unto a view so false will not incline;

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which, once corrupted, takes the worser part;

And therein heartens np his servile powers.
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show.
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow.
Paying raore slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

The locks between her chamber and his will.
Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward;
But as they open, they all rate his ill,
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:
The threshold grates the door to have him heard; •*)

Night-wand'ring weesels shriek to see him there;

They fright him, yet he still' pursues his fear.

' As each unwilling portal yields him way,
, Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch, to make iiim stay,
I And blows the smoke of it into his face.
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch,
PuCTs forth another wrind that fires the torch:

And being lighted, by the light he spies
i Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks;
He takes it from the rushes where it lies;*')
And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks:
I As who should say, this glove to wanton tricks
Is not inur'd; return again in haste;
Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste.

n.

908

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE

MP.

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
He in the worst sense construes their denial :
The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial.
Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let.
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.

So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time.
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime, ' ")
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing;

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves
and sands.

The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.

Now is he come unto the chamber door
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more.
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought.
That for his prey to pray he doth begin.
As if the heaven should countenance his sin.

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer.
Having solicited the eternal power.
That h;s foul thoughts might compass his fair fair.
And they would stand auspicious to the hour.
Even there he starts: — quoth he, I must deflower;
The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact.
How can they then assist me in the act?

Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!

My will is back'd with resolution:

Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried.

The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution;

Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch.
And with his knee the door he opens wide :
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch;
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent, steps aside;

But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting.

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks.
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks.
Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head :
By their high treason is his heart misled;

Which gives the watch- word to his hand full soon.
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.

Look, as the fair and firy-pointed sun.
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is, that she reflects so bright.

That dazzieth them, or else some shame supposed;

But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.

O, had they in that darksome prison died,
Then had they seen the period of their ill!
Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side.
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill ;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,

Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;

Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder.

Swelling on either side to want his bliss;

Between whose hills her head intombed is:
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies.
To be admir'd of lewd uuhallow'd eyes.

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass.
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light,
And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay.
Till they might open to adorn the day.

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath ; j
O modest wantons! wanton modesty!
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality.
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify.

As if between them twain there were no strife.
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered.
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured. ' ')
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ;
Who, like a foul usurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

What could he see, but mightily he noted ?
What did he note, but strongly he desired V
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted.
And in his will his wilful eye he tired. ^'')
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin.
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey.
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied.
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay.
His rage of lust by gazing qualified ;
Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side,
His eye, wliich late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins :

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting.
Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting.
In bloody death and ravishment delighting.
Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking.
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking.

His drumming heart chears up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoaking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of ail her land;
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale.
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.

They mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies.
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset.
And fright her with confusion of their cries:
She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes.
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.

n.

31. p.

TARQUIN AND LUCRE CE.

909

Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking.
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite.
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking;
What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfuUy doth view
The sight which inakes supposed terror true.

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembhng lies;
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes:
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.

His hand that yet remains upon her breast,
(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!)
May feel her heart (poor citizen!) distress'd.
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall.
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity.
To make the breach, and enter tliis sweet city.

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe,
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin.
The reason of this rash alarm to know.
Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still.
Under what colour he commits this ill.

Thus he replies: The colour in thy face
(That even for anger makes the lily pale.
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,)
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale

Thy never-conquer'd fort; the fault is thine.
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.

Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide:
Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night.
Where thou with patience must my will abide.
My will that marks thee for ray earth's delight.
Which I to conquer sought with all ray raight;
But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.

I see what crosses my attempt will bring;

I know what thorns the growing rose defends;

I think the honey guarded with a sting;

All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends :

But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty.
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty.

I have debated, even in my soul.

What wrong, what shame, w hat sorrow I shall breed ;

But nothing can affection's course control.

Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.

I know repentant tears ensue the deed.

Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;

Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade.
Which like a faulcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade.
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:
So under the insulting falchion lies

Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells,
With trembling fear, as fowl hear faulcons' bells.

Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee;
If thou deny, then force must work ray way.
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee;
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay.
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;

And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

So thy surviving husband shall remain

The scornful mark of every open eye;

Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain.

Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy :

And thou, the author of their obloquy,

Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhimes.
And sung by children in succeeding times.

But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend :
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
A little harm, done to a great good end.
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted

In a pure compound; being so applied.

His venom in effect is purified.

Then for thy husband's and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit: -') bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take.
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a slavish wipe, ^-) or birth-hour's blot: *')
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.

Here writh a cockatrice' dead-killing eye.

He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause.

While she, the picture of pure piety.

Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, ^*)

Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws.

To the rough beast that knows no gentle right.
Nor ought obeys but his foul appetite.

Look, when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat.
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding.
From earth's dairk womb some gentle gust doth get.
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding.
Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays.
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally.
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth;
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, ^*)
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
Ho penetrable entrance to her plaining:
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed.
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place.

And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks.
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.

She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath.
By her untimely tears, her husband's love.
By holy human law, and common troth.
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both.
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire.
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.

II.

910

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

MP.

Quoth she, reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended; ^')
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended;
End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended :

He is no wood-man that doth bend his bow

Tu strike a poor unseasonable doe.

My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me;

Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me;

Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me.

Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me:

My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee.
If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans;

All which together, like a troubled ocean.
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart,
To soften it with their continual motion;
For stones dissolv'd to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,

Melt at my tears and be compassionate!

Soft pity enters at an iron gate. ^')

In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me.
Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name.
Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same,

Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king;

For kings, like gods, should govern every thing.

How will thy shame be seeded in thine age.
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring?
If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage.
What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king?
O be remember'd, no outrageous thing

From vassal actors can be wip'd away;

Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. ^^)

This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear.
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love:
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove;

For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.

And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame?

Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern

Authority for sin, warrant for blame.

To privilege dishonour in thy name?

Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud.
And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd.

Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee,
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity.
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil.

When, pattern'd by thy fault, -') foul Sin may say.
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way?

Think but how vile a spectacle it were
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
Their own transgressions partially they smother:
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies.
That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes!

To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier; ^o}
I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will 'prison false desire.

And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne.
That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.

Have done, quoth he; ray uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt

To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste,
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.

Thou art, quoth she, a sea, a sovereign king;
And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning.
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these petty ills shall change thy good.
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hersed.
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.

So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;

Thou nobly base, they basely dignified;

Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;

Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:

The lesser thing should not the greater hide;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state —
No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not hear thee :
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate.
Instead of love's coy touch, ^ ') shall rudely tear thee;
That done, despitefully 1 mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom.
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.

This said, he sets his foot upon the light.
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind concealing night.
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries,
Till with her own white fleece her voice controU'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold:

For with the nightly linen that she wears,
He pens her piteous clamours in her head ;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust^-) should slain so pure a bed!
The spots wliereof could weeping purify.
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again.
This forced league doth force a further strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot desire converts to cold disdain:
Pure chastity is rifled of her store,
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk,
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight.
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring.

II.

M.P.

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

911

O deeper sin than bottomless conceit

Can comprehend in still imagination!

Drunken desire must vomit his receipt,

Ere he can see his own abomination.

While lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire,
Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace.
Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek.
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case :
The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace.
For there it revels; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased ;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced :
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced;

To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares.
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall.
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death, and pain perpetual:

Which in her prescience she controlled still.
But her fore-sight could not fore-stall their will.

Eyen in his thought, through the dark night he stealeth,
A captive victor, that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the 'wound that nothing healetb,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain.
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind.
And he the burthen of a guilty mind.

He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence.
She, like a wearied lamb, lies panting there;
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence,
She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear;
She stays exclaiming on the direful night.
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight.

He thence departs a heavy convertite.
She there remains a hopeless cast-away:
He in his speed looks for the morning light.
She prays she never may behold the day:
For day, quoth she, night-scapes doth open lay ; ^ ^)
And my true eyes have never practis'd how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow.

They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be.
To have their unseen sin remain untold;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold.
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel.
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast.
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind.

Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite

Against the unseen secrecy of night.

O comfort-killing night, image of hell!

Dim register and notary of shame !

Black stage for tragedies ^*) and murders fell!

Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!

Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!

O hateful, vaporous and foggy night.
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime.
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern li^ht.
Make war against proportion'd course of time!
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed.
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

With rotten damps ravish the morning air;

Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick

The life of purity, the supreme fair,

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ;^*)

And let thy misty vapours march so thick.

That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
May set at noon, and make perpetual night.

Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child,) ^<')
The silver-shining queen he would distain;
Her twinkling handmaids^') too, by him defil'd.
Through night's black bosom should not peep again;
So should 1 have copartners in my pain :
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage.

Where now I have no one to blush with me.
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy;
But I alone, alone must sit and pine.
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine.
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke.
Let not the jealous day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place.

That all the faults which in thy reign are made.
May likewise be sepulcher'd in thy shade!

Make me not object to the tell-tale day!

The light will show, character'd in my brow.

The story of sweet chastity's decay.

The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow:

Yea, the illiterate that know not how

To 'cipher what is writ in learned books.
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story.
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;
The orator, to deck his oratory.
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame:
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame.
Will tie the hearers to attend each line.
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.

Let my good name, that senseless reputation.
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted:
If that be made a theme for disputation.
The branches of another root are rotted.
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted.
That is as clear from this attaint of mine.
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

II.

912

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

MP.

O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!
Reproach is stamp'd in Coiiatinus' face.
And Tarquin's eye may read tlie mot afar, * 8)
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows.
Which not themselves, but he that gives them, knows !

If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
From me by strong assault it is bereft.
My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left.
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:

In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.

Yet am I guiltless of thy honour's wreck;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him:
Besides of weariness he did complain him.
And talk'd of virtue: — O unlook'd for evil,
When virtue is prophanM in such a devil!

Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?

Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests V

Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?

Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?

Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute.

The aged man that coffers up his gold.
Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits.
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
Having no other pleasure of his gain,
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

So then he hath it when he cannot use it.
And leaves it to be master 'd by his young;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it:
Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.

The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,
Even in the moment that we call them ours.

Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring;

Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;

The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;

What virtue breeds, iniquity devours:

We have no good that we can say is ours.
But ill-annexed opportunity
Or kills his life, or else his quality.

O Opportunity! thy guilt is great:

'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason;

Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;

Whoever plots the sin, thou point'st the season;

'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.

Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath;

Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd;

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth;

Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd !

Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud :
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief.
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!

Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,

Thy private feasting to a public fast;

Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name;^')

Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:

Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend.
And bring him where his suit may be obtained?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end?
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained?
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained?

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;

But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

The patient dies while the physician sleeps;

The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;

Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;

Advice is sporting while infection breeds; '*<>)

Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds:

Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.

When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;
They buy thy help : but Sin ne'er gives a fee.
He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd*^)
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;

Guilty of perjury and subornation;

Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift:

Guilty of incest, that abomination:

An accessary by thine inclination

To all sins past, and all that are to come.
From the creation to the general doom.

Misshapen Time, copesraate *-) of ugly night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care;
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ;
Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are.

O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!

Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

Why hath thy servant. Opportunity,
Betray 'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose?
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes;
To eat up error by opinion bred.
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

Time's glory is to calm contending kings.
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light.
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night.
To wrong the wronger till he render right; *^)
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, *'*)
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers :

To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things.
To blot old books, and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings,
To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs;*^)
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,*'')
And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel:

II.

MP.

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE

913

To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child.
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild;
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd;
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops.
And waste huge stones with little water-drops.

Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage.
Unless thou could'st return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends:

O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come
back,

I could prevent this storm, and shun this wrack!

Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight :
Devise extremes beyond extremity,
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil.
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.

Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances.
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances.
To make him moan, but pity not his moans:
Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones;
And let mild women to him lose their mildness.
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave.
Let him have time of time's help to despair.
Let him have time to live a loathed slave.
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave;
And time to see one that by alms doth live.
Disdain to hiia disdained scraps to give.

Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort:
Let- him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport:
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail the abusing of his time.

O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad.
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill!
At his own shadow let the thief run mad.
Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill:
For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man "* ' ) to so base a slave ?

The baser is he, coming from a king.
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate.
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
The moon, being clouded, presently is miss'd.
But little stars may hide them when they list.

The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire.
And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away ;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire.
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day.
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly,
But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye.

Out, idle words, *^) servants to shallow fools!

Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!

Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools,

Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters;

To trembling clients be you mediators:
For me, 1 force not argument a straw, * ')
Since that my case is past the help of law.

In vain I rail at opportunity,
At time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;
In vain I cavil with my infamy.
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good.
Is to let forth my foul, defiled, blood.

Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame;
For if I die, my honour lives in thee.
But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame:
Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame.
And wast afraid to scratch her wicked foe.
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death.
But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth,
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth
As smoke from iEtna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.

In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vaia
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain.
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:
But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife;

So am I now: — O no, that cannot be;

Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me,

O! that is gone, for which I sought to live.
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery; *")
A d)ing life to living infamy;

Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away.
To burn the guiltless caisket where it lay!

Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know

The stained taste of violated troth;

I will not wrong thy true affection so.

To flatter thee with an infringed oath;

This bastard graff shall never come to growth :
He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute,
That thou art doting father of his fruit.

Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state;
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate.
And with my trespass never will dispense.
Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence.

I will not poison thee with my attaint.
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint.
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses;
My tongue shaU utter all; mine eyes like sluices.
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale.
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.

n. 58

914

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

M.P.

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended
To ugly hell; when lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow :
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see,
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
To whom she sobbing speaks: O eye of eyes.
Why pry'st thou through my window V leave thy

peeping;
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping :
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light.
For day hath nought to do what's done by night.

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees :
True grief is fond and testy as a child.
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one; the other wild,
Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care.
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare;
No object but her passion's strength renews;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues:

Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words;

Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords.

The little birds that tune their morning's joy,

Make her moans mad with their sweet melody.

For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;

Sad souls are slain in merry company;

Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society:
True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd.
When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd.

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore;

He ten times pines, that pines beholding food;

To see the salve doth make the wound ache more;

Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ;

Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood.

Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er-flows :
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.

You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb
Within your hollow- swelling feather'd breasts
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb!
(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests;
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:)

Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;

Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment.
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair.
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear:
For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st, better skill.*')

And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;
Who, if it wink, *^) shall thereon fall and die.
These means, as frets upon an instrument.
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.

And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way.
That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold

To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds :
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly detevminiiig which way to fly.
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze.
That cannot tread the way out readily;
So with herself is she in mutiny.

To live or die which of the twain were better.
When life is sham'd, and death reproaches
debtor. *^)

To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it.
But with my body my poor soul's pollution?
They that lose half, with greater patience bear it.
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
That mother tries a merciless conclusion.

Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one.
Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.

My body or my soul, which was the dearer?
When the one pure, the other made divine.
Whose love of either to myself was nearer?
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine.
Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine.

His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;

So must ray soul, her bark being peel'd away.

Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted.

Her mansion batter'd by the enemy;

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted.

Grossly engirt with daring infamy:

Then let it not be call'd impiety.

If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole.
Through which I may convey this troubled soul.

Yet die I will not, till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death ;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine.
Revenge on him that made me stop ray breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath.
Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent,
And as his due, writ in my testament.

My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn:
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.

Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast.
By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be.
How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me;
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe.
And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so.

This brief abridgement of my will I make:

My soul and body to the skies and ground;

My resolution, husband, do you take;

Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my wound;

My shame be his that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives, disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me.

n.

MP.

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

915

Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, to be it.

Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;

Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.

This plot of death when sadly she had laid.
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid.
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sua doth melt their snow.

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty.
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
(For why? her face wore sorrow's livery;)
But durst not ask of her audaciously

Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so,

Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set.
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy
Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky.
Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light.
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand.
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts.
And then they drown their ey es,or break their hearts :

For men have marble, women waxen minds.
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill:
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax shall be accounted evil,
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep :
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks.
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books.

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower.
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd!
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame. O let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame.
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong:
Such danger to resistance did belong,

That dying fear through all her body spread;

And who cannot abuse a body dead?

By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining:
My girl, quoth she, on what occasion break
Those tears from thee,thatdownthy cheeks are raining?
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining.
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood:
If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

But tell me, girl, when went — (and there she stay'd
Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence?
Madam, ere I was up, reply'd the maid,
The more to blame my sluggard negligence:
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day.
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

But, lady, if your maid may be so bold.

She would request to know your heaviness.

O peace! quoth Lucrece; if it should be told,

The repetition cannot make it less;

For more it is than I can well express:
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell,
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.

Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen —
Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
What should I say? — One of my husband's men,
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it:
The cause craves haste, £ind it will soon be writ.

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write.
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill:
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight;
What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door.
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.

At last she thus begins: "Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford
(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see,)
Some present speed to come and visit me:

So I commend me from our house in grief;

My woes are tedious, though my words are brief."

Here folds she up the tenour of her woe.

Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.

By this short schedule Collatine may know

Her grief, but not her grief's true quality;

She dares not thereof make discovery,

Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse.
Ere she with blood hath stain'd her stain'd excuse.

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better.

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told;
For then the eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold.
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:

Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords.
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.
r 58*

916

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

MP.

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ,
At Ardea to my lord with more than haste:
The post attends, and she delivers it,
Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast.

Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:
Extremity still urgetb such extremes.

The homely -villein court'sies to her low;**)
And blushing on her, with a stedfast eye
Receives the scroll, without or yea or no.
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie.

Imagine every eye beholds their blame;

For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame,

When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely:

Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age*^)
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust,
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed:
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spy'd in her some blemish.

But long she thinks till he return again.
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain.
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan.
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy;
Before the which is drawn *') the power of Greece,
For Helen's rape*'') the city to destroy.
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud.
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear.
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights,
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring pioneer
Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust.
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:

Such sweet observance in this work was had.
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces;
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity;
And here and there the painter interlaces
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and
tremble.

In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art

Of physiognomy might one behold!

The face of either 'cipher'd either's heart;

Their face their manners most expressly told:

In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roU'd;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent,
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.*^)

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand.
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight;
Making such sober action with his hand.
That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight:
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

About him were a press of gaping faces.
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice;
All jointly listening, but with several graces.
As if some mermaid did their ears entice;
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind.
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head.
His nose* being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all blown and red ;
Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; ^')
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear.
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, ' ")
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Grip'd in an armed hand; himself, behind.
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head.
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field.
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield.
That, through their light joy, seemed to appear
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear.

And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought.
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than^*)
Retire again, till meeting greater ranks
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come.
To find a face where all distress is stel'd. ''^)
Many she sees, where cares have carved some.
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd.
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld.

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.

In her the painter had anatomiz'd

Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign ;

Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd ;

Of what she was, no semblance did remain:

Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein.
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.

MP.

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

917

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes.
And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes,
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries.
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes:
The painter was no God to lend her those;

And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,
To give ber so much grief^ suid not a tongue.

Poor Instrument, quoth she, without a sound,
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue:
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong.
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye.
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, die.

Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many mo?*^)
Let sin, alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so.
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general?

Lo here weeps Hecaba, here Priam dies.
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds;'*)
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies.
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds.
And one man's lust these many lives confounds:
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece set a-work, sad tales doth tell

To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow;

She lends them words,and she their looks doth borrow.

She throws her eyes about the painting, round.

And whom she finds forlorn, she duth lament:
At last she sees a wretched image bound.
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent;
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content:
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.

In him the painter labonr'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, ejes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe;
Cheeks, neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave.
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.

But, like a constant and confirmed devil.
He entertain'd a show so seeming just.
And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil.
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thmst
Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms.
Or blot with heli-bom sin such saint-like forms.

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew
For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Priam after slew;
Whose words, like wild-fire, burnt the shining glory
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry,
And little stars shot from their fixed places.
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces.

This picture she advisedly perus'd.
And chid the painter for his wond'rons skill;
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd.
So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill;
And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still,
Sach signs of truth in his plain face she spy'd,
That she concludes the picture was bely'd.

It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile
(She would have said) can lurk in such a hoi;
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while.
And from her tongue, can lurk from cannot took;
It cannot be she in that sense forsook.
And tum'd it thus: "It cannot be, I find,
But such a face should bear a wicked mind:

For even as subtle Sinon here is painted.
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
(As if with grief or travail he had fainted)
To me came Tarquin armed; so beguil'd
With outward honesty, * *) but yet defil'd

With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.

Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,

To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds.

Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise?

For every tear he falls,**) a Trojan bleeds;

His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds:
Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.

Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold.
And in that cold, hot-buriving fire doth dwell;
These contraries such unity do hold.
Only to flatter fools, and make them bold;

So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter.
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water."

Here, all enragM, such passion her assails.
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with ber nails,
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;

Fool ! fool ! quoth she, his wounds will not be sore.

Thas ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow.
And time doth weary time with her complaining.
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow.
And both she thinks too long with her remaining:
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.

Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;

And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps.

Which all this time hath oversllpp'd ber thought.

That she with painted images hath spent;

Being from the feeling of her own grief brought

By deep surmise of others' detriment;

Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
It easeth some, though none It ever cured.
To think their dolour others have endured.

918

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE.

M.P.

But now the mindful messenger, come back,
Brings home his lord and other company;
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black;
And round about her tear-distained eye
Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky.
These water-galls in her dim element ")
Foretell new storms to those already spent.

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,

Amazedly in her sad face he stares:

Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw,

Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.

He hath no power to ask her how she fares.
But stood, like old acquaintance in a trance.
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance.

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand.
And thus begins: What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling stand?
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thon thus attir'd in discontent?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrows fire.
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length address'd to answer his desire.
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.

And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending:
Few words, quoth she, shall fit the trespass best.
Where no excuse can give the fault amending:
In me more woes than words are now depending;
And my laments would be drawn out too long,
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

Then be this all the task it hath to say : —
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.

For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight.
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light.
And softly cry'd. Awake, thou Roman dame.
And entertain my love; else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict.
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he,
Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee.
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed: this act will be
My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.

With this I did begin to start and cry.
And then against my heart he set his sword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word:
So should my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome
The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.

Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak.
And far the weaker with so strong a fear:
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might nlead for justice there:
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear

That ray poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes.
And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies.

O teach me how to make mine own excuse!

Or, at the least, this refuge let me find;

Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse.

Immaculate and spotless is my mind;

That was not forc'd; that never was inclin'd
To accessary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.

Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe,
With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away, that stops his answer so:

But wretched as he is, he strives in vain;

What he breathes out, his breath drinks up again.

As through an arch the violent roaring tide
Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste;
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw.
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.

Which speechless woe of his, poor she attendeth.
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feeling-painful : let it then suffice
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, — now attend me;
Be suddenly revenged on my foe.
Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend me
From what is past: the help that thou shall lend me

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;

For sparing justice feeds iniquity.

But ere I name him, you fair lords, quoth she,
(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me.
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
For 'tis a meritorious fair design,

To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies'
harms.

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid.
As bound in knighthood to her imposition.
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said.
The protestation stops. O speak, quoth she,
How may this forced stain be wip'd from me?

What is the quality of mine offence.

Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance?

May my pure mind with the foul act dispense.

My low-declined honour to advance?

May any terms acquit me from this chance?

The poison'd fountain clears itself again;

And why not I from this compelled stain?

XI.

MP.

TARQUIN AND LUCRE CE.

919

With this, they all at once began to say,
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carv'd in. it with tears.
No, no, quoth she, no dame, hereafter living.
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break.
She throws forth Tarquin's name: He, he, she says,
But more than he her poor tongue could not speak;
Till after many accents and delays,
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays.
She utters this: He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed:
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bl^ed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew

The murderous knife, and as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.

Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd.
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquiu
stain'd.

About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood, a watery rigol goes.
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place:
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes.
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrify'd.

Daughter, dear daughter, old Lucretius cries,
That life was mine, which thou hast here depriv'd.
If in the child the father's image lies.
Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd?
Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd.
If children pre-decease progenitors.
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born;
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a bare-bon'd death by time out-worn;
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn!
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass.
That I no more can see what once I was.

O time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer.
If they surcease to be, that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive :
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!

By this starts Collatine as from a dream,

And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;

And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream "*)

He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,

And counterfeits to die with her a space;

Till manly shame bids him possess his breath,
And live, to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who mad that sorrow should las use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long.
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart's aid,
That no man could distinguish what he said.

Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain.
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:
Then son and father weep with equal strife.
Who should weep most for daughter or for wife.

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says, she's mine: O mine she is.
Replies her husband : Do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine.
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.

O, quoth Lucretius, I did give that life,
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.
Woe, woe, quoth Collatine, she was my wife,
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.
My daughter and my wife with clamours fiU'd
The dispers'd air, who holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my wife.

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe.
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride.
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly jeering idiots are with kings.
For sportive words, and uttering foolish things.

But now he throws that shallow habit by,
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise;
Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool.
Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school.

Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?

Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?

Is it revenge to give thyself a blow.

For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds?

Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds:
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so.
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations.
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations.
That they will suffer these abominations,

Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced.
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased.

n.

920

TARQUIN AND LUCRECE

MP.

Now by the Capitol that we adore,
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained,
By heaven's fair sun, that breeds the fat earth's store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintained.
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complained
Her wrpngs to us, and by this bloody knife.
We will revenge the death of this true wife.

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow;
And to his protestation urg'd the rest,
Who wondering at him, did him words allow:
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow;
And that deep vow which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom.
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show the bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence.
The Romans plausibly *') did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

n.

S 0

111.

NETS.

I.

From fairest creatures we desire increase.
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies.
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament.
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content.
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee, •)

11.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow.
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field.
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies.
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use.
If thou could'st answer — "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse — "
Proving his beauty by succession thine.

This were to be new-made when thou art old.
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

m.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest.
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest.
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair, whose un-ear'd womb -)
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond, will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see.
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?

Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend.

And being frank, she lends to those are free.

Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse

The bounteous largess given thee to give?

Profitless usurer, why dost thou use

So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?

For having traffic with thyself alone.
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone.
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee.
Which, used, lives thy executor to be.

V.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell.

Will play the tyrants to the very same.

And that unfair which fairly doth excell;

For never-resting time leads summer on

To hideous winter, and confounds him there;

Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone.

Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness every where:

Then, were not summer's distillation left,

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass.

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft.

Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was.

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Leesebut their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd :

Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some place

With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.

That use is not forbidden usury.

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

That's for thyself to breed another thee.

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,

If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:

Then, what could death do if thou should'st depart.

Leaving thee living in posterity?

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir.

vn.

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight.
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill.
Resembling strong youth in his middle age.
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still.
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from high-most pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day.
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

VIII.
Music to hear, *) why hear'st thou music sadly ?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.

in.

922

SONNETS

MP.

Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly ?
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy V
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds.
By unions married, do oifend thine ear.
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouid'st bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:

Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one.
Sings this to thee, "thou single wilt prove none."

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;*)
The world will be thy widow and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep.
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend.
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end.
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits.
That on himself such murderous shame commits.

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many.
But that thou none lov'st, is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind !
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st.
Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth con-

vertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay :
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore years would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store, *)
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouid'st in bounty cherish ;
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby.
Thou shouid'st print more, nor let that copy die.

XH.

When I do count the clock that tells the time.
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ;
When I behold the violet past prime.
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves.
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,

That thou among the wastes of time must go.
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defence.
Save breed, to brave him,^) when he takes thee hence.

XIII.

O that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer your's, than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease,
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again, after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay.
Which husbandry ') in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day.
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

O! none but unthrifts: — Dear my love, you know,
You had a father; let your son say so.

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy.
But not to tell of good, or evil luck.
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality :
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say, with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict ^) that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive.
And (constant stars) in them I read such art.
As truth and beauty shall together thrive.
If from thyself to store thou wouWst convert:')
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

XV.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge state presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase.
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky;
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful time debateth with decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And, all in war with time, for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

XVI.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant. Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhime?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours;
And many maiden gardens yet unset.
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life * °) that life repair.
Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, ^*)
Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair.
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still;'')
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come.
If it were flll'd with your most high deserts?

UI.

MP.

SONNETS.

923

Though yet heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes.
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, this poet lies.
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue;
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song:

But were some child of yours alive that time.
You should live twice ; — in it, and in my rhime.

XVIII.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, '^)
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ;
And every fair from fair sometime declines.
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; '*)
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see.
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

XIX.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws.
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood ;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-iiv'd phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow.
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow.
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong.
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

XX.

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted.
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;'^)
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling, ' ^)
Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting.
And by addition me of thee defeated.
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.

But since she prick'd thee out") for women's
pleasure.

Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.

XXI.

So it is not with me as with that muse,

Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse;

Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;

Making a couplement '*) of proud compare.

With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems.

With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare

That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. ")

O let me, true in love, but truly write.

And then believe me, my love is as fair

As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:

Let them say more that like of hear-say well;

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.

XXII.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old.
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold.
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee.
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me;
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary.
As I not for myself but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;

Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

xxni.

As an unperfect actor on the stage.
Who with his fear is put beside his part.
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage.
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite.
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'er-charg'd with burthen of mine own love's might.
O let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompence.
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

XXIV.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steel'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still.
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done ;
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art.
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

XXV.

Let those who are in favour with their stars.
Of public honour and proud titles boast.
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye;
And in themselves their pride lies buried.
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight.
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite.
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove, nor be removed.

XXVI.

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,

m.

924

SONNETS

MP.

To thee I send this written embassage,

To witness duty, not to show my wit.

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine

May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;

But that I hope some good conceit of thine

In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it:

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving.

Points on me graciously with fair aspect.

And puts apparel on my tattered loving,

To show me worthy of thy sweet respect;

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee.
Till then, not show my head where thou may'st
prove me.

XXVII.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed.
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head.
To work my mind, when body's work's expired :
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sigiitless view.
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind.
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

XXVIII.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night.
But day by night and night by day oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to cither's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright.
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-coraplexion'd night;
When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer.
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem
stronger.

XXIX.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my out-cast state.
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, — and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste :

Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow.

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,*")

And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe.

And moan the expence of many of vanish'd sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances fore-gone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan.
Which I new pay as if not pay'd before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.

XXXI.

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts.
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts.
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live.
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone.
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I lov'd I view in thee.
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.

XXXII.

If thou survive my well-contented day,

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall

cover.
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover.
Compare them with the bettering of the time;
And though they be out-stripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhime,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought!
Had my friend's muse grown with this groiving age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought.
To march in ranks of better equipage :
But since he died, and poets better prove.
Theirs for their style Til read, his for his love.

XXXIII.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye.
Kissing with golden face the meadows green.
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face.
And from the forlorn world his visage hide.
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine.
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out! alack! he was but one hour mine.
The region cloud ^*) hath mask'd him from me now-

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;

Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun
staineth.

XXXIV.

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak.
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak.
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss :
T,he offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.

Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love
sheds.

And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.

III.

MP.

SONNETS.

925

XXXV.

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss.
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are:^^)
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, - ^)
(Thy adverse party is thy advocate,)
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence :
Such civil war is in my love and hate.

That I an accessary needs must be

To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me.

XXXVI.

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one :
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite, ^*)
Which though it alter not love's sole effect.
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee.
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame;
Nor thou with public kindness honour me.
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

xxxvir.

As a decrepit father takes delight

To see his active child do deeds of youth,

So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, ^*)

Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,

Or any of these all, or all, or more.

Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, ^*)

I make my love engrafted to this store:

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd.

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,

That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,

And by a part of all thy glory live.

Look what is best, that best I wish in thee;

This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

XXX VIII.

How can my muse want subject to invent.

While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper to rehearse ?

Oh give thyself the thanks, if aught in me

Worthy perusal, stand against thy sight.

For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee.

When thou thyself dost give invention light?

Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth

Than those old nine, which rhimers invocate;

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternal numbers to out-live long date.

If my slight muse do please these curious days.
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

XXXIX.

O how thy worth with manners may I sing.
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live.
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give

That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone.

0 absence, what a torment would'st thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
(Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,)

And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here, who doth hence remain.

XL.

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,

1 cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief.
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows.
Kill me with spites ; yet we must not be foes.

XLI.

Those petty wrongs that liberty commits.
When I am sometime absent from thy heart.
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits.
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won.
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd;
And when a woman wooes, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd.
Ah me! but yet thou might'st, my sweet, forbear.
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth;
Her's, by thy beauty tempting her to thee.
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

XLII.
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief.
And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : —
Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love

her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me.
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,*')
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain.
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:

But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;

Sweet flattery! — then she loves but me alone.

XLIII.
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see.
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright.
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light.
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so?
How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day.
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?
All days are nights to see, till I see thee.
And nights, bright days, when dreams do show
thee me.

L_

in.

926

SONNETS.

MP.

XLIV.

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then, despite of space, I would be brought
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then, although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth reniov'd from thee.
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me, that 1 am not thought,
I'o leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,-")
I must attend time's leisure with my moan;
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe.

XLV.

The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire.
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee.
My life being made of four, with two alone.
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers return'd from thee.
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
1 send them back again, and straight grow sad.

XL VI.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight ;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar.
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost He,
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,)
But the delendant doth that plea deny.
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impannelled ^')
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part:
As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part.
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.

XL VI I.
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart:
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest.
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part :
So, either by thy picture or my love.
Thyself away art present still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move.
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.

XLVIII.
How careful was I when I took ray way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust.
That, to my use, it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care.
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.

Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast.
From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and part;
And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear.
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

XLIX.

Against that time, if ever that time come.
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
Whenas thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects.
Against that time, when thou shalt strangely pass,
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye.
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity.
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear.
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:

To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws.
Since, why to love, I can allege no cause.

L.

How heavy do I journey on the way.
When what I seek, — my weary travel's end, —
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
"Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend 1"
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me.
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan.
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

LT.

Thus can my love excuse the slow ofl'ence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find.
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect love being made.
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his firy race;^°)
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade;
Since from thee going he went wilful slow.
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

LII.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey.
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, ^')
Since seldom coming, in the long year set.
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are.
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. ^-)
So is the time that keeps you, as my chest.
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide.
To make some special instant special-blest.
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.

Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope.
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.

LHI.

What is your substance, whereof are you made.
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

m.

MP.

SONNETS.

927

Since every one hath, every one, one shade.
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new :
Speaic of the spring, and foizon of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear, ^^)
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part.
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

LIV.

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem.
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The I'ose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye.
As the perfumed tincture of the roses.
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses.
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of jou, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhime;
But JOU shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn.
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find room,
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world. out to the ending doom.
So till the judgment that yourself arise.
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said.
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite.
Which but to-day by feeding is allay 'd.
To-morrow sharpeu'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view:
Or call it winter, which being full of care.
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more
rare.

LVII.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend.
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, ^*)
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought.
Where you may be, or your atfairs suppose.

But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought.
Save, where you are, how happy you make those:
So true a fool is love, that in your will
(Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill.

Lviri.

That God forbid, that made me first your slave,

I should in thought control your times of pleasure,

Or at your hand the account of hours to crave.

Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure I

Oh let me suffer (being at your beck)

The imprison'd absence of your liberty,

And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check

Without accusing you of injury.

Be where you list ; your charter is so strong.

That you yourself may privilege your time:

Do what you will, to you it doth belong

Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

LIX.

If there be nothing new, but that, which is,
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child?
O that record could with a backsvard look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun.
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done! '^)
That 1 might see what the old world could say .
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whe'r better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.

O ! sure I am, the wits of former days

To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

LX.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore.
So do our minutes hasten to their end ;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
Li sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light, ^^)
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd.
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight.
And time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,-
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;^')
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth.
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand.
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

LXI.

Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken.
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home, into my deeds to pry;
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenour of thy jealousy?
O no! thy love, though much, is not so great;
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:

For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far oflF, with others all-too-near.

LXII.

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part;

III.

928

SONNETS

MP.

And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine.
No shape so true, no truth of such account,
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
'Bated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity.
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read.
Self so self-loving were iniquity.

'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

LXIII.

Against my love shall be, as I am now.

With time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn;

When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his

brow
With lines and wrijikles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night;
And all those beauties, whereof now he's king.
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife.
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life.
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.

LXIV.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
The rich proud cost of out-worn bury'd age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd,
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore.
And the firm soil win of the watry main.
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay ;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate —
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

LXV.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea.
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power.
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout.
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decay-s?
O fearful meditation! where, alack!
Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid?'*)
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ?
O none, unless this miracle have might.
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

LXVI.

TIr'd with all these, for restful death I cry, —
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trinim'd in jollity.
And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd.
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted.
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd.
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-ty'd by authority.
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,

And simple truth miscall'd simplicity.
And captive Good attending captain III:

TIr'd with all these, from these would I be gone.
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

LXVII.

Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety.
That sin by him advantage should achieve.
And lace Itself with his society? ^'>)
Why should false painting Imitate his cheek.
And steal dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty Indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose Is true?
Why should he live now Nature bankrupt Is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And proud of many, lives upon his gains.

O, him she stores, to show what wealth she bad.
In days long since, before these last so bad.

LXVTII.

Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn.
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now.
Before these bastard signs of fair were borne,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow ;
Before the golden tresses of the dead.
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away.
To live a second life on second head,'*")
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay :
In him those holy antique hours are seen.
Without all ornament, itself, and true.
Making no summer of another's green.
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth nature store.
To show false art what beauty was of yore.

LXIX.

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view.
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd ;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own.
In other accents do this praise confound.
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look Into the beauty of thy mind.
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ;
Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes

were kind.
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show.
To solve is this, — "* ■)that thou dost common grow.

LXX.

That thou art blara'd shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect, ^^)
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time; *^)
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days.
Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise.
To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd :

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show.
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe.

LXXI.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

III.

MP.

SONNETS.

929

Give warning to the world tliat I am fled
From tins vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O if (I say) you look upon this verse.
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as ray poor name rehearse;
But let your love even with my life decay:

Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
- And mock you with me after I am gone.

LXXII.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie.
To do more for me than mine own desert.
And hang more praise upon deceased I,
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is.
And live no more to shame nor me nor yon.
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth,
And 60 should you, to love things nothing worth.

Lxxrii.

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold.
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day.
As after sun-set fadeth in the west.
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie.
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more
strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

LXXIV.

But be contented : when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away.
My life hath in this line some interest.
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee.
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.

The worth of that, is that which it contains.
And that is this, and this with thee remains.

LXXV.

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life.

Or as sweet- season'd showers are to the ground,

And for the peace of you I hold such strife

As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;

Now counting best to be with you alone,

Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure :

Sometime, all full with feasting on your sight.

And by and by clean starved for a look; **)

Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away."**)

LXXVI.

Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quick change?
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange ?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed, *<')
That every word doth almost tell my name.
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new.
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old.
So is my love still telling what is told.

LXXVII.

Thy glass will ohow thee how thy beauties wear.
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear.
And of this book this learning may'st thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show.
Of mouthed graves '*'') will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory cannot contain.
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so soft as thou wilt look.
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.

Lxxvm.

So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse.
And found such fair assistance in my verse,
As every alien pen hath got my use.
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing.
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learned's wing.
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee.
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.

LXXIX.

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ;
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd,
A.nd my sick muse doth give another place.
1 grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent.
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give.
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say.
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.

LXXX.

O how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,*')

m. 59 __^__

930

SONNETS.

M.P.

And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-ty'd, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth (wide, as the ocean is,)
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building, and of goodly pride:
Then if he thrive, and I be cast away.
The worst was this ; — my love was my decay.

LXXXI.

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take.
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have.
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die.
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse.
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse.
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen,)
Where breath most breathes, — even in the mouths
of men.

LXXXII.

I grant thou wert not married to my muse.
And therefore may'st without attaint o'er-look
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book.
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue.
Finding thy worth a limit past ray praise;
And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days.
And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better us'd
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd.

LXXXIII.
I never saw that you did painting need.
And therefore to your fair no painting set.
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report, ^')
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short.
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute.
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute.
When others would give life, and bring a tomb. * °)
Their lives more life in one of your fair eyes.
Than both your poets can in praise devise.

LXXXIV.

Who is it that says most? which can say more,

Than this rich praise, — that you alone are you?

In whose confine immured is the store

Which should example where your equal grew.

Lean penury within that pen doth dwell.

That to his subject lends not some small glory;

But he that writes of you, if he can tell

That you are you, so dignifies his story.

Let him but copy what in you is >vl'it,

Not making worse what nature made so clear,

And such a counter-part shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every where.

You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises
worse. * *)

LXXXV.

My tongue-ty'd muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compil'd.
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd.
I think good thoughts, while others write good words,
And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen
To every hymn that able spirit afTords,
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you prais'd, I say, 'tis so, Hit truCf
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you.
Though words come hind-most, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect.
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

LXXXVI.

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you.
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse.
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew ?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeex-s by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence.

But when your countenance fil'd up his line, 5^)
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.

LXXXVII.

Farewell thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting.
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing.
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing.
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter.

LXXXVHI.

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light.
And place my nieint in the eye of Scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight.
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted;
That thou, in losing me, shall win much glory;
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do.
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong.
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.

LXXXIX.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:

nt.

MP.

SONNETS.

931

Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt;
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle,*^) and look strange;
Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue
Thy sweet-beloved name no more shall dwell;
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against myself I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

XC.

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;

Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,

Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,

And do not drop in for an after-loss :

Ah! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this sorrow.

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,

To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last.

When other petty griefs have done their spite.

But in the onset come; so shall I taste

At first the very worst of Fortune's might;

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
CompeurM with loss of thee, will not seem so.

XCI.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill.
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force;
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse ;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure.
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest;
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost.
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

xcn.

But do thy worst to steal thyself away.
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay.
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs.
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me Avith inconstant mind.
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? —
Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not:

XCIII.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true.

Like a deceived husband; so love's face

May still seem love to me, though alter'd-new;

Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:

For there can live no hatred in thine eye.

Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.

In many looks the false heart's history

Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,

But heaven in thy creation did decree.

That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;

Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be.
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow.
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!

XCIV.

They that have power to hurt and will do none.
That do not do the thing they most do show.
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone.
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces.
And husband nature's riches from expence;
They are the lords and owners of their faces.
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die ;
But if that flower with base infection meet.
The basest weed out-braves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;

Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.

xcv.

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name?
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport.
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O what a mansion have those vices got.
Which for their habitation chose out thee!
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot.
And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see!

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;

The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge.

XCVI.

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness.
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less : * *)
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd;
So are those errors that in thee are seen.
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray.
If like a lamb he could his looks translate! **)
How many gazers might'st thou lead away.
If thou would'st use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort.
As thou being mine, mine is tliy good report.

XCVII.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen?
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time remov'd^') was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase.
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,*')
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee.
And thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer.
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

XCVIU.
From you have I been absent in the spring.
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,

ra. 59*

932

SONNETS.

MP.

Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing;

That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.

Yet nor the lays ef birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer's story tell, ^^)

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they

grew :
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight.
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away.
As with your shadow I with these did play:

XCIX.

The forward violet thus did I chide ; —

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet

that smells.
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd.
The lily I condemned for thy hand, ^'^)
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand.
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both.
And to his robbery had annex'd thy bi'eath ;
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see.
But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee.

C.

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might V
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song.
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face suiTey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ;

So thou prevent'st his scythe, * ") and crooked knife.

CI.

0 truant Muse, what shall be thy amends.
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends ;
So dost thou too, and therein dignify 'd.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd.
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay:
But best is best, if never intermix' d? —
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for it lies in thee

To make him much out-live a gilded tomb,

And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.

Then do thy office. Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.

CII.

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming ;

1 love not less, though less the show appear:
That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays;

As Philomel ia summer's front doth sing,

And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now.
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night.
But that wild music burthens every bough.
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue.
Because I would not dull you with my song.

cm.

Alack! what poverty my muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride.
The argument, all bare, is of more worth.
Than when it hath my added praise beside.
O, blame me not if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appeal's a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling ray lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend.
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend.
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit.
Your own glass shows you, Avhen you look in it.

CIV.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were, when first your eye 1 ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride;
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,
In process of the seasons have I seen.
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd.
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand.
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd:
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd.
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred,
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead.

CV.

Let not my love be call'd idolatry.
Nor my beloved as an idle show.
Since all alike my songs and praises be.
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confin'd,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument.
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent.
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope afl'ords.
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone.
Which three, till now, never kept seat in one.

CVI.

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights.
And beauty making beautiful old rhime,
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights.
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best.
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes.
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days.
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

in.

M.P.

SONNETS.

933

CVII.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come.
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a cdnfin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd.
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd.
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, <*')
Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhime.
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

CVIII.

W^hat's in the brain that ink may character.
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register.
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine.
Even as when first J hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case '*)
Weighs not the dust and injury of age.
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place.
But makes antiquity for aye his page;

Finding the first conceit of love there bred.
Where time and outward form would show it dead.

CIX.

O never say that I was false of heart.
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart.
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have rang'd,
Like him that travels, I return again;
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, —
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd.
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood.
That it could so preposterously be stain'd.
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call.
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

ex. -—•-«««*;-

Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,*')
Gor'd mine own thoughts, * *) sold cheap what is

most dear.
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely; but,, by all above.
These blenches gave my heart another youth, ''')
And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love.
Now all is done, save what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A God in love, to whom I am confin'd.

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most lovuig breast.

CXI.

O for my sake do you with fortune chide,

The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds.

That did not better for my life provide,

Than public means, which public manners breeds.**)

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand.

And almost thence my nature is subdu'd

To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.

Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd;

Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eyseli, 'gainst my strong infection; *')
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye.
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

CXTI.
Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill.
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? **)
You are my all-the-world, and 1 must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive.
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. ")
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are. '")
Mark how with my neglect 1 do dispense: —
You are so strongly in my purpose bred.
That all the world besides metlunks are dead. ")

CXIII.

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind.
And that which governs me to go about.
Doth part his function,'-) and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but eff'ectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch ;''^)
Of his quick objects hatli the mind no part.
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight.
The most sweet favour, ' "*) or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night.
The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature.
Incapable of more, replete with you.
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.

CXIV.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,

Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery.
Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true.
And that your love taught it this alchymy.
To make, of monsters and things indigest.
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble.
Creating every bad a perfect best.
As fast as objects to his beams assemble ?
O, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,' *)
And to his palate doth prepare the cup :
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin.

CXV.

Those lines that I before have writ, do lie.
Even those that said I could not love you dearer;
Yet then my judgement knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings.
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things ;
Alas! why, fearing of time's tyranny.
Might I not then say, now 1 love you beit.
When I was certain o'er incertainty.
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe; then might I not say so.
To give full growth to tnat which still doth grow ?

CXVT.
Let me not to the marriage of true nunds
Admit impediments. Love is not lore.

m.

934

SONNETS.

MP.

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark.
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
j> Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

CXVII.

Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay;
Forgot upon your dearest love to call.
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right ;
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
And on just proof, surmise accumulate.
Bring me within the level of your frown.
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate:
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love,

cx\7Ti.

Like as, to make our appetites more keen.
With eager compounds we our palate urge:
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge;
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding,
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipate .
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthful state.
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured.
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true.
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

CXIX.

What potions have I drunk of Syren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within.
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever! '*')
O benefit of ill ! now I find true,
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew.
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuk'd to my content.
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.

cxx.

That you were once unkind, befriends me now.
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel.
Needs must I under my transgression bow.
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken.
As I by your's, you have pass'd a hell of time;
And J, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.
O that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,

And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble salve which wounded bosom fits!

But that your trespass now becomes a fee;

Mine ransom your's, and your's must ransom me.

CXXI.

'Tis better to be vile, than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies.
Which in their wills count bad what I think good ?
No, — I am that I am; and they that level
At my abuses, reckon up their own:
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; ' ')
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain.
All men are bad and in their badness reign.

CXXII.

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain

Full character'd with lasting memory.

Which shall above that idle rank remain,

Beyond all date, even to eternity:

Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart

Have faculty by nature to subsist;

Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part

Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.

That poor retention could not so much hold, '8)

Nor need I tallies, thy dear love to score;

Therefore to give them from me was I bold.

To trust those tables that receive thee more:

To keep an adjunct to remember thee.

Were to import forgetfulness in me.

CXXIII.

No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old.
And rather make them born to our desire.
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy.
Not wondering at the present nor the past;
For thy records and what we see doth lie.
Made more or less by thy continual haste:
This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.

CXXIV.

If my dear love were but the child of state.
It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'd.
As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate.
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It sufl'ers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic.
That it not grows with heat, nor drowns with
showers. ")
To this I witness call the fools of time.
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crim e

cxxv.

Were it aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring.

m.

MP.

SONNETS.

035

Or lay'd great bases for eternity,

Which prove more short than waste or ruining?

Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour

Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,

For compound sweet foregoing simple savour.

Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?

No ; — let me be obsequious in thy heart,

And take thou my oblation, poor but free,

Wliich is not mix'd with seconds, ^°) knows no art,

But mutual render, only me for thee.

Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul.
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control.

CXXVI.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st!
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack.
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure:
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be.
And her quietus is to render thee.

cxxvn.

In the old age black was not counted fair.
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir, )

And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame.
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour.
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited : and they mourners seem
At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack.
Slandering creation w ith a false esteem : * ' )
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe.
That every tongue says, beauty should look so.

CXXVIII.

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st.
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy' those jacks, that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy l>and,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap.
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips.
O'er whom' thy fingers walk with gentle gait.
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.
Since saucy jacks ^^) so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

CXXIX.

The expence of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had.
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait.
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe;
Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream:

All this the world well knosvs; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

CXXX.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white.
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, — yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go, —
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground;
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she bely'd with false compare.

CXXXI.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art.
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold.
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan:
To say they err, I dare not be so bold.
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face.
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place.
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

cxxxn.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me.
Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain;
Have put on black, and loving mourners be.
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east.
Nor that full star that ushers in the even.
Doth half that glory to the sober west.
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace.
And suit thy pity like in every part.

Then will I swear beauty herself is black.
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

CXXXIII.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!

Is't not enough to torture me alone.

But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,

And my next self thou harder hast engross'd;

Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;

A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd.

Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward.

But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;

Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;

Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee.
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

CXXXIV.

So now I have confess'd that he is thine.
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will;
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine

m.

036

SONNETS.

31. P.

Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free.
For thou art covetous, and he is kind;
He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me.
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty *^) thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use.
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me;

He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

cxxxv.

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
And will to boot, and will in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious.
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still.
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will
One will of mine, to make thy large will more.

Let no unkind, no fair beseeches kill;

Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

CXXXVI.

If thy soul check thee that I come so near.
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfill.
Will will fulfill the treasure of thy love.
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove;
Among a number one is reckonM none.
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee :
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lov'st me, — for my name is Will.

CXXXVII.

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies.
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks.
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride.
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgement of my heart is ty'dV
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common

place 'i
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?

In things right true my heart and eyes haVe err'd,
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.

cxxxvni.

When my love swears *'*) that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies;
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtilties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young.
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue,
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust?

And wherefore say not I, that I am old?
O love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me.
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

CXXXIX.

O call not me to justify the wrong,
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue;
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy

might
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain.
Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain.

CXL.

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were.
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
(As testy sick men, when their deaths be near.
No news but health from their physicians know :)
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad.
And in ray madness might speak ill of thee:
Now this ill-vyresting world is grown so bad.
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart
go wide.

CXLI.

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise.
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted ;
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone.
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But ray five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade ^5) one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man.
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain.
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.

CXLII.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate.
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state.
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have prophan'd their scarlet ornaments,
And seai'd false bonds of love as oft as mine;
Robb'd others' beds levenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be.

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example may'st thou be deny'd!

TO.

M. P.

SONNETS.

937

CXLIII.

Lo, as a careful house-wife runs to catch,
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face.
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;*')
So run'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me.
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind :
So will I pray that thou raay'st have thy Will,
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.

CXLIV.

Two loves I have of comfort and despair.
Which like two spirits do suggest me still;
The better angel is a man right fair.
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that ray angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

CXLV.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make,

Breath'd forth the sound that said, / hate^

To me that languish'd for her sake:

But when she saw my woeful state.

Straight in her heart did mercy come,

Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet

W as us'd in giving gentle doom ;

And taught it thus a-new to greet:

/ hate she alter'd with an end,

That follow'd it as gentle day

Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,

From heaven to hell is flown away.
I hate from hate away she threw.
And sav'd my life, saying — not you. *')

CXLVI.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suff"er dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess.
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss.
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men.
And, death once dead, there's no more dying then.

CXLVII.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill.
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept.
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve.

Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care, ")

And frantic-mad with ever-more unrest;

My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,

At random from the truth vainly express'd;

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

CXLVIII.
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head.
Which have no correspondence with true sight?
Or, if they have, where is my judgement fled.
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote.
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no.
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true.
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view ;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.

O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind.
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

CXLIX.

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not.
When I, against myself, with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? *')
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect.
That is so proud thy service to despise.
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ;

Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.

CL.

O from what power hast thou this powerful might.
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight.
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill.
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill.
That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more.
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor.
With others thou should'st not abhor my state;
If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me.
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.

CLI.

Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not ray amiss.
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason;
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride.
He is contented thy poor drudge to be.
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her — love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

in.

938

SONNET

MP.

CLTI.
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn.
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee.
And all my honest faith in thee is lost:
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness.
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I,
To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie!

CLIII.

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath which yet men prove.
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired.
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I sick withal, the help of bath desired.
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest.
But found no cure; the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.

CLIV.

The little love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand.
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep,
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by.
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

in.

IV.

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM

I.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury V
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?

II.

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook.

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh and green.

Did court the lad with many a lovely look.

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.

She told him stories to delight his ear;

She show'd him favours to allure his eye;

To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there:

Touches so soft still conquer chastity.

But whether unripe years did want conceit.

Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer.

The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,

But smile and jest at every gentle offer:

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward ;

He rose and ran away; ah fool too fro ward!

III.

If love malce me forsworn, how shall I swear to love ?

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;

Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,

Where all those pleasures live, that art can comprehend.

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com-
mend ;

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder ;

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire :

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his
dreadful thunder.

Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong.
To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly
tongue.

IV.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade.
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made,
Under an osier growing by a brook.

A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen.

Hot was the day; she hotter that did look

For his approach, that often there had been.

Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by.

And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim;

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye.

Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him:

He spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood;

Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?

V.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle,
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle,
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A little pale, with damask die to grace her.
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd.
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coin'd.
Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings.
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth.
She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth;
She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing,
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

VI.

If music and sweet poetry agree.
As they must needs, the sister and the brother.
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,
As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound.
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
Whenas himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign;

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

vn.

Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love,

*****
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, ' )
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;
Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth

nr.

940

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.

MP.

Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore:
She showed hers; he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.

VIII.

Sweet rose, ^) fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring! ^)
Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded !
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree.
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy Will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave ;
For why? I craved nothing of thee still:

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;

Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

IX.

Fair Venus with Adonis sitting by her.
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her.
And as he fell to her, she fell to him.
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me;
And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms:
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me,
As if the boy should use like loving charms.
Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips.
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;
And as she fetched breath, away he skips.
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay.
To kiss and clip me till I run away !

X.

Crabbed age and youth

Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care:
Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave,

Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short,

Youth is nimble, age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and age is tame-
Age, I do abhor thee.
Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:
Age, I do defy thee;
O sweet shepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

XI.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,

A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly ;

A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;

A brittle glass, that's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh.
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress.
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

XII.

Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ;
And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care.
To descant on the doubts of my decay.

Farewel, quoth she, and come again to-morrow;

Farewel I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
Mav be, again to make me wander thither:
Wander, a word for shadows like myself.
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

XIII.

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!

My heart doth charge the watch ; *) the morning rise

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.

While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark.
And wish her lays were tuned like the laik;

For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty.
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow ;

For why ? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-morrow.

Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ; *)
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!

Pack night,peep day ; good day,of night now borrow;

Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.

XIV.

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be.
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye
could see,

Her fancy fell a turning.
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love

did fight.
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practice either, alas it was a spite

Unto the silly damsel.
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain.
That nothing could be used, to turn them both to gain.
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with
disdain :

Alas she could not help it!
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day.
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away ;
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;

For now my song is ended.

XV.

On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair.
Playing in the wanton air.
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath :
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But alas my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.

IV.

MP.

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.

941

Do not call it sin in me.

That I am forsworn for thee;

Thou for whom even Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiope were;

And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.

XVI.

My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not.
My rams speed not.

All is amiss:
Love's denying,*)
Faith's defying.
Heart's renying.

Causer of this. '')
All my merry jigs are quite forgot, *)
All my lady's love is lost, God wot;
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay ') is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss;

O frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I see
Inconstancy

More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me.

Living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
(O cruel speeding!)

Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal, *°)
My wethers' bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog that wont to have play'd.
Plays not at all, but seems afreiid;
With sighs so deep,
Procures to weep.

In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through harkless ground, * * )

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight!
Clear wells spring not.
Sweet birds sing not.
Green plants bring not

Forth; they die:
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping.
Nymphs back peeping

Fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor swains.
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled.
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewel, sweet love.
Thy like ne'er was

For sweet content, the cause of all my moan:
Poor Coridon
Must live alone.

Other help for him I see that there is none.

xvn.

When as thine eye hath chose the dame.
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike.
Let reason rule things worthy blame.
As well as fancy, partisd tike:

Take counsel of some wiser head.

Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, '^)

Lest she some subtle practice smell;

(A cripple soon can find a halt:)
But plainly say thou lov'st her well.
And set her person forth to sale.

What though her frowning brows be bent.
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent.
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day.
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength.
And ban and brawl, *^) and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length.
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
"Had women been so strong as men.
In faith you had not had it then."

And to her will frame all thy ways;

Spare not to spend, — and chiefly there

Where thy desert may merit praise.

By ringing in thy lady's ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town.
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust.
And in thy suit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust.
Press never thou to choose anew;

When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show.
The tricks and toys that in them lurk.
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

Think women still to strive with men,
To sin, and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then.
When time with age shall them attaint.
Were kisses all the joys in bed.
One woman would another wed.

But soft ; enough, — too much I fear.
Lest that my mistress hear my song;
She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear.
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be At said.
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.

XVIII.
As it fell upon a day.
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made.
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing.
Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Every thing did banish moan.
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn.
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty.
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry,
Teru, Teru, by and by :

That to hear her so complain.
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown.
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in Tain;
None take pity on thy pain:

nr.

942

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.

M.P.

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;

Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee,

King Pandion, he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead:

All thy fellow birds do sing,

Careless of thy sorrowing.

Even so,, poor bird, like thee,

None alive will pity nie.

Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd.

Thou and I were both beguil'd.

Every one that flatters thee,

Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy like the wind;

Faithful friends are hard to find.

Every man will be thy friend.

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;

But if store of crowns be scant.

No man will supply thy want.

If that one be prodigal.

Bountiful they will him call:

And with such like flattering,

"P»7y but he were a king."

If he be addict to advice,

Quickly him they will entice;

If to women he be bent.

They have him at commandment;

But if fortune once do frown.

Then farewel his great renown:

They that fawn'd on him before.

Use his company no more.

He that is thy friend indeed.

He will help thee in thy need.

If thou sorrow, he will weep;

If thou wake, he cannot sleep:

Thus of every grief in heart

He with thee doth bear a part.

These are certain signs to know

Faithful friend from flattering foe.

XIX.

Take, oh, take those lips away.

That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day.

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears.
On whose tops the pinks that grow,

Are of those that April wears.
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

XX.

Let the bird of loudest lay,

On the sole Arabian tree,

Herald sad and trumpet be.

To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end, *•*)
To this troop come thou not near.

From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing.

Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.

Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can, **)
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.

And thou, treble-dated crow.

That thy sable gender mak'st

With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, '<*)

'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.

So they lov'd, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.

Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
'Twixt the turtle and his queen :
But in them it were a wonder. *^)

So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right ^^)
Flaming in the phoenix' sight:
Either was the other's mine.

Property was thus appall'd.
That the self was not the same; ")
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was call'd.

Reason, in itself confounded.
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either-neither, ^ °)
Simple were so well compounded;

That it cried, how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none.
If what parts can so remain. *')

Whereupon it made this threne**)
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love;
As chorus to their tragic scene.

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity.
Here inclos'd in cinders lie.

Death is now the phoenix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,

Leaving no posterity: —
'Twas not their infirmity.
It was married chastity.

Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.

To this urn let those repair

That are either true or fair;

For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

IV.

V.

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

JProm off a lull whose concave womb re-worded •)

A plaintful story from a sistering vale,

My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,

And down I lay to list the sad-tun'd tale:

Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale,

Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain.

Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.-)

Upon her head a platted hive of straw.

Which fortified her visage from the sun.

Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw

The carcase of a beauty spent and done.

Time had not scythed all that youth begun,

Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage.

Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. *)

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters, "*)
Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears, ^)
And often reading what contents it bears J
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe.
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride, ')
As they did battery to the spheres intend ;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and no where fix'd.
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat,

Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride;

For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd hat, ')

Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide.

And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,

Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a roaund she drew

Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, «)

Which one by one she in a river threw.

Upon whose weeping margent she was set, —

Like usury, applying wet to wet, ^)

Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall

Where want cries tome, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone.
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly*")
Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy.'*)

These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes.

And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear;

Cry'd, O false blood! thou register of lies.

What unapproved witness dost thou bear!

Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,

Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh,

(Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew '^)

Of court, of city, and had let go by

The swiftest hours,) observed as they flew;*^)

Towards this afflicted fancy **) fastly drew;

And, privileg'd by age, desires to know

In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe.

So slides he down upon his grained bat, **)
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught apply'd
Which may her suffering ecstasy*') assuage,
'Tis promis'd in the charity of age.

Father, she says, though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour.
Let it not tell your judgement I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had self-apply 'd
Love to myself, and to no love beside.

But woe is me! too early I attended

A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace)

Of one by nature's outwards so commended.

That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:

Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place; ")

And when in his fair parts she did abide.

She was new lodg'd, and newly deified.

His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find: '^)
, Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind;
For on his visage was in little drawn.
What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. • ')

Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down -°) began but to appear.
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin.
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear;
Yet show'd his visage by that cost most dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best 'twere as it was, or best without.

V.

944

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

M.P.

His qualities were beauteous as his form,

For maiden-tongu'd he was, and thereof free;

Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm

As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.

His rudeness so with his authorized youth,

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

Well could he ride, and often men would say
'^'•That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway.
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop

he makes!"
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

But quickly on his side the verdict went,

His real habitude gave life and grace

To appertainings and to ornament,

Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case :

All aids, themselves made fairer by their place.

Came for additions; yet their purpos'd trim

Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him.

So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kind of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong.
For his advantage still did wake and sleep;
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill.
Catching all passions in his craft of will;

That he did in the general bosom reign

Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,

To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain

In personal duty, following where he haunted:-')

Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;

And dialogu'd for him what he would say,

Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

Many there were that did his picture get.

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;

Like fools that in the imagination set

The goodly objects which abroad they find

Of lands and mansions, their's in thought assign'd;

And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them.

Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:

So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand.
And was my own fee-simple, ^-) (not in part,)
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower.

Yet did I not, as some my equals did.

Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded;

Finding myself in honour so forbid.

With safest distance I mine honour shielded:

Experience for me many bulwarks builded

Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil

Of thia false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

But ah! who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destin'd ill she must herself assay?
Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content.
To put the by-pass'd perils in her way?
Counsel may stop a while what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
1 By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, *^)
That we must curb it upon others' proof.
To be forbid the sweets that seem so good.
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.

0 appetite, from judgement stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste.
Though reason weep, and cry it is thy last.

For further I could say, this man's untrue^
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;^")
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew, ^ ^)
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; -*)
Thought, characters, and words, merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

And long upon these terms I held my city.
Till thus he 'gan besiege me: "Gentle maid.
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to you sworn, to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto.
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow.

All my offences that abroad you see.

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind :

Love made them not; with acture they may be,

Where neither party is nor true nor kind: ^')

They sought their shame that so their shame did find ;

And so much less of shame in me remains.

By how much of me their reproach contains.

Among the many that mine eyes have seen.

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,

Or my affection put to the smallest teen.

Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:

Harm have 1 done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free.

And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.

Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me.

Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ;

Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;

Effects of terror and dear modesty,

Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

And lo! behold these talents of their hair, ^^)
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, *')

1 have receiv'd from many a several fair,
(Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,)
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd.
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

The diamond; why 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invis'd properties did tend;^°)
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold; each several stone.
With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some moan.

Lo! all these trophies of affections hot.
Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render.
That is, to you, my origin and ender:
For these, of force, must your oblations be.
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

31. p.

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

945

O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise ; ^ ')
Take all these similes to your own comuiand,
Hallo w'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

Lo! this device was sent me from a nun,

Or sister sanctified of holiest note;

W^hich late her noble suit in court did shun, ^^)

Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;^^)

For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, ^*)

But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,

To spend her living in eternal love.

But O, my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives?
Paling the place which did no form receive,*^)
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves:
She that her fame so to herself contrives, .
The scars of battle scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

0 pardon me, in that my boast is true;
The accident which brought me to her eye,
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly :
Religious love put out religion's eye:

Not to be tempted, would she be enmur'd,
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd.

How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong.
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:

1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest.

As compound love to physic your cold breast.

My parts had power to charm a sacred sun, ^'')

Who disciplin'd and dieted in grace,

Believ'd her eyes when I the assail begun,

All vows and consecrations giving place.

O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space.

In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor contine,

For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example-? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame?
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,

'gainst shame, ^')
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears.
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

Now all these hearts that do on mine depend.

Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine.

And supplicant their sighs to you extend.

And leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine.

Lending soft audience to my sweet design,

And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,

That shall prefer and undertake my troth."

This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who, giaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing roses
That flame ' ^) through water which their hue incloses.

O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies

In the small orb of one particular tear?

But with the inundation of the eyes

What rocky heart to water will not wear?

What breast so cold that is not warmed here?

O cleft effect! ^'') cold modesty, hot wrath.

Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath!

For lo! his passion, but an art of craft,

Even there resolv'd my reason into tears;

There my white stole of chastity I daft.

Shook off my sober guards, and civil fears; 4")

Appear to him, as he to ine appears,

All melting; though our drops this difference bore.

His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

In him a plenitude of subtle matter.

Applied to cautels, '*^) all strange forms receives.

Of burning blushes, or of weeping water.

Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,

In cither's aptness as it best deceives.

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes.

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows;

That not a heart which in his level came.

Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim.

Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;

And veil'd in them, would win whom he would maim:

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;

When he most burnt in heart-wish'd luxury.

He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity.

Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd.
That the unexperjenc'd gave the tempter place.
Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ah me! 1 fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spungy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrowed motion, seeming ow'd, *-)
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd.
And new pervert a reconciled maid!

THE END.

f)0

N

0

V.
T

E

S.

^ Pi: 1. 2. 3 TO 37, in thk top-corners of the inner contMNS, indicate the Roman num-
bers OF THE Plays, according to the ii-rxT; and so in the same manner the abbreviature,

M. p. 1 TO 5, THE order OK THE MISCELLANEOUS POEJBS,

I. TEMPEST.

ACTI. =1:)— /a// fo'tyarely,] i. e. readily, nimbly. Our
author is frequent in hi9_ use of this word. := 2:) Flay the
men.'] i. e. act with spirit, behave like men. =: 3:) — of the
nresent,] i.e. of the present instant. =4:) Gonzalo.'] It may
DC observed oi Gonzalo, that, being the only good man that
appears with the king, he is the only man that preserves his
cheerfulness in the wreck, and his hope on the island. John-
son. =5:) — bring her to try with main-course.] This phrase
occurs in Smith's Sea Grammar, 1627, 4to. under the article
How to handle a Ship in a Storme: ''Let us lie at Trie with
our main course; that is, to hale the tacke aboord, the sheat
close aft, the holing set up, and the helme tied close aboord."
STBEVE^s. = &) — an unstanched wench.] Unstanched, per-
haps incontinent. = 7:) Lay her a-hold^ a-holdi] i. e. bring
her to lie as near the wind as she can, in order to keep clear
of the land, and get her out to sea. = 8:) — set her two
courses; oj^ to sea again,] The courses arc the main-sail
and fore-sail. = 9:) — merely—] in this place signifies ab-
solutely. Steevbns.^= 10:) — to glut him.] Shakspearc pro-
bably wrote, f englut him, to swallow him. In this signifi-
cation englut, from engloutir, Fr., occurs frequently. Yet
Milton writes glutted offal for swallowed, and, therefore,
perhaps, the present text may stand. =1 1:) Mercy on us! &c.

— Farewell, brother! ice] It is probable that the lines suc-
ceeding the confused noise within should be considered as
spoken by no determinate characters. = 12:) — an acre of
barren ground ; \ong heath, hrown furze. Lc] SirT.Haumcr
reads — ling, heath, broom, furze. — Perhaps rightly, though
he has been charged with tautology. = 13:) creatures in Aer,]
The old copy reads — creature; but the preceding as well as
subsequent words of Miranda seem to demand the emen-
dation suggested first by Theobald. = 14:) — or e'er — ] i. e.
before. = 15:) Pro. No harm.] Perhaps Shakspeare wrote,
II 0, ifoe the day! no Aarm?]! To which Prospero properly

answers : !| I have done nothing but in care of thee. Jony-
BOti.^ 16:) — more better—] This ungrammatical expression
is verj^ frequent among our oldest writers. ^= ll:) — full poor
cell,] i. e. a cell in a great degree of poverty. = 18:) Vid
never meddle with my thoughts.] i. e. mix with them. To
meddle, means also, to interfere, to trouble, to busy itself.
= 19:) — virtue of compassion—] Virtue; the must effica-
cious part, as, tAe virtue of a plant is in the extract. =
20:) — no soul — ] Such interruptions arc not uncommon to
Shakspearc. He sometimes begins a sentence, and, before
he concludes it, entirely changes its construction, because
another, more forcible, occurs. As this change frequently
happens in conversation, it may be suffered to pass uncen-
sured in the language of the stage. Steevens. =: 21:) Out
tArce years old.] i. e. Quite three years old. = 2 2:) — abysm
of time'^] i. e. Abyss. This method of spelling the word is
common to other ancient writers. They took it from the
French abysme, now wriUen ablme. = 23:) Twelve years
since, Miranda, twelve years since,] Years, in the first in-
stance, is used as a dissyllable, in the second as a monosyl-
lable; a licence not peculiar to the prosody of Shakspeare.
= 24:)^ princess ; — no worse issued] The old copy reads

— 'And princess.'' For the trivial change in the text I am
answerable, issued is descended. Stbkvkns. = 25:)— teen— ]
is sorrow, grief, trouble. =26:) To trash for over-topping;]
To trash, in old books of gardening, is to cut away the su-
perfluities. It is used, also, by sportsmen in the Noith, when
they correct a dog for misbehaviour in pursuing the game.
A trash, among hunters, denotes a piece of leather, couples,
or any other weight fastened round the neck of a dog, when
his speed is superior to the rest of the pack; i. e. when he
over-tops them, when he Aunts too 9uicA-. = 27:) — 6otA tAe
key—] This is meant of a key for turning the harpsichord,
spmnet, or virginal; called now a tuning hammor. = 28:)
"set all hearts I'th state," _ Malonr. = 29:) I prau thee,
mark me.] In the old copy, these words are the beginniug
of Prospeio's next speech; but, for the restoration of metre,
1 have changed their place. Stbevkns. Mr.Malone follows
the old copy.= 30:) "dedicated"— Mai,onb.= 31:) Like a
good parent, kc] Alluding to the observation, that a father
above the common rate of men has commonly a son below
it. Heroum filii noxce. Johnson. = 32:) . like one fl

Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, fl Made such^ a
sinner of his memory, || To credit his own lie,] There is,
perhaps, no correlative, to which the word it can with gram-
matical propriety belong. Lie, however, seems to have been
the correlative to which the poet meant to refer, and the
meaning is, Who having made his memory such a sinner
to truth as to credit his own lie by telling of it. = 35:) He
was the duke: out of the substitution,] 'I he reader should
place his emphasis on — was: but Mr. Malone reads, '_'he
was indeed the dukc." = 34:) (So dry Ae teas /or sicaj/jj i.e.
So thirsty. =35:) To think but nobly — ] But, i. e. iu this

flace otherwise, than. = 36:) — in lieii o'tAe premises, &c.]
n lieu of, means here, in consideration of; an unusual ac-
ceptation of the word. = 3 7:1 — a hint,] Hint is suggestion.
= 38:) jTAat wrings mine eyes.] i. e. squeezes the water out
of them. Mr. Malone reads, "mine eyes to't." = 39:) — deck'd
the sea — ] To deck the sea, if explained to honour, adorn,
or dignify, is indeed ridiculous, but the original import of
the verb deck, is to cover; so, in some parts, they yet say
deck the table. This sense may be borne, but perhaps the
poet wrote fleck' d, which I think is still' used in rustic lan-
guage, of drops falling upon water. Dr. Warburton reads
mock'd; the Oxford edition, brack'd. Johnson. To deck sig-
nifies in thciVorth, to sprinkle; and de^g'rf, which means the
same, is iu daily use in the north of England. When clothes
that have been washed are too much dried, it is neces-
sary to moisten them before they can be ironed, .which ia
always done by sprinkling ; this operation the maidens uni-
versally call degging.=iO:) An undergoing stomach,] Sto-
mach is stubborn reiolution. = il:) Some food we had, and
some fresh water, that || A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, \\ Out
of his charity, (who being then appointed || Master of this
design,) did give us;] Mr. Steevens has suggested, that we
might better read — Ae being then appointed; and so we
should certainly now write: but the reading nf the old copy
is the true one, that mode of phraseology being the idiom
of Shakspeare's time. Malone. 1 have left the passage iu
question as 1 found it, though with slender reliance on its
integrity. Steevens. = 42:) Now I arise:] Perhaps these
words belong to Miranda, and «e shoujd read: Mir.' Would
I might il But ever see that man! — Aou> / arise. || Pro. Sit
still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. As the words —
"now 1 arise" — may signify, "now 1 rise in my narration,"
— "now my story heightens in its consequence," 1 have left
the passage in question undisturbed. We still say, that the
interest of a drama rises or declines. Steevens. ==43:) Now
my dear lady,] i. e. now my auspicious mistress. = 44:i —
'tis a good dulness,] Dr. Warburton rightly observes, tnat
this sleepiness, which Prospero by his art had brought upon
Miranda and of which he knew not how soon the eflect
would begin, makes him question her so often whether she
is attentive to his story. Johnson. = 45:) On the curVd
clouds;] So, in Timon — crisp heaven. = 4 6:) — and all his
quality.] i. e. alibis confederates. =4 7:) Perform' d to point— ']
i. e. to the minutest article; a literal translation of the
French phrase — a point. = 48:) — now on tAe beak,] The
beak was a strong pointed body at the head of the ancient
gallies: it is used here for the forecastle, or the bnltsprit.
Johnson. = 49:) Now in the waist,] The part between the
quarter-deck and the forecastle. Johnson. = 50:) — Some-
times, I'd divide, || And burn in many places;] Burton says,
that the spirits of fire, in form of fire-drftkes and blazing
stars, "oftentimes sit on shipmasts," \:c. Melanch. P. I. §2.
p. 30. edit. 1632. Waiiton. = 51:) i'eo, Ais dread trident
shake.] Lest the metre should appear defective, it is neces-
sary to apprize the reader, that in some counties, shake is
still pronounced by the common people as if it .was written
shaoke, a dissyllable. Farmer. := 5 2:) — and quit tAe vessel,]
Quit, for quitted.:=53:) — sustaining— ] i. e. their garments
that bore them up and supported them; or their garments
which bore, without being injured, the drenching ot the sea.
= 54:) The epithet here applied to the Bermudas, will be
best understood by those who have seen the chafing of the
sea over the rugged rocks by which they are surrounded,
and which render access to them so dangerous. It was iu
our poet's time the current opinion, that Bermudas was in-
habited by monsters, and devils. — Setebos, the god of Cali-
ban's dam, was an American devil, worshipped by the

950

NOTES.

[Pl: 1] Th. S.

giants of Patagouia. Henlky. ^= 65:) — ffce Mediterranean
note,] Flote is wave. = 65:) Vost thou forget—'] That the
character and conduct of Prospero may be understood, some-
thing must be known of the systemof enchantment, which
supplied all the marvellous found in tlie romances of the
middle ages. This system seems to be founded on the opin-
ion that the fallen spirits, having different degrees of guilt,
had different habitations allotted them at their expulsion,
some being confined in hell, some (as Hooker, who delivers
the opinion of our poet's age, expresses it,) dispersed in
air, some on earth, some in water, others in caves, dens,
or minerals under the earth. Of these, some were more
malignant and mischievous than others. The earthy spirits
seem to have been thought the most depraved, and the aerial

the less vitiated. Thus Prospero observes of Ariel:

thou wast a spirit too delicate || To_ act her earthy and ab-
horr''d commands. Over these spirits a power might be ob-
tained by certain rights performed or charms learned. This
power was called The black art, or knowledge of enchant-
ment. The enchanter being, (as king James observes in his
Vemonology,) one who commands the devil, whereas the
witch serves him. The art was held by all, though not
equally criminal, yet unlawful, and, therefore, Casaubon,
speaking of one who had commerce w ith spirits, blames him,
though ne imagines him one of the best kind, who dealt
with them by way of command. Thus Prospero repents of
his art in the last scene. The spirits were always consi-
dered as in some measure enslaved to the enchanter, at
least for a time, and as serving with unwillingness; there-
fore Ariel so often begs for liberty ; and Caliban observes,
that the spirits serve Prospero with no good will, but hate
him Tootedly. Johisson. = 57:) — in Argier.] Argier is the
ancient English name for^/^ter». =58:) — to a nymph o'the
sea-^ There does not appear to be sufficient cause why Ariel
should assume this new shape, as he was to be invisible to
all eyes but those of Prospero. Steevens. Mr. Malone ar-
ranges these lines thus : "Go make thyself like a nymph
o'the sea; be subject || To no sight but tliine and mine: in-
visible I| To every eye ball else. Go, take this shape, || And
hither come in't, go, hence, with diligence. "=59:) The strange-
ness—] Why should a wonderful story produce sleep? 1
believe experience will prove, that any violent agitation ot
the mind easily subsides in slumber, especially when, as in
Prospero's relation, the last images are pleasing. Johnson.
The poet seems to have been apprehensive that the audience,
as well as Miranda, would sleep over this long but neces-
sary tale, and, therefore, strives to break it. First, by mak-
ing Prospero divest himself of his magic robe aud wand:
then by waking her attention no less than six limes by ver-
bal inteVruption: then by varying the action when he rises
and bids her continue sitting:" and lastly, by carrying on the
business of the fable while Miranda sleeps, by which she is
continued on the stage till the poet has occasion for her
again. VVarneh. = 60:) /Fe cannot miss him:] that is, we
cannot do without him. =61:) ("al. As wicked dew — ] Wicked,
havingbaneful qualities. = 62:) — urchins — ] i. e. hedgehogs ;
or perhaps, here, fairies. = 63:) — for that vast of night tAat
they mag work,] The vast of night means the night which is
naturally empty and deserted, without action; or when all
things lying in sleep and silence, makes the world appear
one great uninhabited waste, f'astum is likewise the an-
cient law term for waste, uncultivated land. It should be
remembered, that, in the pneumatology of former ages, these
particulars were settled with the most minute exactness, and
the different kinds of visionary beings had different allot-
ments of time suitable to the variety or consequence of their
employments. During these spaces, they were at liberty to
act, but were ahvays obliged to leave off at a certain hour,
that they might not interfere in that portion of night which
belonged to others. = 64:) Oho, Oho.'] This savage exclam-
ation was originally and constantly appropriated by the
writers of our ancient Mysteries and Moralities, to the De-
vil; and has, in this instance, been transferred to His descend-
ant Caliban. Stkevens. =65:) when thou didst, not,

savage, || Know thine own meaning,] By this expression, how-
ever defective, the poet seems to have meant — When thou
didst utter sounds, to which thou hadst no determinate
meaning. — 6 6:)— But thy vile race,] Race, in this place,
seems to signify original disposition, inborn qualities. — 67:)
— the red plague rid you.] The erysipelas was anciently
called the red plague. The word rid, means to destroy. =
68:) — my dam's god, Setebos,] Mr. Warner has observed,
on the authority of John Burbot, that "the Fatagons are
reported to dread a great horned devil called Setebos.'" We
learn from Magellan's voyage, that ■SeteAon was the supreme
godof thePatagons, and Cheleule was an inferior one. Setebos
is also mentioned in Hackluyt's T oyages, 1598.= 69:) Re-
enter Ariel invisible,] In the wardrobe of the lord admiral's
men (i. e. company of comedians,) 1598, was — "a robe for
to goo invisebell.'''' ■= 70:) Court'sied when you have, and
kiss'd,] As was anciently done at the beginning of some
dances. = 71:) JFeeping a^ain the king my father's wreck,]
Thus the old copy; but in the books of Shakspcare's age
again is sometimes printed instead of against, [i. c. oppo-
site to,] which Mr. Malone thinks was our author's word.
= 72:) Full fathom five thy father lies ; kc] The songs in
this play, Dr. Wil.'son, who reset and published two of them,
tells us. in his Court Ayres, or Ballads, published at Ox-
ford, 1660, that '■'■Full fathom five,'' and ^^ Where the bee
sucks," had been first set by Robert Johnson, a composer
contemporary with Shakspeare. Blkney. = 78:) Nothing of

him that doth fade, \\ But doth suffer a tea-change —] Every
thing about him, that is liable to alteration, is changed. =
74:) The same burden to a song occurs in The Merchant of
Venice. It should here be —Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-
dong, bell. = 75:) Ariel's lays, however seasonable and effi-
cacious, must be allowed to be of no supernatural dignity
or eloaucnce; they express nothing great, nor reveal any
thing above mortal discovery. Johnson. =76:) Thatthe earth
owes:] To owe, in this place, as well as many others, signi-
fies to ourn. = 77:) The fringed curtains, &c.] The same ex-
pression occurs in Pericles, Prince of Tyre, 1609: "

her eyelids H Begin to part their fringes ofl)right gold." =
78:) "It goes on, 1 see," — Malone. = 79:) If you be made
or no'f] Some copies read maid, and the critics are not fully
agreed in their opinions. Mr. M. Mason says, "The question
is, whether our readers will adopt a natural and simple ex-
prcs.sion, which requires no comment, or one which the in-
genuity of many commentators has but imperfectly supported."
= 80:) And hit brave son, being twain.] This is a slight
forgetfulness. IVobody was lost in the wreck, yet we find no
such character as the son of the duke of Milan. Theobald.
= 81:) — controul thee,] Confute, or unanswerably contradict
thee. = 82:) — I fear you have done yourself some wrong:]
i. e. I fear that, in asserting yourself^to be king of Naples,
you have uttered a falsehood, which is below your character,
and, consequently, injurious to your honour. Stkevens.=
8 5-.) He's gentle, and not fearful.] Fearful signifies both ter-
rible and timorous. In this place it may menu timorous; or
it may signify formidable, as in K. Hen. IF: "A mighty
and a fearful head they are." and then the meaning of the
passage is obvious. One of the original meanings, if not the
sole meaning, of the word gentle is, noble, highmtnded : and
to this day a Scotch woman in the situation of the young
lady in The Tempest, would express herself nearly in the
same terms.— Don't provoke him; for being gentle, that is,
highspirited, he won't tamely bear an insult. = 84:) — come
from thy ward;] Desist from any hope of awing me by that
posture of defence. Johnson. = 85:) My spirits, as in adream,
are alt bound up.] Alluding to a common sensation in dreams ;
when we struggle, but cannot run, strike, &c. Warburton.
=86:) — are but light to me,] This passage, as it stands at
present, with all allowance for poetical licence, cannot be
reconciled to grammar. 1 suspect that our author wrote —
"■'were but light to me," in the sense of —would be. — ]n the
preceding line the old copy reads — "nor this man's" threats.
The emendation was made by Mr. Stecvcns. Malone. =

ACT II. =1:) — Our hint of woe—] Hint is that which
recalls to the memory; or here it may mean — circumstance.
^=2:) The masters of some merchant, kc] Thus the old copy.
If the passage be not corrupt, (as I suspect it is,) we must
suppose that by masters our author means the owners of a
merchant ship, or the officers to whom the navigation of it
had been trusted. 1 suppose, however, that our author w rote
— "The mistress of some merchant," ^c. Mistress was an-
ciently spelt — maistresse or maistres. Hence, perhaps, arose
the present typographical error. Steevens.^3:) Have just
our theme of woe: but for the miracle,] The words — of woe,
appear to me as an idld interpolation. Steevens. = 4:) The
visitor — ] Why Dr. Warburton should change visitor to'viser,
for adviser, I cannot discover. Gonzalo gives not only ad-
vice but comfort, and is therefore properly called the visitor,
like others who visit the sick or distressed to give them con-
solation. In some of the Protestant churches there is a kind
of officers termed consolators for the sick. Johnson. = 5:)^ —
you've pay'd.] The meaning is this: Antonio lays a wager
with Sebastian, that Adrian would crow before Gonzalo, and
the wager was a laughter. Adrian speaks first, so Antonio
is the winner. Sebastian laughs at what Adrian^ had said,
and Antonio immediately acknowledges that by his laughing
he has paid the bet. ::= 6:) — and delicate temperance.] or
temperature. = 1:) TemfcrAnce was a delicate^ wench.] In the
puritanical times it was usual to christen children from the
titles of religions and moral virtues. =: 8:) How lush, kc]
Lush here signifies rank; but it appears to have sometimes
signified juicy, succulent. Spencer, in his Shephcard's Ca-
lender, (Feb.) applies the epithet lusty to green =9:) With
an eye of green in''t.] An eye is a small shade of colour.
=:tO:)— Claribel—] 'Ihis name is probably taken from bl.l.
History of George Lord Faukonbridge. Claribel is there
the concubine of ling Ilirhard 1., aud the mother of lordFal-
oonbridge. = 11:) — Widow Dido!] The name of a widow
brings to their minds their own shipwreck, which they con-
sider as having made many widows in Naples. Johnson. =
12:) — the miraculous harp.] Alluding to the wonders ofAm-
phion's music. Steevens. = 1,3:) The stomach o/ njj/ sense:]
By sense, is meant both reason and natural affection. Mr.
M. Mason, however, supposes, sense, in this place, means
feeling. Steevens = 14:) Weigh'd,] Weighed mcane deli-
berated. r= 15:) Than tpc bring men to comfort them:] It
does not clearly appear whether the king and these lords
thought the ship lost. This passage seems to imply, thiit
they were themselves confidint of returning, but imagined
part of the fleet destroyed. Why, indeed, should Sebastian

Klot against his brother in the following scene, unless he knew
ow to find the kingdom which he was to inherit. Johnson.
= 16:) Mr. Malone reads thus: "Letters should not be known:
riches, poverty, || And use of service, none; contract, suc-
cession^! Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;" \c.
= 1 7:) The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the be-

V.

ginning.'] All this dialogue ia a line satire on the IJtcipian
treatise!) of frovernment, and the impracticable inconfii»teut
schemes (herein recommended. VN'akburton. There is some-
thing so strikingly anplicable to modern times in this text
and note, that the Editor could not persuade himself to omit
the latter, although unnecessary in other respects. ('. = 18:)

— any engine,] any instrument of war, or military machine.
rr=19:) — all foizon,] i'bjsori, or /otzon, signilies plenty, u6er-
tas: and sometimes moisture, or juice of grass. =20:) Enter
Ariel, &c. playing nolemn mu«tc.] 'Jhis stage-direction does
not mean to tell us that Ariel himself was the fldicen; but
that solemn music attended his appearance, or was an ac-
companiment to his entry. Stkevens. = 21:) 1 am more se-
rious than my custom: you || Must be so too, if heed mc ;
which to do, !| Trebles thee o'er.] The meaning of this pas-
sage seems to be — You must put on more than your usual
seriousness, if you are disposed to pay a proper attention to
my proposal; which attention if you bestow, it will in the
cud make you thrice what you are. }>ebastianis already bro-
ther to the throne; but, being made a king by Antonio's con-
trivance, would be, (according to our author's idea of great-
ness,) thrice the man he was before. In this sense he would
be trebled o'er. Mai.oine. ='2 2:) Jf you but knew, how you
the purpose cherish, || IVhiles thus you mock it! hoiv, in strip-
ping it, II You more invest it.'} A judicious critic, in The
Edinburgh Magazine, for Nov. 1786, offers the following il-
lustration of this obscure passage. "Sebastian introduces the
simile of water. It is taken up by Antonio, who says he will
teach his stagnant water to flow. ' — It has already learned
to ebb,' says Sebastian. To which Antonio replies. '■O, if you
but knew how much even that metaphor U'hich you use in
jest, encourages to the design which J hint at ; how, in strip-
ping the words of their common meaning, and using them
figuratively, you adapt them to your own situation /' " Stek-
vKiss. = 2^:) — this lord of weak remembrance,'] This lord,
who being now in his dotage, has outlived his faculty of re-
membering; and who, once laid in the ground, shall be as
little remembered himself, as he can now remember other
things. JoHNS0N. = 24:)Mr. Malone reads, {For he's a spirit
of persuasion, only \\ I'roieases to persuade;) — ] It is an en-
tangled sentence of which the meaning may be either, that
he alone, who is a spirit of persuasion, professes to per-
suade the king; or that. He only professes to persuade, that
is, without being so persuaded himself he makes a show of
persuading the king. Johnson. = 25:) — a wink beyond,} That
this is the utmost extent of the prospect of ambition, the
point where the eye can pass no farther, and where objects
lose their distinctness, so that what is there discovered is
faint, obscure, and doubtful. Jonhson. = 26;) — beyond man's
life;} i.e. at a greater distance than the life of man is long
enough to reach. Steevkns =27:) she that from Na-
ples I; Can have no note, Ace] Note is notice, or information.
Shakspeare's great ignorance of geography is not more con-
spicuous in any instance than in this, where he supposesTu-
nis and Naples to have been at such an immeasurable dis-
tance from each other. = 28:) — «/ie, from whom — ] i.e. in
coming from whom. =29:) — though some ca.sl again;} Cast
is here used in the same sense as in MacAef/i, Act II, sc. iii.:
" — though he took my legs from me, I made a shift to cast
him." Stkeve!SS. = 30:) .r^fnrf, Ay tAot, destin'd — ] It is a com-
mon plea of wickedness to call temptation destiny. Johnson.
Mr. Malone reads destiny. =3 1:) in yours and my" discharge.}
i. e. depends on what you and I are to perform. = 32:) ^
chough—} Is a bird of the jack-daw kind.:=33:) And melt,
ere they molest!} I had rather read — Would melt, ere they
molest, i. e. Twenty consciences, such as stand between me
and my hopes, though they were congealed, would melt be-
fore they could molest me, or prevent the execution of my
purposes. Johnson. = 34:) "he's like, that's dead:" — Ma-
lone.=35:) — for aye — ] i.e. for ever. = 36:^ TA/s ancient
morsel,! For morsel, Dr. VVarburton reads — ancient moral,
very elegantly and judiciously; yet I know not whether the
author might not wl-ite morsel,a.s we say a piece of a man.
Johnson. = 37:) — take suggestion,] i.e. Receive any hint of
villainy.^=S8:) — to A-eep them living.} By them, as the text
now stands, Gonzalo and Alonzo must be understood. Dr.
Johnson objects very justly to this passage, and would read

— "That f Ae«e his friends are in." This Mr. Steevens adopts,
but Mr. Malone reads, "That you, his friend, are in." = 39:)
^drawn'f} Having your swords drawn. =40:) "Tis best wc
stand," &c. — Malone. = 41:) — that moe, itc] i. e. make
mouths. =;42:) 2'Aeir pricks—] i.e. prickles. = 43:)— wound
with adders,} wound, or twisted about. =44:) — /oofrs like a
foul bnmbard— ] This word means a large vessel for hold-
ing drink, as well as the piece of ordnance so called. = 4 5:)

— fAi« fish painted,} To exhibit fishes, either real or ima-
ginary, was very common about the time of our author.
Steevens. =: 4b:) — make a man;} That is, make a man's
fortune.^=47:) — Aij» g-.iberdine;] \ gaberdine is properly the
coarse frock or outward garment of a peasant, but here
means a loose felt cloak. Malone. ^^ 48:) — savages,} sal-
vages was the spelling and pronunciation of the time.=:49:)

— too much—] Too much means any sum, ever so much. It
has, however, been observed, that when the vulgar mean to

ask an extravagant price for any thing, they say, with
laugh, I won't make him pay twice for it. = 60:) — / kn>

manner. = 63:) — Amen!} Means, stop your draught

1 have no long spoon.} Alluding to the proverb, A long spoon
to eat with the rfevi/. = 65:) — to be t/je siege of this moon-
calf*] Siege signifies stool in every sense of the word, and
is here used in the dirtiest. A moon-calf is an inanimate
shapeless mass, supposed by Pliny to be engendered of wo-
man only. = 66:) Ste. //ere; swear' then how thou escap'rfst.]
Mr. Ritson proposes to alter this line thus: Ste. [to Cal.]
Here, swear then, [to Trin.] How escap'dst thnu'J = 67:) Hast
thou not dropped from heaven ?} The new-discovered In-
dians of the island of St. Salvador, asked, whether Columbus
and his companions were not come down from heaven'^ =
68:) "and thy dog, and thy bush." Malone. -=69:) / afeard
of him'* — a very weak monster: &c.] It is to be observed,
that Trinculo, the speaker, is not charged with being afraid;
but it was his consciousness that he was so that drew this
brag from him. This is nature. Warborton.=60:) "And 1
will kiss" — Malone. =61:) — sea-mells — ] This word has
nuzzled the commentators: Dr. VVarburton reads shamois;
Vfr. Holt, who wrote notes upon this play, observes, that lim*
pets arc in some places called scams. Theobald had very
reasonably proposed to read sea -malls or sea-mells. = 62:)
Get a new man.} When Caliban sings this last part of his
ditty, he must be supposed to turn his head scornfully to-
ward the cell of Prospcro, whose service he had deserted. =

ACT III. = 1:) "and their," &c. Malone. = 2:) "as
odious ;" — Malone. = 3:) — / forget:} Perhaps Ferdinand
means to say — 1 forget my task; bat that is not surprizing,
for I am thinking on Miranda, and these sweet thoughts,
&c. He may, however, mean, that he forgets or thinks little
of the baseness of his employment. Whichsoever be the
sense, ^nrf, or /*'or, should seem more proper in the next line
than^But. Malone. :=4:) "And yours it is against." Malone.
= 5:) — hest — ] For behest; i.e. command= 6:) "I therein
do forget." M\lone.= 7:) The flesh-fly h]nw my mouth.} To
blow means the act of a fly, by which she lodges eggs in
flesh. Steevens. =8:) — of what else Vthe^world,} i. e. of
aught else, of whatsoever else there is in the world. = 9:)

/ am a fool, \\ To weep at tvhat I am glad of.} This is

one of those touches of nature that distinguish Shakspeare
from all other writers. It was necessary, in support of the
character of Miranda, to make her appear unconscious that
excess of sorrow and excess c>f joy find alike their relief from
tears; and as this is the first time that consummate pleasure
had made any near approaches to her heart, she calls such
a seeming contradictory expression of it, folly. Steevens.

^=10:) — wour fellow — ] i. e. companion. = 1 1:)" here'smy

hand. || Mira.^nrf minewithmy heart in t:} It is still custom-
ary in the west of England, when the conditions of a bar-
gain are agreed upon, for the parties to ratify it by joining
their hands, and at the same time for the purchaser to give
an earnest. Henley. = 12:) So glad of this as they, I can-
not be, II fVho are surpriz'd with all;] The sense might be
clearer, were we to make a slight transposition: "So glad
of this as they, who are surpriz'd || With all, I cannot be — "
Perhaps, however, more consonantly with ancient language,
we should join two of the words together, and read — "VNho
are surpriz'd j/iifAoi." Steevens. ^=13:) — bear up, and board

'em:} A metaphor alluding to a chace at sea. = 14:) or

my standard. II Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no
standard.] Meaning he is so much intoxicated, as not to be
able to stand. The quibble between standard, an ensign,
and standard, a fruit-tree that grows without support, is
evident. Steevens. = 15:) — thou deboshed fish thou,} the
same as debauched. = 16:) "to the suit."— Malone. = 17:)
— a tyrant;] Tyrant is here employed as a trisyllable. ^=
18:) yVhat a pied ninny's this'f} It should be remembered
that Trinculo is no sailor, but a jester; and is so called in
the ancient dramatis persona;. He therefore wears the party-
coloured dress of one of these characters. Steevens. Dr.
Johnson observes, that ('alihan could have no knowledge of
the striped coat usually worn by fools ; and would therefore
transfer this speech toStephano. Hut though Ca/i6an might
not know this circumstance, Shakspeare did. Surely he who
has given to all countries and all ages the manners of his
own, might forget himself here, as well as in other places.

Malone. = 19:) liemember, || First to possess his nooks;-

for without them \\ He's but a sot, as I am,} In the old ro-
mances the sorcerer is always furnished with a book, by
reading certain parts of which_ he is enabled to summon to
his aid whatever demons or spirits he has occasion to em-
ploy. When he is deprived of his book, his power ceases.
Our author might have observed this circnmstance much in-
sisted on in the Orlando Jnnamorato of Ht>yardo; and also
in Harrington's translation of the Orlando Fuirioso, 1591.=
20:) "I never saw a woman," — Malone. = 21:) — IVill you
troW the cat cli — ] To fro// a catch, is to dismiss \t trippingly
from the tongue. ^=21:) This is the tune of our catch, played
by the picture of No-body.] A ridiculous figure, sometimes
represented on signs, but the allusion is here to the print of
No-body, prefixed to the anonymous comedy of '■'No-body
and Some-body ;" without date, but printed before the year
1600. = 23:) — a/earrf?] To ajfcar is an ob.solete verb, with
the same meaning as to affray. Between aferde nixd afraide
in the time of Chaucer, there' might have been some nice
! distinction, which is at present lost. Steevens. =: 240 tFilt
comef I'll follow, Stephana.} The first words are addressed
to Caliban, who, vexed at the folly of his new companions
idly running after the music, while they ouffht only to have
attended to the main point, the dispatchiug Prospero, seems,

952

NOTES

[Pl:1.] Tji.S.

forsomelittletimc, tohavestiiiilbeiiind. Heath. Theviords —
H^ilt rome'f should be adilcd to Stepbano's speech. Fll fol-
low, is 'rriiiculo's aiii.wcr. Kitson. = 25:) By'r lakiv,'] i. e.
The diinimilive only of our lady, i. e. lady kin. Stkkvkns.
= 26:) Our tVualrate search — ] Frustrate I'or t'ru.straied.=
27:) A living drollery:] Shows, called drolleries, were in
Shakspeare's time perlormed by pujipets only. From these
ont modern drolls, exhibited at fairs, &c. took their name.
A living drollery, i, e. a drollery not represented by wooden
machines, but by personages who are alive.=28:) — one tree,
the phoBuix' tArone;] Our poet had jirohably Lyiy's £upAi(e«,
and his England, particularly in his thoughts: siguat. Q 3.
— "As there is but one phffinix in the world, so is there but
one tree in Arabia wherein she buildeth." See also, Florio's
Italian Dictionary, 1598: '■'■Itasin, a tree in Arabia, whereof
there is but one found, aud upon it the phosnix sits." Ma-
LONK. =29:) For, certes, &c.] Certes is an obsolete word,
signifying certainly . = &0:) Their manners are more gentle-
kind,] jVlr. Malone reads "gentle, kind;" but Steevens con-
siders it as a compound epithet. = 31:) — too much muse,]
To muse, in ancient language, is to admire, to woniler. =
32:) Fraise in departing.] i.e. Do not praise your entertain-
ment too soon, lest you should have reason to retract your
commendation. It is a proverbial saying.^33:) — tAot tAere
were mountaineers, &c.] The inhabitants of the Alps have
been long accustomed to such excrescences or tumours. =

34:) men, || IVhose heads stood in their hreasts'f] Our

author might have had this intelligence from the translation
of Pliny, b. v. chap. 8: "The Blemmyi, by report, have no
heads, but mouth and eyes both in their breasts." Stkevens.
= 36:) Each putter out, &c.] In this age of travelling, it
was a practice with those who engaged in long and hazard-
ous expeditions, to place out a sum of money on condition
of receiving great interest for it at their return home. "—
on live for one," means on the terms of five for one. Mr.

Malone reads " of live for oue."=3():) 1 will stand to,

and feed, &c.] This passage was probably intended to be in
a rhyme. = 37:) — and, with a quaint device, the banquet va-
nishes.'] Though I will not undertake to prove that all the
culinary pantomimes exhibited in France and Italy were
known and imitated in this kingdom, 1 may observe that fly-
ing, rising, and descending services were to be found at en-
tertainments given by the duke of Uiirgundy, &c. in 1453, and
by the grand Duke of Tuscany in 1600, *cc. See M.Le Grand
d'Aussi's Histoire de, la 1 ic prive'e dcs Francois, vol. iii.
p.294. &c. Examples, therefore, of machinery similar to that
of Shakspeare in the present instance, were to be met with,
and perhaps had been adopted on the stage, as well as at
public festivals here in England. Steevkns. = 38:) {Tliat
hath to instrument this lower world, A;c.] i. e. that makes
use of this world, and every thing in it, as its instruments
to bring about its ends. = 3y:) One dovvie f//af 'sin /ny plume;]
Bailey, in his dictionary, says that dowle is a feather, or
rather, the single particles of the down. = 40:) — clear life—]

Pure, blameless, innocent. ^41:) is nothing, but heart's

sorrow, || And a clear life ensuing.] that is — a miserable
fate, which nothing but contrition and amendment of life
can avert. Malonk. = i2:) — with mops and mowes, — ] To
mowe, i.e. to insult, by making mouths, or wry faces. = 43:)
— with good life,] fVith good life may mean, with exact
presentation of their several characters, with observation
strange of their particular and distinct parts, or with /lonest
alacrity, or cheerfulness. r= 44:) Their several kinds have
done:] i. c. have discharged the several functions allotted
to their ditfereiit natures. =: 45:) — bass my trespass.] The
deep pipe told it me in a rough bass sound. Johnson. =^46:)
And with him there lie mudded. || Hut one fiend—] with him,
and but, are probably playhouse interpolations. = 47:) Like
poison given, kc] The natives of Africa have been supposed
to be possessed of the secret how to temper poisons with
such art as not to operate till several years after they were
administered. = 48:) — this ecstacy — ] Ecstacy meant not
anciently, as at present, rapturous pleasure, but alieuatiou
of miud.:=

ACT IV. ^^1:) — a thread of mine own life,] i.e. a. fibre
or a part of my own life. Frospero considers himself as the
stock or parent-tree, and his daughter as a fibre or portion
of himself, and for whose benelit lie himself lives. Toi.let.
=^2:)— strangely stood the test:] Strangely is used byway
of commendation, merveilleusement, to a wonder. = 3:) J/
thou dost break her virgin knot before !| All sanctimonious
ceremonies, kc] This is a manifest allusion to the zones of
the ancients which were worn as guardians of chastity by
marriageable young women. Hkm,ey. = 4:) No sweet asper-
sion] Aspersion is here used in its primitive sense of sprink-
ling. At present it is expressive only of calumny and de-
traction. Steevens. =5:) Fairly spoke:] Fairly is here used
a8_ a trisyllabic. = 6:)_ — the rabble,] 'Vbe crew of meaner
spirits. = 7:) Some vanity of mine art;] i.e. illusion of mine
art. =^8:) — bring a corollary,] i.e. bring more than are suf-
ficient rather than fail for want of numbers. Corollanj uwana
surplus, =9:) No tongue;] Those who are present at incan-
tations are obliged to be strictly silent, ''else," as we are
afterwards told, the "spell is marred." Johnson. = 10:) —
thatch'd with stover,] Stover, (in Oambridgeshire and other
counties,) signifies hay made of coarse rank grass, such as
even cows will not eat while it is green. Stover is likewise
used as thatch for cart-lodges, and other buildings that de-
serve Jiit rude aud cheap cuveriiig3.^=l 1:) Thy banks with

peonied and lilied brims,] The old edition reads pioned and
twilled brims, which gave rise to Mr. Holt's conjecture, that
the poet originally wrote: "unfA pioned and tilled brims.''
Feonied is the emendation of Hanmer, but Mr. Malone ad-
heres to the old edition. = 12:) — and thy broom groves,]
Broom, in this place, sigiiilies the Spartium scoparium, of
which brooms are Irequeully made, ^ear Guniling.iy, in Cam-
bridgeshire, it grows high enough to conceal the tallest cattle
as liiey pass tiirough it; audio places where it is cultivated,
still higher. =13:) Being lass-lorn;] Lass-lorn is forsaken
ot his mistress. = 1 4:)— tAjr pole-cVipt vineyard;] To clip in
to twine round or embrace. The poles are clipped or em-
braced by the vines. = 15:) My bosky acres, .Vc] Bosky is
woody. Bosky acres are tields divided from each other by
hedge-rows. Boscus is middle Latin for wood. = 16:) — to
this short-grass'd green <] The old cof»y reads short grass'rf
green. Short grazd green means grazed so as to be short.
= 17:) Earth's increase, and foison plenty, kc] Earth's in-
crease, is the produce of the earth: — foison, plenty, i. e,
plenty to the utmost abundance; foison signifying plenty. =
18:)— a wonder d father,] i.e. able to perform wonders. =r
19:) — wand'ring brooks,] The modern editors read — winding
brooks. The old copy — j/iindrwig. Steevens. = 20:) Leave
your crisp channels,] Crisp, i. e. curling, winding. Crisp,
nowever, may allude to the little wave or curl (as it is com
monly called) that the gentlest wind occasions on the sur-
face of w aters. Steevens. =21:) This is most strange:] Ma-
lone reads: "This is strange:" I have introduced the word

— most, on account of the metre, which otherwise is defective.

— In the lirst line of Prospero's next speech there is like-
wise an omission, but 1 have not ventured to supply it. Stee-
vens. =: 22:) —a// wAicA it inherit,] i.e.all who possess, who
dwell upon it. Malone. =23:) And, like this insubstantial
pageant faded,] Faded means here— having vanished; from
the Latin, vado. To feel the justice of this comparison, and
the propriety of the epithet, the nature of these exhibitions
should be remembered. The ancient English pageants were
shows exhibited on the reception of a prince, oi- any other
solemnity of a similar kind. They were presented on occa-
sional stages erected in the streets. Originally they appear
to have been nothing more than dumb shows ; but before the
time of our author, they had been enlivened by the intro-
duction of speaking personages, who were characteristically
habited. The speeches were sometimes in verse; and as the
procession moved forward, the speakers, who constantly bore
some allusion to the ceremony, either conversed together in
the form of a dialogue, or addressed the noble person whose
presence ocrasinned the celebrity. On these allegorical spec-
tacles very costly ornaments were bestowed. =2 4:) Leave
not a rack behind:] "I'he winds (says lord Bacon) which
move the clouds above, which we call the rack, and arc not
perceived below, pass without noise." Mr. Steevens would
explain the word rack somewhat dilTerently, by calling it
the last fleeting vestige of the highest clouds, scarce per-
ceptible on account of their distance and tenuity. V\hat
was anciently called the rack, is now termed by sailors —
the scud. The word is common to many authors comtcmpo-
rary with Shakspeare. But sir Thomas Hanmer reads tract,
for which there are some authorities; and Mr. Malone wracA-,
a mispelling for wreck; and after producing authorities, says,
it has been urged, that "objects which have only a visionary
and insubstantial existence, can, when the vision is faded,
leave nothing real, anil consequently no u)rec/c behind them."
But the objection is founded 0!i misapprehension. 'I'he words
— "Leave not a rack (or wreck) behind," relate not to "the
baseless fabric of this vision," but to the linal destruction
of the world, of which the towers, temples, and palaces, shall
(like as vision, or a pageant,) be dissolved, and leave no
vestige behind. = 25:) Thy thoughts I cleave to:] To cleave
to, is to unite with closely. = 2&.) — to meet with Caliban.]
To meet with is to counteract ; to play stratagem against
stratagem. = 27:) — pricking goss,] 1 know not how Shak-
speare distinguished goss (roui furze ; for what he calls/urze
is called goss or gorse in the midland counties. Steevens.
By the latter, Shakspeare means the low sort of gorse that
only grows upon wet ground, and which is well described
by the name of whins in Markham's /i^oreu'e/i to Husbandry.
It has prickles like those of a rose-tree or a gooseberry.
Toi.LBT. =28:) i^or stale to catch these thieves.] Stale is a
word in fowling, and is used to mean a bait or decoy to
catch birds. Steevens. = 29:) Nurture ran 7ieyerstict;J Nur
tare is education. = 30:) — all, alt lost,] The lirst of these
words was jirobably introduced by the carelessness of the
transcriber or compositor. VVc might safely read — are all
lost. Malone. =31:) And as, with age, his body uglier grows,

II So his mind cankers:] Shakspeare, when "he wrote this
description, perhaps recollected what his patron's most in-
timate friend, the great lord Essex, in an hour of discontent,
said of queen Elizabeth : — '■'■that she grew old, and cankered,
and that her mind was become as crooked as her carcase:"
— a speech, which, according to sir Walter Haleigb, cost him
his head, and which, we may therefore suppose, was at that
time much talked of. This play being written in the time of
king James, these obnoxious words might be safely repeated.

Malone. = 32:) the blind mole may not || Hear a foot

fall:] This quality of hearing, which the mole is supposed
to possess in so high a degree, is mentioned in Euphues,
4to. 1581. p.64: "Doth not the lion for strength, the turtle
for love, the ant for labour, excel man'? Doth not the eagle
see clearer, the vulture smell better, fAe moale heare light-
licrV = S3:) — Aa« done little better than played the Jack

V.

Tif.S. [Pl:2.]

NOTES.

953

with us.] 1. e. ho has played Jack with a lantern; has led
us about like an ignis fatuus, by which travellers are de-
coyed into the mire. ==34:) Trin. 0 Icing Stcphano! O peer!
V worthy Stcphano! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee !]
An allusion to an old celebrated ballad, which begins thus:
"King Utephan was a worthy peer" — ; and celebrates that
king's parsimony with regard to his wardrobe. = 35:) — we
know what belongs to a Irippery:] A frippery was a shop
where old clothes were sold. Fripperie, Fr. The person
who kept one of these shops was called a fripper. Strype,
in his life of Stowc, says, that these frippers lived in Uir-
chin lane and Cornhill.= 36:) "Let it alone," — Malokk.=
S'l:) — under the /tne;] An allusion to what often happens to
people who pass the line. The violent fevers which they
contract in that hot climate, make them lose their hair. =
38:) — put some lime, &c.] T'hat is, bird-time. = 39:) — to
barnacles, or to apes—] Skinnir says, barnacle U Anser
Scoticus. The barnacle is a kind of shell-lish growing on
the bottoms of ships, and which was anciently supposed,
when broken off, to become one of these geese. =40:) fFith
foreheads villainous low.] Low foreheads were, anciently
reckoned among deformities. = 4 1:) ^ noise o/ //unfers /leard. J
Sliakspeare might have had in view Arthur's Chace, which
many believe to be in France, and think that it is a kennel
of black dogs followed by iiuknovvn huntsmen with an ex-
ceeding great sound of horns, as if it was a very hunting
of some wild beast. =

ACT V. =:!:) and time || Goes upright with his car-
riage.] Alluding to one carrying a burthen, i'his critical pe-
riod of my life proceeds as 1 could wish. Time brings for-
ward all the expected events, without faltering under his
burthen. Steevkiss. = 2:) "his followers. ' — Malone. = 3:)
— till your release.] i.e.tillyou release them. = 4:) — a touch,

a feeling — ] A touch, is a sensation. = 5:) that relish

all as sharply, i| tassion as they,] 1 feel every thing with
the same quick sensibility, and am moved by tue same pas-
sions as they are. = 6:) Ve elves of hills, brooks, standing
lakes, and groves;] This speech Dr. VVarburton rightly ob-
serves to be borrowed from Medea's in Ovid. = 7:) (l^f^eak
masters though ye be,) The meaning of this passage may
be. Though you are but inferior masters of these superna-
tural powers — though you possess them but in a low degree ;
or, "ye are powerful auxiliaries, but weak if left to your-
selves ; — your employment is then to make green ringlets,
and midnight mushrooms, and to play the idle pranks men-
tioned by Ariel in his next song; yet by your aid I have been
enabled to invert the course of nature." = d:) — Butthis rough
magic, Aic] This speech of Prospero sets out with a long
and distinct invocation to the various ministers of his art:
yet to what purpose they were invoked does not very dis-
tinctly appear. Had our author written — "^// this,"ic. in-
stead of —"5ut this," Jtc. the conclusion of the address would
have been more pertinent to its beginning. Stekve!«is.= t.:)
A solemn air, and the best comforter || 2h an unsettled fancy,
cure thy brains, ice] Prospero does not desire them to cure
their brains. His expression is optative, not imperative;
and means — May music cure thy brains! i. c. settle them.
= 1 0:) — boil'd within thy skull .'] So, in A Midsummer A ight's
Dream, '■'■seething brains," iVc. occur: and in The Winter''s
Tale, we have '■'■boiCd brains." = i\:)—felUw\y drops.] 1
would read, fellow drops. The additional syllable only in-
jures the metre, without enforcing the sense. Fellowly how-
ever, is an adjective used by Tusser. !^TEKVE^s. ^= 12:) —
the ignorant fumes—] i. e. the fumes of ignorance. = l3:j
Thou'rt pinch' d for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and blood,]
Thus the old copy: Theobald points the passage in a different
manner, and perhaps rightly: "Thou'rt pinch'd fur't now, Se-
bastian, ilesh and blood." = 14:)- -remorse onrf natuie;] Re-
morse is by our author and the contemporary writers gene-
rally used for pity, or tenderness of heart. Aature is natu-
ral affection. ^iAI.o^K. = 15:) In a cowslip's bell I lie:] So,
in Draylmi' H Nymphidia: "At midnigiit, the appointed hour;
II And for the queen a fitting bower, \\ Quoth he, is that fair
cowslip llower I On Hipcut hill that Idoweth." The date of
this poem not being ascertained, we know not whether our
author was indebted to it, or was himself copied by Drayton.
1 believe, the latter was the imitator. Nymphidia was not
written, I imagine, till after the English Don Quixote had
appeared in 1612. Mai,one.= 16:) Mr. Malone reads, "There
I couch. Vi'hen owls do cry," = 17:) — when owls do cry]
i. e. at night. = 18:) After summer, merrily.] This is the read-
ing of all the editions. Yet Mr. Theobald has substituted
sun-set, because Ariel talks of riding on the bat in this ex-
pedition. = 19:) • shall I live now, \\ Under the blossom

that hangs on the bough.] This thought is not thrown out
at random. It composed a part of the magical system of
these days. The idea was probably Jirst suggested by the
description of the venerable elm which Virgil planted at the
lutrance of the infernal shades. =20:)7rfr?nA:rAe otV—] To
drink the air — is an expression of swiftness of the same
kind as to devour the way in K. Henry If'. r= 21:) VVhe"r
thou beest he, or no,] Whe'r for u»Aet/jer. = 22:) Thy duke-
dom I resign;] The duchy of Milan being through the trea-
chery of Antonio made_ feudatory to the crown of Naples,
Alouso promises to resign his claim of sovereignty for the

future. = 23:) You do yet taste || Sowe subiilties o'the

isle,] This is a phrase adopted from ancient cookery and
confectionary. When a dish was so contrived as to appear
unlike what it really was, they called it a subtilty. Dragons,

castles, trees, &c. made out of sugar, had the like denomi-
nation.=24:) — ivho three hours siriee — J The unity of time
is most rigidly observed in this piece. The fable scarcely
takes up a greater number of hours than are employed in
the representation ; and from the very particular care which
our author takes to point out this circumstance in so many
other passages, as well as here, it should seem as if it were
not accidental, but purposely designed to shew the caviller!!
ol the time, that he could write a play within all the' strictest
laws of regularity, when he chose to load himself with the
critic's fetters. = 25:) I am woe /or't, «;>.] i.e. I am sorry
for it. To be woe, is often used by old writers to signify,
to be sorry. = 26:) /Is great to me, as lute;] My loss is as
great as yours, and has as lately happened to me. JoiiNSON.
= 27:) — — lke.\tiDords\\ Are natural breath:] An anonymous
correspondent thinks that their is a corruption, and that we
should read — these words. His conjecture appears not ira-
nrobable. The lords had no doubt concerning themselves.
i'heir doubts related only to Prospero. = 28:) Yes, for a
score of kingdoms, ice] 1 take the sense to be only this:
Ferdinand would not, he says, play her false for the world:
Yea, answers she, I would allow you to do it for something
less than the world, for twenty kingdoms, and 1 wish you
well enough to allow you, after a little wrangle, that your
play was fair. So, likewise, Dr. Grey. Johnson. = 29:) My
tricksy spirit!] is, my clever, adroit spirit. Shakspcare uses
the same word in The Merchant of /"enice. = 30:) — dead
oi sleep,] Thus the old copy. Moderu editors — asleep. Mr.
Malone has substituted "on sleep" as the ancient English
phraseology. = 31:) — conduct of:] Conduct for conductor.
Conduct is yet useil in the same sense: the person at Cam-
bridge who reads prayers in King's and in Trinity college

chapels, is still so styled. Henlkv. = 32:) with beating

on II The strangeness, &c.] Beating may mean hammering,
working in the mind, dwelling long upon. = 33:) {Which to
you shall seem probable,)] 1 will inform you how all these
wonderful accidents have happened; which, though they now
appear to you strange, will then seem probable. Malone. =
34:) — Coragio!] An exclamation of encouragement. =35:) /«
a plain iish,J That is, plainly, evidently a lish; but it is nut
easy to determine the shape which our author designed to
bestow on his monster. That he has hanils, legs, &c. we ga-
ther from circumstances in the play. Perhaps Shakspeare
himself had no settled ideas concerning the form of Caliban.
^36:)— true:] that i?, honest. A true man is, in the lan-
guage of that time, opposed to a thief. = 37:) His mother
was a witch ; and one so strong || That could control the
moo?i, itc] This was the phraseology of the times. After the
statute against witches, revenge or ignorance frequently in-
duced people to charge those against whom they harboured
resentment, or entertained prejudices, with the crime of witch-
craft, which had just then been declared a capital offence.
=38:)^nrf deal in her command, ivilhout her power:] Isup-
pose Prospero means, that Sycorax,with less general power
than the moon, could produce the same effects on the sea.
Steevens. = 39.) ^nd Trinculo is reeling ripe: ff^ here should
they j| Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them'*] VVar-
burton thinks that Shakspeare, to be sure, wrote — grand'-
Lixiu, alluding to the grand elixir of the alchymists, which
they pretend would restore youih and confer immortality.
But Mr. Steevens says that, as the alchyinisfs elixir was
supposed to be a liquor, the old reading may stand. = 40:)
— lly- blowing.] This pickle alludes to their plunge into the
stinking pool : and pickling preserves meat from fly-blowing.
= 41:1 — 6«t a cramp.] i. e. 1 am all over a cramp. Prospero
had ordered Ariel to shorten up their sinews with aged cramps.
Touch me not alludes to the soreness occasioned by tiiem.
= 42:) 1 should have been a sore one then.] The same quib-
ble occurs afterwards in the Second Fart of King Henry yi.:
"Mass, 'twill be sore law then, for he was thrust in the
mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet." Stephano also
alludes to the sores about him. Steevens. = 4 3:) With the
help of your good hands.] By your applause, by clapping
hands. Johnson. = 44:) And my ending is despair, \\ Unless
1 be reliev'd by prayer ;] This alludes to the old stories told
of the despair °ot necromancers in their last moments, and of
the efficacy of the prayers of their friends for ihem. War-
burton. =45:) It is observed of The Tempest, that its plan
is regular; this the author of The Revisal thinks, what I
think too, an accidental effect of the story, not intended or
regarded by our author. But, whatever might be Shakspeare's
intention in forming or adopting the plot, he has made It
instrumental to the production of many characters, diver-
sified with boundless invention, and preserved with profound
skill in nature, extensive knowledge of opiiiions, and accu-
rate observation of life. In a single drama are here exhib-
ited princes, courtiers, and sailors, all speaking in their
real characters. There is the agency of airy spirits, and of
an earthly goblin. The operations of magic, the turoiiltsof
a storm, the adventures of a desertisland, the native effusion
of untaught affection, the punishment of guilt, and the final
happiness of the pair for whom our passions and reason are
equally interested. Johnson. =

II. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

ACT I. = 1:) — shapeless idleness.] The expression l8
fine, as implying that idleness prevents the giving any form

954

NOTES

[Pl: 2.] Th. S.

or ciiaracter to the manners. Wakburton. = 2:) some

shallow story of deep lovCj \\ How young Leander crossed the
Hellespont.^ The poem ot Muscrus, entitled Hekoanu Lean-
DBR, is meant. Marlow's translation of this piece was ex-
tremely popular, and deservedly so, many of IWarlow's lines
being as smooth as those of Drydcii. = 3:) — nay, give me
not the boots.] A proverbial cxuression, though now disused,
si|;nifying, don't make a laughing stock of me; don't play
wilh me. =4:) However, but a folly, &c.] This love will end
in a foolish action.to produce which you arc long to spend
your wit, or it will end in the loss of your wit, which will
be overpowered by the folly of love. Johtvson.= 5:) At Mi-
lan,] Mr. Malone reads "5f'o Milan" — which may here be
intended as an imperfect sentence. I am now bound for Mi-
lan; or let me hear from thee by letters addressed to me at
Milan. ^= tj:) Mr. Pope's opinion that this scene was inter-
polated by the players seems advanced without any proof,
only to give a greater licence to criticism. Johnson. = 7:)
— a laced mutton;] Maced mutton was in our author's time
so established a term for a courtezan, that a .street in Cler-
kenwell, which was much frequented by women of the town,
was then called Mutton-lane. = 8:) — why, that's noddy.] Mr.
Steevens says noddy was a game at cards; but this play
iipou syllables is hardly Morth explaining. The speakers
intend to iix the name of noddy, that is, fool, on each other.
9:) — in telling her mind.} 'I'he old copy has " — in telling
your mind," — which Mr. Malone adopts. The meaning is —
iSAe being so hard to me who was the bearer of your mind,
I fear she will prove no less so to you, whenyoii address her
in person. == 10:) — you have tcstern'd me ;} You have gratilied
me with a tester, testern,nr testen, that is, Mith a sixpence.
Johnson. — 11:) If hat think'st thou of the fair sir Egla-
mour'J] This sir Eglamour must not be confounded with the
persona dramatis of the same name. The latter lived at
Milan, and had vowed "pure chastity" upon the death of his
"Irue love." Perhaps sir Eglamour was once the common
cant term for an insignilicant inamorato. = 12:) Should cen-
sure thus, &c.] To censure, in our author's time, generally
signified to give one's judgment. = 13:) "that's" — Malone.
= li:) — a goodly broker!] A broker was used for match-
maker, sometimes for a procuress. Johnson. = 15:) — «ai/No,
to that, &c.] A paraphrase on the old proverb, "Maids say
nay, and take it." = lt):) — stomach on jjour meat,] Stomach
was used for passion or obstinacy. Johnson. = 1 7:) "that
you" — Malone. =18:) — too harsh a descant:] Descant is
a term in music, signifying in general that kind of harmony
in which one part is broken, and formed into a kind of pa-
raphrase on the other. = 19:) — 6«t a mean, &c.] The mean
is the tenor in music. = 20:) To '■'■hid the base" means here,
1 htW^vi:, to challenge to a contest. Malone. =21:) Yet here
they shall not lie, for catching cold.] i.e. lest they should
catrh cold. This mode of expression is not frequent in
il^hakspeare, but occurs in every play of Beaumont and Flet
cher. =22:) / see, you have a month's mind to them.} A
month's mind was gin anniversary in times of popery. There
was also a year's mijid, and t»eefc'« mind. Hut a month's
mind, u\ the ritual sense, signilies not desire or inclination,
but remembrance. = 23:) —«>/iat saAtalk—} Sorfis the same
as grave or serious. =2 i:) — of slender reputation,] i.e. who
are thought slightly of. =25:) Some, to discover islands far
ateay ;] In Shakspeare's time, voyages for the discovery of
the islands of Ainerica were mucn in vogue. And the sons
of the best families in England, went very frequently on
these adventures. Wahburton. =26:) — ^reat impeachment
to his age,] Impeachment, i. e. reproach or imputation. =
27:) Attends the emperor in his royal court.} Sliakspearc
has been guilty of no mistake in placing the emperor's court
at Milan in this play. Several of the first German emperors
held their courts there occasionally, it being, at ihiit time,
their immediate property, and the chief town <if their Italian
dominions. Some of tliem were crowned kings of Italy at
Milan, before they received the imperial crown at iiume.
Nor has the poet fallen into any contradiction by giving a
duke to Milan at the same time that the emperor held his
court there. The lirst dukes of that, and all the other great
cities in Italy, were not sovereign princes, as they after-
wards became; but were merely governors, or viceroys, un-
der the emperors, and removable at their pleasure. Such
wag the Duke of Milan mentioned in this play. Mr. M.Ma-
son adds, that "during the wars in Italy between Francis I.
and Charles V. the latter frequently resided at Milan."
Steevens. = 28:)— in good time,] In good time was the old
expression when something happened tliat suited the thing in
hand. = 2 9:)- jioa) will we break with him.} That is, break
the matter to him. ==30:) ZiAre exhibition— ] i.e. allowance. =
31:) — re«cmA/etA—] is here used as a quadrisyllable, as if
it was written resembeleth. Shaksiieare takes the same li-
berty with many other words, in which I, or r, is subjoined
to another consonant. =

ACT II. =1:) "A room" — Malone. = 2:) Val. Not mine;
my gloves are on. || Speed. Why, then this may be yours,
for this is but one.] It should seem from this passage, that
the word one was anciently pronounced as if it were writ-
ten on. ^=3:) — takes diet;] is under a regimen. -^^^ 4:) //aWow-

puling), fur souicaket, or any good thing to make them merry,

= 5:) — none else would:} None else would be so simple. ^=
6:) —for going ungartered !] This is enumerated by Rosalind
in As You Like H, Act. iii. sc. ii. as one of the undoubted
marks of love: "Then your hose should be ungortererf, your
bonnet unhanded," Ate. Malonk.=7:) J «'0uW j/om were set;]
«ef lor seated, in opposition to stand. = 8:) 0 excellent
motion! &c.] il/ofton, in Shakspeare's time, signilied puppet,
or rather perhaps a puppet-show ; the master whereot may
properly be said to be an interpreter, as being the explainer
of the inarticulate language of the actors. = 9:) Sir Falen-
tinc and servant,] Here Silvia calls her lover servant, and
again below, her gentle servant. This was the language of
ladies to their lovers at the time when Shakspeare wrote.
= 10:) — 'tjs very clerkly done.} i. e. like a scholar. = 11:)

— and there an end.} i. e. there's the conclusion of the mat-
ter. = 12:) All this I speak in print;] In print means with
exactness. = 1 3:) — I am the dog, &c.] Sir 1'. Haniner reads:
I am the dog, no the dog is himself, and I am me, the dog
is the dog, and I am myself. This certainly is more rea-
sonable, but I know not how much reason the author intended
to bestow on Launce's soliloquy. Johnson. = 14:) — like a
wood woman;—] i.e. crazy, frantic with grief; or distracted,
from any other cause. =:16:) "And the tide! " — Malone. =
16:)—hutv guote you my folly 'i^} To ^uote is to o6«ert>e. Va-
lentine in his answer plays upon the word, which was pro-
nounced as if written coat. = 17:) Know you Don Antonio,
your countryman'^} The word Don should be omitted; the
characters are Italians, not Spaniards. Yet i>on Alphonso
occurs in a preceding srene. = 18:)— not without desert—]
And not dignified with so much reputation without propor-
tionate merit. Johnson. = 19:)— Ineed not 'cite him to it:}
i.e.iiicitehim toit.^=20:) No; tftatj/ou are worthless.] Ihavc
inserted the particle no, to fill up "the measure. Johnson. =:
21:) Ser. Madam, my lord your father— } This speech in
all the editions is assigned improperly to Thurio; but lie has
been all along upon the stage, and could not know that the
duke wanted his daughter. Besides, the first line and half
of Sylvia's answer is evidently addressed to two persons. A
servant, therefore, must come in and deliver the message;
and then Silvia goes out with Thurio. Theobalo. = 22:)
Whose high imperious — ] Imperious is an epithet very fre-
quently applied to love by Shakspeare and his contempora
ries. = 23:) — no woe to his correction,} No misery that can
be compared to the punishment inflicted by love. r= 2 4:) — a
priucipality,"] The first or principal of women. So the old
writers use state. '■'■She is a lady, a great state." ^25:) —
summer-swelling ^ou'er,] i.e. the flower which swells in sum-
mer, till it expands itself into bloom. = 2ti:) She is alone.}-
She stands by herself; is incomparable. = 27:)- the road,]
The haven, where ships ride at anchor. = 28:) "her mien,"

— Malone. = 29:) — a waxen image 'gainst afire,} Alluding
to the figures made by witches, as representatives of those
whom they designed to torment or destroy. := 30:) — with
more advice,] With inore advice, is on further knowledge,
on better consideration. The word, as Mr. Malone observes,
is still current among mercantile people, whose constant lan-
guage is, "we are advised by letters from abroad," meaning
informed. So, in bills of exchange, the conclusion always is

— "without further advice." ^= 31:) 'Tis but her picture — ]
Proteus means, that, as yet, he had seen only her outward
form, without having known her long enough to have any
acquaintance with her rauiA. =32:) And that hath Aazz\eA—-]
dazzled is here a trisyllabic. =33:) —to Milan.] It i» Fadua
in the former editions. =; 34:) — how say'st thou, that my
master is become a notable lover/} i. e. What say'st thou
to this circumstance, — namely, that my master is become a
notable lover"? =3 5:)— tAealc— ] y//es were merry meetings
instituted in country places. = 36:) It is to be observed, that,
in the folio edition, there are no directions concerning the
scenes; they have neen added by the later editors, and may
therefore be changed by any reader that can give more con-
sistency or regularity to the drama by such alterations. I
make this remark in this place, because I know not whether
the following soliloouy of Proteus is so proper in the street.
Johnson. The reader will perceive that the scenery has
been changed, though Dr. Johnson's observation is continued.
Steevens. = 37:) 0 sicect-suggesting love,} To suggest is to
tempt, in our author's language. == 38:) "most" — Malone.
= 89:) — in counsel, his competitor:] Competitor is confe-
derate, assistant, j)artner. = 40:) — pretended ^igAf;] Fre-
tended flight is proposed or intended flight: the verb pre-
tendre in French, has the same sigiiilication. = 41:) Out, out,
Lucetta! Ace] Dr. Percy observes, that this interjection is
still used in the North. It seems to have the same meaning
as apage, Lat. = 42:) "And instances of the infinite of love,"

— Malone. =43:) — my longing journey.} Dr. Grey observes,
that longing is a participle active, with a passive signifi-
cation; for /on^crf, wished, or desired. Dut Julia may mean
a journey which she shall pass in longing. r=z

KCT III. = 1:) — jealous aim — ] Aim is guess, in this
instance. = 2:) — 6c not aimed at;} Be not guessed. ^= 3:) —
of this pretence.] Pretence is design. = 4:) And, where — ]
Where, the same here as whereas. = 5.) — sir, in Milan,
here,} It ought to be thus, instead of — in Verona, here —
for the scene apparently is in Milan, as is clear from se-
veral i)assages in the first act, and in the beginning of the
first scencof the fourthact. ^=6:) — tAe fashionof thetime—]
The modes of courtship, the acts by which men recommended
themselves to ladies. =: 7:) What lets,] i.e. what hinders. =

7>/. S.[Pl:2.]

NOTES.

955

8:) i.e. the thonghts contained in my letter. =9:) — for they
are aent by me,] jFVr, is the same as for that, aince. = 10:)
Mer ops'" son,] Thou art Phaeton in thy rashness, but without
his pretensions ; thou art not the sou of a divinity, but a
terrie filius, a low-born wretch; Merops is thy true father,
with whoml'hacton was falsely reproached. Johnson. =11:)
I fiy not death, to fly his deadly doom:] _ To fly his doom,
used for by flying, or in flying, is a Gallicism. The sense
is, by avoiding the execution of his sentence I shall not
escape death. If 1 stay here, I suffer myself to be destroyed;
if I go away, 1 destroy myself. Johnson. = 12:) Even in the
milk-white bos-om of thy love.] Trifling as the remark may
appear, before the meaning of this address of letters to the
bosom of a mistress can be understood, it should be know^n
that women anciently had a pocket in the fore part of their
stays, in which they not only carried love-letters and love-
tokens, but even their money and materials for needle-work.
In many parts of England the rustic damsels still observe
the same practice; and a very old lady informs me that she
remembers, when it was the fashion to wear prominent stays,
it was no less the custom for stratagem and gallantry to
drop its literary favours within the front of them.' Steevkns.
= 13:) Laun. / am but a fool, look you; and yet J have the
wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : but thafs all
one, if he be but one knave.] InShakspeare's language, one
knave may signify a knave on only one occasion, a single
knave. tFe still use a double villain, for a villain beyond the
common rate of guilt. Johnson. ==14:) — for she hath had gos-
sips :] Gossips not only signify those who answer forachild
in baptism, but the tattling women who attend lyings-in. =
15:) — a bare christian.] Launce is quibbling on. hare has
two senses ; mere and naked. This is used liere in both. =
16:) — Aer conditions.] i.e. qualities. = 17:) — the son of thy
grandmother:] It is undoubtedly true that the mother only
knows the legitimacy of the child. 1 suppose Launce infers,
that if he could read, he must have read this well-known
observation. Steevens. = 18:)— saint Nicholas be thy speed!]
St. Nicholas presided over scholars, who were therefore called
St. Nicholas'' clerks. That this saint presided over young
scholars, may be gathered from Knight's Z.t/e o/2>ean Co/et,
p. 362, for by the statutes of Paul's school there inserted,
the children are required to attend divine service at the ca-
thedral on his anniversary. The legend of this saint makes
him to have been a bishop, while he was a boy. = IS:) —
knit him a stock.] i. e. stocking. =20:) "villainy,"- Mai.one.
= 21:) — praise her liquor.] i. e. often show how well she
likes it. = 22;) — Sheistoo liberal.] Liberal is licentious and
gross in language. = 23:) — She hath more hair than wit,]
An old English proverb. =24:) — mote* tA^ /au<£« gracious :]
Gracious, in old language, means groef/w/. =25:) Trenched
in ice;] Cut, carved in ice. From trancher, to cut. = 26:)
— with circumstance,] With the addition of such incidental
particulars as may induce belief. Johnson. r=27:) — his very
friend.] Very is immediate. = 28:) — as you unwind her
love — ] As you wind off her love from him, make me the
bottom on which you wind it. The housewife's term for a ball
of thread wound upon a central body, is a bottom of thread.
^=29:) — you may temper Acr,] Mould her like wax, to what-
ever shape you please. =80:) — lime,] That is, birdlime. =
31:) "much is the" — Malone.=:32:) — such integrity :] Such
integrity may mean such ardour and sincerity as would be
manifested by practising the directions given in the four pre-
ceding lines. Steevens. Hut Mr. Malone thinks that such
integrity refers only to some feeling /me. = 33:) Tunea de-
ploring dump ;] A dump w as the ancient term for a mourn-
ful elegy. ^= 34:)— will inherit her.] To inherit, is, by our
author, sometimes used, as in this instance, for to obtain
possession of, without any idea of acquiring by inheritance.
= 35:) To sort—] i. e. to choose out. = 36:) / will pardon
you.] 1 will excuse you from waiting. =

ACT IV. =1:) — a proper man.] i.e. a. well-looking man;
he has the appearance of a gentleman. =2:) — Robin Hood'«
fat friar,] Jtobin Hood w as a captain of a band of robbers,
and was much inclined to rob churchmen. But by Itobin
Hood's fat friar, Shakspeare means Friar Tuck, who was
confessor and companion to this noted out-law. =3:) — awful
men:^ Reverend, worshipful, such as magistrates, and other
principal members of civil communities. Johnson. Dr. Far-
mer would read — lawful men — i. e. legales homines. = 4:)
IFhom, in my mood,] Mood is anger or resentment. = 5:)
— in our quality— ] Our quality means our profession, call-
ing, or condition of life. = 6:) Our company. ==7:) — sudden
qui.ps,] That is, hasty passionate reproaches and scoffs. =

8:) you know, that love || H^ill creep tn service where it

cannot go.] Kindness will creep where it cannot gang, is a
Scottish proi'er6. = 9;)"VVho"?" Malone. = 10:) — out of all
nick.] Heyoiid all reckoning or count. Reckonings are kept
upon nicked or notched sticks or tallies. =11:) But, since
your falshood shall become you tvell—] Mr. Malone thinks
that our author means, however licentious the expression, —
But, since your falshood well becomes, oris well suited to,
the worshipping of shadows, and the adoring of false shapes,
send to me in the morning for my picture, &c. Or, in other
words, But, since, the worshipping of shadows and the ador-
ing of false shapes shall well become you, false as you are,
send, A:c. = 12:) — most heaviest.] This" use of the double su-
jterlative is frequent in our author. = 13:)— yoMr /oy/j/rAi/j's
impose,] Impose is injunction, command. A task set at col-
lege, in consequence of a fault, is etill called an imposition.

A tax likewise is said to be imposed. = 14:) — remorseful,]
Hemorseful is pitiful. = 16:) — Upon whose grave thou vow' dst
pure chastity.] It was common in former ages for widowers
and widows to make vows of chastity in honour of their de-
ceased wives or husbands. In Uugdale's Antiquities of fVar-
wickshire, p. 1013, there is the form of a commission by the
bishnn of the diocese for taking a vow of chastity made b^
a widow. It seems, that besides observing the vowj the wi-
dow was, for life, to wear a veil and a mourning habit. Some
such distinction we may suppose to have been made in re-
spect of male votarists ; and, therefore, this circumstance
might inform the players how sirEglamour should bedrest;
and will account for Silvia's having chosen him as a person
in whom she could confide without injury to her own cha-
racter. Steevens. = 16:)— -gTictxince*;] Sorrows, sorrowful
affections. = 17:) Recking as little — ] 'J'o recfr, is to care for.
(chancer and Spenser use this word with the same signifi-
cation.=18:) — keep himself — ] i.e. restrain himself. = 19:)

— apissingwhile;] A proverbial expression. = 20:) — the fel-
low that whips tAe dogs;] This appears to have been part
of the office of an usher of the ta6/e. = 21:) "his servant'?"

— Malone. = 22:)— tAe otAer squirrel, kc] Launce speaks
of his master's present as a diminutive animal, more resem-
bling a squirrel in size than a dog. = 23:) •— an end,] Still
an end, and tnost an end, are vulgar expressions, and mean
commonly, generally. =24:) "know thee," — Malone. ■:=25j)
SAe loved me viell, delivcr\l it to me.] i. e. She miAo deli-
vered it to me, loved me well. Malone. = 26:) it «ep/n«, ^ow
loved her not, to leave Aer token:] Johnson, not recollecting
the force of the word leave, proposes an amendment of this
passage, which is unnecessary; for, in the language of the
time, to leave, means to part with, or give away. = 21:) To
carry that, which I would have refusal;] 'I'he sense is, to
go and present that which 1 wish not to be accepted, to praise
him whom 1 wish to be dispraised. Johnson. = 28:) "have''

— Malone. ^ 29:) Hotv tall was she'^] We should read —
"How tall is she'?" = 3D:) — weep a-good,] i.e. in ^ood ear-
nest. Tout dc bon, Fr. = 31:) — 'tuiasyiriarfne, passioning— ]
To passion is used as a verb, by writers contemporary with

Shakspeare. 'twas Ariadne, passioning — ] On her being

deserted by Theseus in the night, and left on the island of
Naxos. = 32:) — my mistress' /ore so much.] She had in her pre-
ceding speech called Julia Aer mistress; but it is odd enough
that she should thus describe herself, when she is alone.
Sir T. Hanmcr reads — "Ais mistress;" but without necessity.
Our author knew that his audience considered the disguised
Julia in the present scene as a page to Proteus, and this, I
believe, and the love of antithesis, produced the expression.
Malone. ^ 33:) J'Wg'et me sucAoco/our'd periwig.] It should
be remembered, that false hair was worn by the ladies, long
before «iig-s were in fashion. These false coverings, how
ever, were called jicriji'/g-s. = 34:) Her eyes arc grey as
glass;] So Chaucer, in the character of his Prioress: "Ful
semely hire wimple y-pinched was; ||Hire nose trctis; hire
eyen grey as glas." Theobald. = 35:) — Aer forehead's low,]
A high forehead was in our author's time accounted a fea-
ture eminently beautiful. = 3 6:) — respective — ] \.e. respect-
able. = 37:) My substance should be statue tn thy stead.]
It appears from hence, and a passage in Massinger, that the
word statue was formerly used to express a portrait. =

ACT V. =:1:) "friar Patrick's" — Malone. = 2:) — sure
enough.] Sure, is safe, out of danger. t= 3:) Black men are
pearls, &c.] "A black man is a jewel in a fair woman's eye,"
IS one of Ray's proverbial sentences. = 4:) TAat they are
out by lease.] Because Thurio's folly has let them on dis-
advantageous terms; or, because they arc let to others, and
are not in his own dear hands; or, by Thurio's possessions,
he himself understands his lands and estate. But Proteus
chooses to take the word likewise in a figurative sense, as
signifying his mental endowments : and when he says they
are out by lease, he means they are no longer enjoyed by
their master, (who is a fool,) but are leased out to another.
^=5:) — a peevish girl,] i.e. in ancient language, foolish. ■:=
6:) — reckless Silvia.] i.c._ careless, heedless. = 7;) — record
my M'oes.] To record anciently signified to sing. To record
is a term still used by bird-fanciers, to express the first es-
says of a bird in singing. = 8:) 0 thou that dost, Kc] It
is hardly possible to point out four lines in any of the plays
of Shakspeare, more remarkable for ease and elegance.
Steevens. = 9:) — my meed] i.e. reward. ^= 10:) — and still
approv'd,] Approved, \sfelt, experienced. = 11:) "Who should
be trusted, when one's own right hand" — Malone. = 12:)
The private wound, kc] Deepest, highest, and other simi-
lar words, were sometimes used by the poets of Shakspeare's
age as monosyllables. Mr. Malone reads most accurst. r=
\%)All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee.] This passage
cither hath been much sophisticated, or is one great proot
that the main parts of this play did not proceed from Shak-
speare; for it is impossible he could make Valentine act and
speak so much out of character, or give to Silvia so unna-
tural a behaviour, as to take no notice of this strange con-
cession, if it had been made. Hanmer. Valentine, from
seeing Si7t>to in the company of Proteus, might conceive she
had escaped with him from her fathers court, tor purposes
of love, tliough she could not foresee the violence which his
villainy might offer, after he had seduced her under the pre-
tence of an honest passion. If Valentine, however, be sup-
Foscd to hear all that passed between them in this scene,
am afraid I have only to subscribe to the opinions ot my

V.

956

NOTES

[Pl:3.] T/r.S.

predecessors. Stbevens. 1 give thee.] Transfer these

two lines to the end of Thurio's speech in page 36; and all
is right. Why then should Julia faint '^ It is only an artifice,
seeing Silvia given up to Valentine, to di.scovcr herself to
Proteus, by a pretended mistake of the rings. One great
fault of this play is the hastening too abruptly, and without
due preparation to the denouement, which shews that, if it
be Shakspeare's, (which I cannot doubt,) it was one of his
very early performances. Blackstonk. = 14:) To deliver a
ring to madam Silvia ;'} Surely our author wrote — ^'■Deliver
a ring," kc. A verse so rugged as that in the text must be
corrupted by the players, or transcriber. Mr. Malone arranges
the speech as prose. = 15:) KeAo/rf her that gave aim to all
thy oaths,] Gave encourngcment, a phrase in archery. = lb:)
how oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root'*] i.e. of her
heart. An allusion to cleaving the pin in archery. = 17:) —
if shame live — ] that is, if it be any ghame to wear a dis-
guise for the purposes of lovc.= lb:) "And 1 mine." — Ma-
L0>K. = IP:) — the measure—] The reach of my anger. =
20:) Milan shall not behold thee.] Mr. Malone and other edi-
tors read— perona shall not hold thee. But from every cir-
cumstance, the poet must have intended, — Milan, f/tj/ coun-
try, shall never see thee again: thou shall never live to go
back thither. = 21:) To make such means for her as thou
hast done,] i. e. to make such interest for, to take such dis-
ingenuous pains about her. = 22:)_ — all former gtieis,] Grief s
in old language frequently signified grierance*, wrongs. Ma-
1.0NB.=2ii:) — include alt jars — ] i.e. shut up, or conclude.
= 24:) If^ith triumphs,] Triumphs, in this and many other
passages of Shakspearc, signify masques and revels, &.c.=:

III. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

ACT I. ^^1:) Sir Hugh,] This is the first, of sundry in-
stances in our poet, where a parson is called sir. Anciently
it was the common designation both of one in holy orders
and a knigiit. Sir is the designation of a bachelor of arts
in the universities of Cambridge and Dublin; but is there al-
ways annexed to the surname: — Sir Evans, ke.^ In conse-
quence, however, of this, all the inferior clergy in England
were disti nguished by this title aflixcd to their cnristian names
for many centuries. Hence our author's Sir Hugh in the pre-
sent play, — Sir Topas in Twelfth Night, Sir Oliver in j4s
You Like It, &.c.=:2:) — who writes himself armigero ;] Slen-
der had seen the justice's attestations, signed " — jurat' co-
ram me, Roberto Shallow, ormig-ero." = 3:) The luce is the
fresh lish; tAesalt iishis ano/(Z coat.] Our author here alludes
to the arms of sir Thomas Lucy, who is said to have pro-
secuted him in theyounger part of his life for a misdemeanour,
and who is supposed to be pointed at under the character
of justice Shallow. The text, however, has been so corrupted,
that the passage, as it stands at present, seems inexplicable.
= 4:) 'I'he council shall hear it; it is a riot.] By the coun-
cil is only meant the court of star-chamber, composed chiefly
of the king's council sitting in camerd stellatd, which took
cognizance of atrocious riots. =5:) — your\\zAtaen.t»inthat.]
Advisement, a.i\ obsolete word. = ti:) "thank you" —Malone.
:^7:) How does your fallow greyhound, sir'f I heard say,
he was outrun on Cotsale.] Cotswold, in Gloucestershire,
where there was an annual celebration of g.imes, consisting
of rural sports and excercises. = 8:) Good worts I good cab-
bage.] Worts was the ancient name of all the cabbage kind.
z=9:) — coney-catching rascals,] A coney-catcher was, in the
time of Elizabeth, a common name for a cheat or a sharper.
= 10:) You Banbury c/iee«e.'] You are like a Banbury cheese,
— nothing but paring. = 11:) Hoiv now, Mephostophilus'^J
This is the name of a spirit or familiar, in the old story
book of Sir Joh7i Faustus. ^=12:) — Edward shovel-boards,]
were the shillings of Edward VI.; the game of shovel-board,
or shuffle-board, was played with them in Shadwell's time.
= 13:) / combat challenge of this latten bilbo:] A latten
bilbs means, I believe, no more than a blade as thin as a
lath — avice's dagger. fiTKt:\ Eji9. = li:) — labras —] i. clips.
= 1 5:) — marry, trap,] When a man was caught in his own
stratagem, 1 suppose the exclamation of insult was — marry,
trap! Johnson. = 16:) — nuthook's humour — ] i.e. if you say
I am a thief. = 17:) — Scarlet and John'f] The names of
two of Robin Hood's companions ; but the humour consists
in the allusion to Bardolph's red face. r=\9i:) And being ia\t,]
1. e drunk. = 19:) — careires.] i. e. "and so in the end he
reel'd about with a circuitous motion, like a horse, passing
a carier." = 20:) — my book of Songs and Sonnets here:]
'''■Songes and Sonnettes, written by the Right Honourable
Lord Henry Howard, late Earl of Surrey, and others." Slen-
der laments that he has not this fashionable book about him,
supposing it might have assisted him in paying his addresses
to Anne Page. Malone. = 21:) — The Book of Riddles—]
This appears to have been a popular book, and is enume-
rated with others in The English Courtier, and Country
Gentleman. ■= 22:) — upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight
afore Michaelmas?] An intended blunder of Shakspeare's.
= 23:)— o master of fence,] Master of defence, on this oc-
casion, does not simply mean a professor of the art of fenc-
ing, but a person who had taken his master's degree in it;
in this art there were three degrees, viz. a master's, a pro-
vost's, and a scholar's. =24:) — three \e\ieyn for a dish, kc]
i. c. three venues, French. Three different set-to's, bouts, (or
hits, as Mr. Malone, perhaps more properly, explains the
word,) a technical term. Slender means to gay, that the wa-

ger for which he played was a dish of stewed prunes, which
was to be paid by him who received three kits. ^=25:) —
Sackerson — j Sackerson, or Sacarson, was the name of a
bear that was exhibited, in our author's time, at Paris-Gar-
den in Southwark. = 2 6:) — that it pass'd:] i.e. all expres-
sion.—27:) 5j/ cock and pye,] This was a very popular ad-
juration, and occurs in many of our old dramatic pieces. =
28:) — m// bully-rook TJ The spelling of this word is corrupted,
and thereby its primitive meaning is lost. The latter part
of this compound title is taken from the rooks at the game
of chess. Stee VENS.= 2 9:) — Xcjsar,] Keysarior Ccesar.^=
30:) — Let me see thee froth, and lime:] Frothing beer and
liming sack, were tricks practised in the timeof Shakspeare.
The lirst was done by putting soap into the bottom of the
tankard when they drew the beer; the other by mixing /t'me
with the sack (i. e. sherry) to make it sparkle in the glass.
= 31:) U base (iongaTian wight .' kc] A cant term in old bom-
bast plays. ^=32:) — a fico for the phrase.'] i. e. a fig for it.
= 33:) — »Ae carves,] It should be remembered, that anciently
the young of both sexes were instructed in carving, as a ne'-
cessary accomplishment. =34:) The anchor is deep:] Per-
haps we may read — the author is deep. r=3o:) As many de-
vils entertain ;] i. e. do you retain in your service as many
devils as she has angels. = 36:) — ei//('af/s;] Perhaps we should
write osillades, French. = 37:) — intention,] i. e. eagerness
of desire. = 3 8:) J will be cheater to them both, kc] By this
is meant escheatour, an officer in the exchequer. =39:) —
bear you these letters tightly;] i. e. cleverly, adroitly. =
40:) — my pinnace — ] A pinnace seems anciently to have
signified a small vessel, or sloop attending on a larger. A
pinnace now, is a small vessel with a square stern, having
sails and oars, and carrying three masts ; chiefly used as a

scout for intelligence, and for landing of men. = 41:)

for gourd, and tullain holds, \\ And high and low beguile
the rich and poor;] Gourds were probably dice in which a
secret cavity had been made; fullams, those which had
been loaded with a small bit of lead, which, being chiefly
made at Fulham, were thence called "high and low Ful-
hams." The high Fulhams were the numbers, 4, 5, and 6.
^=^2:) I will incense Fage, kc] i.e. instigate. = 43:) — yel-
lowness,] Yellowness is jealousy. = 44:) — the revolt of
mien — ] i.e. change of countenance. =46:) — at the latter
end,kc,^] When my master is in bed. =46:) — no 6reed-bate :]
Bate is an obsolete word signifying strife, contention. — 47:)

— a little wee face,] Wee, in thelNorth signilies very little.
= 48:) — a Cain-co/ourefZ beard.] Cain antf Judas, in the ta-
pestries and pictures of old, were represented with yellow
beards. =4?:) We shall all be shent;] i. e. scolded, roughly
treated. = 50:) Enter Doctor Gains.] It has been thought
strange that our author should take the name of Cuius [an
eminent physician who flourished in the reign of Elizabeth,
and founder^ of Caius College in our university] for his
Frenchman iii this comedy; but Shakspeare was little ac-
quainted with literary history; and, without doubt, from his
unusual name, supposed him to have been a foreign cjuack.
Add to this, that the doctor was handed down as a kind of
Rosicrucian: Mr. Ames had in MS. one of the "Secret Writ-
ings of Dr. Cuius." Farmer. = 51:) — de Jack Priest;] Jack,
in our author's time, was a term of contempt. So, saucy
Jack, &c. = 6 2:) What, the good-jer!] Goodjer and ^ooa-
j/ear, were in our author's time common corruptions ot gou
jere; i. e. morbus gallicus.^=5ii:) — but, I detest,] She means

— I protest. = 54:) — to allichoUy, — ] i.e. melancholy. =

ACT 17. ::=!:) — though love wse reason /or A/s precisian,
he admits him not for his counsellor:] By precisian, is meant
one who pretends to a more than ordinary degree of virtue
and sanctity. Dr. Johnson wishes to read physician ; and if
that be right, the meaning may be, — a lover, uncertain as
yet of success, never takes reason for his counsellor, but,
when desperate, applies to him as his physician. = 2:) "of
fat men.'' Malone. =: 3:) What*— thou liest ! — Sir Alice
Ford! — These knights will hack; and so thou shouldst not
alter the article of thy gentry.] These knights will hack,
(that is, become cheap or vulgar,) and therefore she advises
her friend not to sully her gentry by becoming one. Between
the time of king James's arrival at Berwick in April 1603,
and the 2d of May, he made two hundred and thirty seven
knights; and in the July following between three and four
hunilred. It is probable that the play before us was enlarged
in that or tiie subsequent year, when this stroke of satire
must have been highly relished by the audience. Malone.
= 4:) We burn day-light:] i.e. we have more proof than we
want: or, we are "wasting time in idle talk. = 5:) — men's
liking:] i.e. men's condition of body =:6:) — tAe chariness — ]
i.e. the caution. = 7:) —curtail dog—] that is, a dog that
misses his game ; or is, a dog of small value ; a our. = 8:)
— gally-mawfry ;] i.e. a medley. = 9:) / will not believe such
a (;ata"ian,] By a Catalan, some kind of sharper is meant.
The Chinese were anciently called Catalans. Their tricks
are hinted at in some old histories of Cataia. = 10:) 'Twos
agood sensible fellow:] This, and the two preceding speeches
ot Ford, are spoken to himself. = 11:) — cavalero-justice,]
A cant term. = 12:) "An-heiresT' — Malone. = 18:) — tall
fellows—] A tall fellow, in the time of our author, meant a
stout, bold, or courageous person. = 14:) — and stands so
firmly on his wife's frailty,] i.e. has such perfect confidence
in his unchaste wife. = 15:) — anrf, what they made there,]
An obsolete phrase signifying — what they dirf there. Malone.
= 16:) 7 1047/ retort the turn in equipage.] means, I will pay

V.

Tii.S. [Pl;3.J

NOTES.

957

you again in stolen goods. VVarburton. = 17:) — yourcoach-
fellow, Nyin:'\ i. e. lie, who draws along with you; vlio is
joined with you in all yonr knavery. z=lH:) — lost thehandle
of her fan,'] It should be remembert-d, that fans, in our
author's time, were more cos^tly than ihey are at present, as
well as of a different construction. They consisted of ostrich
feathers (or others of equal length and flexibility,) which were
stuck into handles. The richer sort of these were composed
of gold, silver, or ivory of curious workmanship. = 1&:) —
Fickt-hatch,'] A cant name for some part of the town noted
for brothels. r= 20:) — ensconce your rags, Ate.] A sconce is
a petty fortiiicalion. To ensconce, therefore, is to protect
as with a fort. = 21:) — red- lattice phrases,] Your ale-house
conversation. Red lattice at the doors and windows, were
formerly the ei^ternal denotements of an alehouse. = 22:) —
canaries,'] Probably for quandaries. =:23:) — earls, nay, which
is /nore, pensioners ;] pensioners were gentlemen of the band
of pensioners, whose dress Mas remarkably splendid, and
therefore likely to attract the notice of Mrs. Quickly. =24:)

— you wot of;] Toii>ot,is to know. Obsolete. := 2 5:) — fratn-
potd — ] Peevish, fretful, or cross. =26:) — to send her your
little page, of all loves;] Of alt loves, is an adjuration only,
and signifies by all means. =:21x) — a nay -word,] i.e.a.watch-
word. ^28:) — up with your lights ;] Fights, I lind, are clothes
hung round the ship to conceal the men from the enemy;
and close-fights are bulk-heads, or any other shelter that
the fabric of a ship affords. Johnson. = 2i':)— g'o to; via!]
This cant phrase of exultation or defiance is common in the
old plays. = 30:) — not to charge you;] that is, not with a

Surpose of putting you to expence, or being burthensome.
oHNsoN.^31:) — sith—] i.e. since. ==32:) — /wcerf,] i. e. re-
ward.^=33:) — of great admittance,] Admitted to all compa-
nies. =34:) — generally allowed — ] Allowed is approved. =^
35:) — to lay an amiable siege — ] i. e. a siege of love. =36:)

— instance and argument — ] Instance is example. Johnson.
= 37:)— tAe ward of her purity,] i. e. the defence of it.=
38:) — and I will aggravate his stile;] Add more titles to
those he already enjoys. = 39:) — Atnainion — Barbason,]
The reader who is curious to know any particulars concern-
ing these dzemons, may find them in Reginald Scott's In-
ventarie of the Names, Shapes, lowers. Governments, and
Effects of Deoils and Spirits, of their several Segnories
and Decrees. = 40:) — wittol-cuctoW.'] One who knows his
wife's falsehood, and is contented with it: — from wittan,
Sax., to know. =41:) — to see thee foin,] To /oira was the
ancient term for makinga thrust iu fencing, or tilting. -==42:)

— thy stock,] Stock is a corruption of stoccata, Ital., from
which language the technical terms that follow are likewise
adopted, ^43:) — nij/ Francisco'?] He means, my Frenchman.
= 44:)— my heart of elder'f] It should be remembered, to
make this jbke relish, that the elder tree has no heart. =
45:) — Castilian — ] An opprobrious term, and perhaps a po
pular slur upon the Spaniards, who were held iu great con-
tempt after the business of the armada. :^ 4 6:) — against the
hair, ke.] We now say, against the grain. = 47:)— 31uck-
water.] i.e. drain of a dunghill. =: tS:) — Cry'd game, said
I teell'f] An exclamation of encouragement. =

ACT III. = 1:) — the city ward,] i. e. towards London.
r=2:) To shallow rivers, kc] This is part of a beautiful
little poem, by Marlowe, bnt some have attributed it to Shak-
speare. :^3:) — make-a de sot of usif] Sot, in French, signi-
fies a fool.-=i:) — scall, scurvy,] Scalt was an old word of
reproach. = 5:) — 80 seeming mistress Page,] Seeming is spe-
cious.^= 6:) — shall cry aim.] i. c. shall encourage. = 7:) —
Ac writes verses, he speaks holyday,] i. e. his language is
curious and affectedly chosen. = 8:) — 'tis in his buttons ;]
Alluding to an ancient custom among the country fellows,
of trying whether they should succeed with their mistresses,
by carrying the bachelors buttons in their pockets.^ 9:) —
of no having:] Having; i.e. estate or fortune. ^=: 10:) — the
whitsters — ] i. e. the blanchers of linen. ^=11:) //ojc now,my
eyas-musket '0 Eyas is a young unfledg'd hawk. Eyas-mus-
ket is the same as infant lilliputian.^= 12:) —Tack-a-lcnt,]
A Jack o'' lent was a puppet thrown at in Lent, like shrove-
cocks. = 13:) Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel ?] This is
the first line of the second song iu Sidney's Astrophel and
SteWa.= 14:) — that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant,
or any tire of Vehetian admittance.] Head-dresses then in
fashion, received or admitted from Venice. = 15:) — /eA:e
Buckler's-bury, kc] Buckler' s-bury, in the time of Shak-
speare, w as chiefly inhabited by druggists, who sold all kinds
of herbs, green as well as dry. = 16:) — whiting-time,] Bleach-
ing time; spring. = 17:) — the cowl staffs] Is a staff used
for carrying a large tub or basket with two handles. In Es-
sex the word cowl is yet used for a tub. = 18:) — how you
drumble;] To drumble, in Devonshire, signifies to mutter in
a sullen and inarticulate voice; but Mrs. Page may mean —
how lazy and stupid you are! bemorealert. = 19:) — tfsAaW
appear.] Ford seems to allude to the cuckold's horns. Of
the season is a phrase of the forest. Malonk. = 20:) — so,
now uncape.] A term in fox-hunting, which signifies to dig
out the fox when earthed. = 21:) 111 make a shaft or a bolt
ont.] To make a bolt or a shaft of a thing is enumerated
by Ray, amongst others, in his collection of proverbial phra-
ses. Ihe bolt in this proverb means the fool's bolt.= 22:)
— come cut and long-tail,] i. e. come poor or rich, to offer
himself as my rival. The origin of the phraseis not decided.
= 23:)— happy man be his dole!] i.e. liis lot, a proverbial
expression. =2 4:) be tet quick i'the earth, ]i And bowVd

to death with turnips.] This is a common proverb in the
southern counties. = 26:) — once to-night—] i. e. sometime
to-night. =26:) — speciously— ] She means to say specially.
= 27:) — to slack itlf] i.e. neg/ect. = 28:) — rfetec'ferf with—]
With was sometimes used for of, or by. = 29:) — bilbo,] A
bilbo is a Spanish blade, of which the excellence is tlex-
ibleness and elasticity, from Bilboa, a city of Biscay, where
the best blades are made. = 30:) — address me — ] i.e. make
myself ready. =

ACT IV. =: 1:)— to hick and to hack,] Perhaps, to do
mischief .^=2:) — you must be preeches.] must be breeched,
i. c, flogged. = 3:) — sprag — ] Or spackt, apt to learn, in-
genious. Rkeb.^ 4:) — j/owr sorrow hath eaten up my suf-
jerance: I see, you are obsequious in your love,] The epi-
thet obsequious refers to the seriousness with which obse-
quies, or funeral ceremonies, are performed. = 5:) — lunes — ]
I.e. lunacy, frenzy. = 6:)— he so takes on—] To take on,
which is now used for to grieve, seems to be used by our
author for to rage. ^=1:)— peer out!] That is, appear ftorns.
= 8:) — watch the door with pistols,] This is one of Shak-
speare's anachronisms. = £:) — her thrum'd hat, and her
muffler too:] The muffler was a thin piece of linen, which
covered the lips and chin. A thrum'd hat was made of very
coarse woollen cloth. = 10:) "of knight"- M alone. = 11:)

— a ginc,] Oing was anciently used for gang.^ 12:)— this
passes ! J This is beyond all bounds. = 13:)— this wrongs you.]
This is below your character. = 14:) — his wife's Teman.]
Leman, i. e. lover, is derived from leef, Dutch, beloved, and
man.=: 15:) — sucA daubery — 1 Such gross falsehood, aud
imposition. = 1 6:) — you rag,] This opprobrious term is again
used in Timon. = n:) — ronyon!] Ronyon, applied to a w;o-
man, means, as far as can be traced, much the same with
seal or scaft spoken of a man. From rognpwx,_ Fr. = 18:) —
cry out thus upon no trail,] The expression is taken from
the hunters. Trail is the scent left by the passage of the
game. To cry out. is to open or bark.^= l^:) — if the devil
have him not in lee-simple, with fine and recovery,] Fee-
simple is the largest estate, and fine and recovery the strong-
est assurance, known to English law. ^20:) — in fAe way
of waste, attempt us again.] Make further attempts to ruin
us, by corrupting our virtue.=21:) — no period— J i.e. per-
haps, no proper catastrophe. =^22:) — they must come ott;]
To come off, is, to jjaw.= 23:) — ond takes fAe cattle;] To
take, in Shakspeare, signifies to seize or strike with a dis-
ease, to blasl. = 24:) — irf/c-Aeorfed eld—] Eld seems to be
used here for — the olden time ; or perhaps for old persons.
^25:) — urchins, ouphes,] The primitive signification of ur-
chin is a hedge-hog. Hence it comes to signify any thing
little and dwarfish. Ouph is the Teutonic word for a fairy
or goblin.^=2&.) JVith some diffused song;] i. e. wild, irre-
gular, discordant. =2 7:) And, fairy-like, to-pinchtAe unc/can
knight:] This use of to in composition with verbs, very com-
mon in Gower and Chaucer, was not quite antiquated in the
time of Shakspeare. = 28:)— pincA Aim sound,] i.e.soundly.
= 29:) — properties,] Properties are little incidental neces-
saries to a theatre, exclusive of scenes and dresses. = 30:)

— tricking /or our fairies.] To tricA-, is to dress out. =31:)

— anthropophaginian —] i. e. a cannibal. = 32:) — fAine Ephc-
sian,] This was a cant term of the time, the meaning of
which is not known. =33:) — clerkly,] i. c. scholar-like. =
34:) — / paid nothing for it, neither, but was paid for my
learning] He alludes to the beating which he had just re-
ceived. To pay, in our author's time, often signified to beat.
= 35:) — primero.] A game at cards. ^36:) Sitre, one of you
does not serve hcavenwell, kc] The great fault of this play
is the frequency of expressions so profane, that no necessity
of preserving character can justify them. There are laws
of higher authority than those of criticism. Johnson. It is
more to be regretted, that many of these expressions, omitted
iu the folio edition, on account of the stat.'S Jac. 1. ch. 21.
have been restored by the illaudable industry of subsequent
editors. (3.^ 87:) While other jests are something rank on
foot,] i.e. while they are hotly pursuing other merriment of
their own. = 3 8:) — quaint in green,] —may mean fantastic-
ally drest in green. Quaintness, however, was anciently
used to signify gracefulness. =

ACT v. =:1:)— I'iZ hold:] I'll keep the appointment. =
2:) — hold up your head, and mince.] To mince is to walk
with affected delicacy. = 3:) — Since / plucked geese,] To
strip a living goose of his feathers, was formerly an act ot
puerile barbarity. = 4:) — o nay-u'ord,] i. e. a waich-word.=:
6:)— mum; sAe cries, budget;] These words appear to nave
been in common use before the time of our author. And
now if a man call them to accoraptes, and aske the cause ot
all these their tragical and cruel doings, he shall have a short
answer with mum budget, except they will peradventure al-
lege this," kc. Oration against the unlawful insurrections
of the Protestants, bl.l. 8vo. 1615, sign. C. 8. REED. = fa:)--
in a pit Aard by Heme's oak,] An oaA-j which may be that
alluded to by Shakspeare, is still standing close to a pit in
Windsor forest. It is yet shown as the oak of Heme. »tee-
VENs. = 7:)— ma shoulders for the fellow of this walk,] A
walk is that district in a forest, to which the jurisdiction of
a particular keeper extends. To the keeper the shoulders
and humbles belong as a perquisite. = 8:) — a woodman f] A
woodman was an attendant on the officer, called forester.
It is here, however, used in a wanton sense, tor one vho

958

NOTES.

[Pl:4.] Tji.S.

chooses female game as the objects of his pursuit. =9:) I'ou
orphan-Aeir« of fixed de»tiriij,^ Dr. VVarkiirtoii corrects or-
phan to ouphen; and not without plausibility, as the word
ouphea occurs both before and afterwards. Hut, I fancy, in
acquiescence to the vulgar doctrine, the address in this line
is to a part of the troop, as mortals by birth, but adopted
by the fairies: orphans in respect of their real parents, and
now only dependent on destiny herself. Fabmkr. = IC:) —

as bilberry:] The hilbernj is the whortleberry. = 11:)

do you, and where you find a maid, \\ That, ere she steeps,
has thrice her prayers said, || Raise tip the organs of her
fantasy,'} Mr. Malune supposes the sense of the passage,
collectively taken, to be as follows:— "Go you, and wher-
ever you find a maid asleep, that hath thrice prayed to
the Deity, though, in consequence of her innocence, she
sleeps as soundly as au infant, elevate her fancy, and amuse
her tranquil mind with some delightful vision ; but those
whom you find asleep, without having previously thought on
their sins, and prayed to heaven for forgiveness, pinch, &c."
= 12:) —charactery. 2 For the matter with which they make
letters. = 13:) — 0/ middle earth.] Earth or ivorld, from its
imaginary situation in the midst, or middle of the Ptolemaic
system. = 14:) — o'erlook'd even in thy birth.] i. e. slighted
as soon as born. = 16:) See you these, husbands do not these
fair vokes \\ Become the forest better than the town*} Mrs.
Page 8 meaning is this: Seeing the horns (the types of cuck
oldom) in FalstalTs hands, she asks her husband, whether
those yokes are not more proper in the forest than in the
town; i. e. than in his own family. Theobald. = 16:) — a
coxcomb of frize#J i.e. a fool's-cap made out of Welch ma-
terials. Wales was famous for this cloth. = 1 7:) — ignorance
itself is a plummet o'er me;] i. e. serves to point out my
obliquities. This is said in consequence of Evans's last
speech. The allusion is to the examination of a carpenter's
work by the plummet held over if, of which line sir Hugh
is here represented as the lead. HENLEy. ^= 18:) — amaze
Aer;] i.e. confound her by your questions. =

IV. TWELFTH NIGHT*. OR, WHAT
YOU WILL.

ACT I. ^= 1:) Of what validity and pitch soever,"] Va-
lidity is here used lor value. Malone, who reads «oe'er. =
2:) That it a^nei* high-fantastical.] High-fantastical, mean*
fantastical to the height. ^=3:) The element itself, till seven
years heat,] Heat for heated. The air, till it shall have been
warmed by seven revolutions of the sun, shall not, Ate. =
i:) {Her sweet perfections,)] Liver, brain, and heart, are ad-
mitted in poetry as the residence of passions, judgment, and
sentiments. These are whatShakspeare calls, Acr sweet per-
fections, though he has not very clearly expressed what he
might design to have said. Steeveiss. = 5:) "This is lllyria,
lady." Mai.one.=:6:) That will allow me—] To allow is to
approve. = 7:) — as tall a man—] Tall means stout, courage-
ous,^ 8:) "Viol-de-gamboys." Malonb. ^ 9:) — a coystril,]
i.e. a coward cock.= 10:) — like a parish-top.] A large top
was formerly kept in every village, to be whipped in frosty
weather, that the peasants might Tie kept warm by exercise,
and out of mischief, while they could not work. = 11:) —
Castiliano vulgo;] a cant term, perhaps expressive of con-
tempt. =12:)— ni/«tre»« Mall's picturei?] The real name of
the woman whom 1 suppose to have been meant by Sir Toby,
was Mary Frith. The appellation by which she was gene-
rally known, was Mall Cutpurse. She was at once a prosti-
tute, a bawd, a bully, a thief, a receiver of stolen goods,
kc. &c. On the books of the Stationers' Company, August
1610, is entered — "A Booke called the Madde Pranks of Merry
Mall of the Bankside, with her Walks in Man's Apparel,
and to what Purpose. Written by John Day." Steevens. =
13:) — asink-a-pace.] i.c.a.cinque-pace ; the name of a dance,
the measures whereof arc re{5ulated by the number five. =
li:)— flame-coloured stock.] i. e. stocking. = 16:) Taurus'?
that's sides and heart.] Alluding to the medical astrology
still preseirved in almanacs, which refers the atfections of
particular parts of the body to the predominance of partic-
ular constellations. Johnson. = 16:) — a barful strife.'] i.e.
a contest full of impediments. r= 17;) — lenten answer:^ a
short and spare one. = 18:)— if one (point) break,] Points
were metal hooks, fastened to the hose or breeches, (which
had then no opening or buttons,) and going into straps or
eyes fixed to the doublet, and thereby keeping the hose from
falling down. Bi,AeK8T0NE. = 1 9:)— no better than the fools'
zanies.] i. e. fools' baubles, which had upon the top of them
the head of a fool. Douce. = 20:) A^ou) Mercury endue thee
with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools.'] i. e. May Mer-
cury teach thee to lie^ since thou liest in favour of fools!
= 21:) — amostweaArpiamater.] The pia mater is the mem-
brane that immediately covers the substance of the brain.
= 22:) — above heat—] i. e. above proper heat. = 23:) —
stand at your door like a sheriffs post,] It was the custom
for that officer to have large posts set up at his door, as
an indication of his office: the original of which was, that
the king's proclamation, and other public acts might be af-
fixed thereon, by way of publication. = 2 4:} — or a codling
when 'tis almost an apple:] A codling anciently meant an
immature apple. ^=2 5:)— 1 onttifirj/comptible,] Comptible tor
submissive. ^26:) — i am to hull here—] To hull means to
drive to and fro upon the water, without sails or rudder. r=

27:) Some mollification for your giant,] Ladies, in romance,
are guarded by giants, who repel all improper or trouble-
some advances. Viola may likewise allude to the diminutive
size o[ Maria, who is called, on subsequent occasions, /ttt/e
villain, youngest wren of nine, &c. = 28:) — Look you, sir,
such a one as I was this present: Is't not well done'f] The
line should perhaps run thus: "Look you, sir, such as once
I was, this presents." = 29:) 'Tis beauty truly blent,] i. e.
blended, mixed together. = 30:) "Though your beauty were
unparalleU'd, it Mould not be more than a just recompense
for such love as my master's." Mai.one. = 31:) /n voices well
divulg'd,] Well spoken by the world. ^32:) IVrite loyal can-
tons] for canto*. = 3 3:) 3rAe county's man:] Counta for count.
= 34:) Mine eye, kc] I think the meaning is, 1 fear that
my eyes will seduce my understanding; that 1 am indulging
a passion for this beautiful youth, which my reason cannot
approve. Malone. = 35:) — Our»e/re« we do not owe;] i.e.
we are not our own masters. We cannot govern ourselves. •=

ACT II. =1:) — to express myself.] That is, to reveal
myself. = 2:) — the breach of the sea,] i. e. what we now
call the breaking of the sea. = 3:) — with such estimable
wonder,] wonder and esteem. ^= 4:) "She took the ring of me !"
Malone. = 6:) — the pregnant enemy — J i.e. enemy of man-
kind.=6:) How-easy is it for the proper false || In women's
waxen hearts to set their forms!] How easy is it, for those
who are at once proper (i. e. fair in their appearance) and
false, (i. e. deceitful) to make an impression on the easy
hearts of women'? = 7:) How will this fadge'?] To fudge, is
to suit, to fit.= 8:) — dilaculo surgere,] saluberrinium est:
au adaf^e. = P:) — a sto(ip— ] A stoop seems to have been
something more than hau a gallon. = 10:) — the fool has an
excellent breast.] i. e. voice. ::= 11:) I sent thee sixpence for
thy lemaii:] i. e. mistress. = 12:) 1 did impeticos thy gratil-
lity ; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock:] i. e. 1 did impet-
ticoat or impocket thy gratuity, for Malvolio may smell
out our connection. = 1 3:) — o/ good life"?] i. e. of a moral,
or, perhapsja jovial turn. = 14:) — make the welkin Adiwce — j
That is, drink till the sky seems to turn round. = 15:) —
draw three souls out of one weaver'?] i.e. hale the soul out
of a weaver (the warmest lover of a song) thrice over; or,
in other words, give him thrice more delight than it would
give another man. Malone. = 16:) Tilly-valley, /odu.'] Tilly-
valley was an interjection of contempt ; or as Mr. Douce
thinks, is a hunting phrase borrowed from the French. =
17:) — coziers' oatcne* — ] A cosier is a tailor, or butcher.
= 18:)Snecfc up!] Mr. Malone and others observe, that from
the manner in which this cant phrase is employed in our an-
cient comedies, it seems to have been synonymous to the mo-
dern expression — Go hang yourself . Steevens. = 19:) — rub
your chain with crums:] Stewards anciently wore a chain
as a mark of superiority over other servants. And the best
method of cleaning any gilt plate, is by rubbing it with crums.
=20:) — rule;] Rule is method of life. = 21:) — a uayword,]
a byeword. := 22:) Possess us,] That is, inform us, tell us.
= 23:) — an affection'd ass,] Jlffection^d means affected. =
2i:) — great swarths:] A swarth is as much grass or corn as
a mower cuts down atone strokeof hisscythe. = 25:) — i*en-
thcsilea.] i. e. Amazon. = 26:) — call me Cut.] i. e. call me
horse. := 2 7:)— recollected—'] Studied, or perhaps oft repeated.
= 28:) — favour — ] i. e. countenance. = 29:) — free — ] Is, per-
haps, artless, free from art. =30:) — silly sooth,] It is plain,
simple truth. = 31:)y/nd dallies with the—] Plays or trifles.
= 32:) — the old age.] The ages past, times ot simplicity.
= 33:) The cypress wood, of which coffins were made. =
34:) — a very opal!] A precious stone of almost all colours.
= 35:) — That nature pranks Aer in,] i.e. adorns. = 36:) —
bide no denay.] Uenay,\a denial, ^=37:) — nettle of India '^]
The nettle of India is the plant that produces what is called
cow-itch, a substance only used for tlie nurpose of torment-
ing, by its itching quality. ^38:) —Aou) Ae jets—] To jet is
to strut. ^=39:) — tAe lady of the strachy- ] No probable
meaning has been discovered for this word by the commen-
tators. = 40:) — my state,—] A state, in ancient language,
signifies a chair with a canopy over it. = 4 1:) — come /rom
a day-bed,] i. e. a couch. = 42:) — Though our silence be
drawn from us with cars,] i. e. though it is the greatest pain
to us to keep silence. = 43:) ' .-. • _ t_

of contempt. = ( ' '
mon stone-hawk,

—formal capacity.] i. e. any one whose capacity is not out
of form. = 46:) Souiter — ] Souiteris here perhaps the name of
abound. ^=47:) — Be opposite — ] That is, oearfuerse, AosttVe.
= 48:) Day-light and champian—] i. e. broad day and an
open country. =: 4 9:) — / will be noint-de-vice,] i.e. with the
utmost possible exactness. = 60:) — a pension of thousands
to be paid from the Sophy.] Alluding, as Dr. Farmer ob
serves, to Sir Robert Shirley, who was just returned in the
character of embassador from the Sophy, He boasted of the
great rewards he had received, and lived in London with the
utmost splendor. = 5 l:) — trat/-trip?] some kind of game.=
52:) — aqua-vitcE — ] is the old name of strong waters. =

us with cars,] i. e. though it is the greatest pain
ip silence. = i3:)— brock!] i. e. badger; a term
, = 44:) — stannycl—] The stannyel is the com-
iwk, which inhabits old buildings and rocks. =^4 5:)

ACT in. =l:)a cheveril glove—] i.e. a glove made of
kid leather. r=: 2:) — tAe haggard,] The hawk called the hag-
gard, if not well trained and watched, will fly after every
bird without distinction. = 3:) — tAe list—] is the bound, limit,
farthest point. Johnson. = 4:) — most pregnant and vouch-
safed ear.] Pregnant fot ready ; vouchsafed lor vouchsafing.

7j^.S.[Pi.:6.]

NOTES.

050

= 6:)— "all three all ready." Milokb. = 6:) — '"beseech
you." Malosb. = 7:) To one o/ your receiving— ] i.e. to one
of your ready apprebcntion. =8:) — a cyprut,] is a traus-
parent stuff. = ,»:). — " gf^^f] »» a *tfp, sometimes written
ereete, from degrbt, French. ^= 10:) — 'ti» a vulgar proof,']
That is, it is a common proof. = 11:) And that no woman
has;] Aud that heart ^ud bosom I have never yielded to any
woman. = 12:) — as lief be a BroHnist,] 'i'he Brotmittt were
so calk'd from Mr. Robert Browne, a noted separatist in
Queen Elizabeth's reigu. = 1 3:)— in a martial hand ; be curst— 1
Martial Aanc/, seems to be a careless scrawl, such am showed
the writer to neglect ceremony. Curst is petulant, crabbed.
:= ii:) Jnd hig opposite,] Oppotite or adversary. =^ IS:) He
does smile his face into more lines than are in the new
map, with the augmentation of the Indies:] X clear allusion
to a Map engraved for Linschoteu's f'oyages, an English
translation ot which was published in 1598. 'I'his map is mul-
tilineal in the extreme, and is the first in which the Eastern
Islands are included. Stbbvbms.^ 16:) £uf, treremq worth,]
ff''orth, i.e. wealth or fortune. ^=11:) tie says, he'll come;]
i.e. I suppose he »a«/», &.c. ^18:) "But iu very strange man-
ner. He is sure possess'd, madam." Malosb.= IS:) "Some
guard"] Maloiie prints this speech as prose. = 20:) — "1 am
as madashe." .MaL0>E. = 21:) — midsummer madness.] 'Tis
midsummer moon with you,ia a proverb in Hay's Co//ectton;
siguifying, you arc mad. Steevk>s. =22:) — / have limed
her;] I haveeutangled orcaughther. ^23:) — Fellow.'] This
word, which originally siguihed companion, was not yet to-
tally degraded to its present meaning; and Malvolio takes
it iu the favourable sense. Jou>so>'. = 24:) — cherry-pit—]
Cherry-pit is pitching cherry-stones into a little hole. = 25:)
— Hanghiip, foul collier!] Collier was, iu our author's time,
a term of the highest reproach. ^26:) — a finder of mad-
men.] Finders of madmen must hare been those who acted
under the writ JJe lunatico inguirendo.=2'i:) He is knight,
dubbed with unhacked rapier, and on carpet consideration;]
That is, he is no soldier by profession, not a knight ban-
neret, dubbed in the field of^ battle, but, on carpet conside-
ration, at a festivity, or on some peaceable occasion, when
knights receive their dignity kneeling, not on the ground,
as lu war, but on a. carpet. Mr. Malone reads unhatch'd.^
28:) — hob, nob,] This adverb is corrupted from hap nehap;
as would ne would, will ne will; that is, let it happen or
not ; and signifies at random, at the mercy of chance ; and
is, perhaps, the origin of our hob nob, or challenge to drink
a glass of wine at dinner. ^29:) "Firago." — Malone.^J A
corruption of virago. := 30:) — the stuck—] The stuck is a
corrupted abbreviation of the stoccata, an Italian term in
fencing. =31:) — Ae payst/»ii — ] i.e. hits you, does for you.
= 32:) — 6jf the duello—] i. e. by the laws of the duello. =
33:) S'ay, if you be an undertaker J A man who takes upon
himself the quarrel of another. =

ACT IV. = 1:) I pr'ythee, foolish Greek,] Greek, was
as much as to say bawd or pander. He understood the Clow n
to be acting in that office. = 2:) In this uncivil and unjust
extent—] Extent in law, is taken here for violence in ge-
neral. Jou>iso>. := 3:) The competitors enter.] That is, the
confederates or associates. ^ 4:) — it hath bay-windows, — ]
A bay-window is the same as a bow-window ; a window in a
recess or 6a«/. =5:) Clear story, a term in architecture, de-
noting the row of windows running along the upper part of
a lofty hall or church. =6:) — con«f ant question.] i.e. regu-
lar conversation. ^7:) Xay, lam for all waters.] Shakspeare
is supposed to allude to the sense of the word irater as used
bj^ jewellers, which makes a play of words with Topas. =
8:) — propertied me;] They have taken possession ot me,a8
of a man unable to look to himself. = 9:) / am shent, &.c.j
i. e.jcoWed, reprored.=:10:)iiie to the old vice,] The vice
was the fool of the old moralities. = 1 1:) Yet there he was;
and there I found this credit,] i.e. account, information. =
12:) — all instance, a// discourse,] Discourse, {or reason. In-
stance is example. = 13:) — deceii-o6/e.] For deceptioiM. =^
14:) JFhile*—] is imtil, and still so used ia the northern
counties. =

ACT V, =1:) — scathful — ] i. e. mischievous, destruc-
tive. = 2:) — as fat and fulsome — ] Fat means dull. = 8:)
Like to the Egyptian thief, tec] This Egyptian thief was
Thy amis, recorded iu Heliodoru8'.Ethiopics.= 4:) — strangle
thy propriety:] Suppress, or disown thy property. = 5:) —
intcrchangement of your rings;] Iu our aucieut marriage
ceremony, the man received as well as gave a ring. = 6:) —
case"?] Cote is a word used contemptuously for «tin. = 7:)
T^en he's a rogue. After a passy-measure, or a pavin, I
hate a drunken rogue.] i. e. next to a passy-measure or a
pavin, ic. It is in character, that sir Toby should express
a strong dislike of serious dances, such as the passamezzo
and the pavan are described to be. Tvrwhitt. Mr. Malone
reads, "and a passy measures pavin." =8:) "Will you help*
An ass-head. Ate." Malose. = S:) A natural perspective,]
A glass used for optical deception. = 10:) Of charity,] i.e
out of charity, tell me, &c.= 11:)^ most extracting jfrenzM—i
i. e. a frenzy that drew me away from every thing but its
own object. = 12:) — j/ou must allow vox.] i. e. my tone or
voice. = 13:) — gect,] A fool. = 14:)— at sir Toby's great
imporuuce;] importunaci/. = IS:) — coniient*,] i.e. shall
serve, agree, be convenient. =

V. MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

ACT I. = 1:) Since I am put to Imotp,] may mean, / out
compelled to acknowledge. ^2:) — lists] Bounds, limits. =

3:) Then no more remains ', But that to your sufficiency,

as your worth is able, | Atul let them work.] Something is
wanting iu this passage, which the commentators have not
been able to supply. 'Ihe meaning may- be, your skill in go-
vernment is in ability to serve mc, equal to the integrity
of your heart, and let them co-operate in your future mi-
nistry.^ i:) with special soul J Elected him — ] By these

words the poet perhaps means that he was the immediate
choice of his heart. = 5:) — thy belongings — ] i. e. endow-
ments. = b:) Are not thine own so proper,] i. e. are not so
much thy own property. Stbbvbns.= 7:) — to fine issues:]

To great consequences. = 8) I do bend my speech '\ To

one that can my part in him adve'rtise ;] This is obscure.
I believe the meaning is — 1 am talking to one who is him-
self already sufficiently conversant with the nature and du-
ties of my office. Malone. = <r:) i. e. "I delegate to thy tongue
the power of pronouncing sentence of death, and to thy
heart the privilege of exercising mercy." = 10:) — first in
question,] that is, first called for; first appoiuted.= 11:) —
there went but a pair of sheers between us.] We are both
of the same piece. = 12:) CiiJte rats that ravin—] To ravin
was formerly used for eagerly or voraciously devouring any

thing. :^ 13:) this we came not to, i| On/y'/orpropatatioa

of a dower l\ Remaining in the coffer of her friends;] 1 sup-

Sose the speaker means ^ for the sake of getting such a
ower as her friends might hereafter bestow on her, whea
time had reconciled them to her clandestine marriage. Stbb-
VESS. = 14:)-^ the fault and glimpse of newness ;] The fault
aud glimpse is the same as the faulty glimpse. And the
meaning seems to be — tyhethtr it be the fault of newness,
a fault arising from the mind being dazzled by a novel
authority, of which the new governor has yet had only a
glimpse,— has yet taken only a hasty survey; or whether,
kc. Shakspeare has many similar expressions. Malone. :=
15:) — so tickle—] i.e. ticklish. = 16:) — her approbation;]
i. e. enter on her probation. = 17:) — prone and spceehlest
dialect,] Prone, perhaps, may stand for humble; as a prone
posture is a posture of supplication. ^^IH:) Believe not that
the dribbling dart] A dribber, in archery, was a term of
contempt. = 19:) — the life remov'd;] i. e. a life of retirement.
= 20:) — witless bravery — ] ^raveri/, or «Aoii>v dre«<. = 2 1:)

— Ireep*.] i. e. dwells, resides. = 22:) Sith — ] i. e. since. =
= 23:) Stands at a guard — ] Stands on his defence. = 2 i:)

— make me not your story.] Perhaps, I/o not divert your-
self with me, as you would with a story; but Mr. Malone
thinks we ought to read — "Sir, mocit me not: — your story.

liiic. 'Tis true, &;c." = 25:) 'tis my familiar sin if ff^'ith

maids to seem the lapwing,] The modern editors have n«t
taken iu the whole similitude here: they have taken notice
of the lightness of a spark's behaviour to his mistress, and
compared it to the lapwing's hovering aud fluttering as it
flies. But the chief, of which no notice is taken, is, — " —
and to jest." [See Ray's Proverbs.] "The lapwing cries,
tongue far from heart;" i. e. most farthest from the nest.=:
2t':) To teeming foison;] Foison is plenty. ^=2';:) — tilth — ]
Tilth is f iV/oge. = 2 8:) Bore many gentlemen, — i| /» hand,
and hope of action:] To bear in hand is a common phfase
for to keep in expectation and dependance ; but we should
read: — with hope of action. Johsson. = 29:) — to give fear
to use — ] To intimidate use, that is, practices long coua-
tenanced by custom. = 30:) Has censured him — ] i. e. sen-
tenced him. = 31:) — would owe—] To oire, in this place, is
to have.=

ACT n. =1:) Provost,] The Provost here is not a mi-
litary officer, but a \.iad of sheriff or gaoler. = 2:) That thie-
ves do UAsa on thieves if] Pass or decide. =3:)' Tis very preg-
nant,] Tis plain that we must act with bad as with good;
we punish the faults as we take the advantages that lie in
our way, and what we do not see we cannot note. =4:) —
brakes of vic€.^ — ] The commentators have not decided the
meaning of this word. By iroJte* of vice may be meant a
collection, a thicket of vice*. Brake was also the name of
an engine of torture. = 5:) — whom I detest — ] He designed
to say protest. = 6:) "All-hallow nd eve." Malone. = 7:) i'M
be supposed — ] He means deposed. r= 8:) — Justice, or Ini-

?'uityf] i. e. The Constable or the Fool. Escalus calls the
atter. Iniquity, in allusiou to the old f'ice, a familiar cha-
racter in the ancient moralities and dumb-shows. = 9:) —
Hannibal!] Mistaken by the Constable for Co«ni6ai. = i 0:)
"An't." Malone. = 11:) — take order—] i.e. tote measures.
=r 1 2:) — I'll rent the fairest house in it, after threepence
a bay :] A bay of buililing is, in many parts of England, a
common term, which perhaps means, the space between the
main beams of the roof; so that a barn crossed twice with

beams is a barn of three bays. = 13:) let it be his fault,

II And not my brother.] i. e. let his fault be condemned, or
extirpated, but let not my brother himself suffer. = 1*:) —
touch d with that remorse—] /iemor»e, for pity. = \i:)And
mercy then will breathe within your lips, ,\ Like man new
made.] As amiable as a man come fresh out of the banos
of his Creator; or, as tender-hearted and merciful as the
first man was in his days of innocence, immediately after

his creation. =16:) like a prophet, '| Looks in a glass,]

This alludes to the fopperies of the beril, a kind of crystal

960

NOTES.

[Pl;5.] Tii.S.

which hath a weak tincture of red in it. Among other tricks
of aslrologers, the discov'ery of past or future events was
supposed, to be the consequence of looking into it. = 17:)
But, where they live, to end.} i. e. they should end wherk
tiiey began, i. e. with the criminal. = l8:) — pelting,'] i. e.
paltry. = 19:) — gnarled oak,} Gnarreia the old English word
for a knot in wood. =20:) — "Hut man, proud man!"=21:)

who, with our spleens, \\ fVould all themselves laugh

mortal.} By spleens, Shakspeare means that peculiar turn
of the human mind, that always inclines it to a spiteful, un-
seasonable mirth. Had the angels that, says Shakspeare,
they would laugh themselves out of their immortality, by
indulging a passion which does not deserve that prerogative.
=22.") — fondsAeie/s — J Fond means very frequently in our
author, /oo/isA. It signifies in this place valued or prized by
folly. ^^ 23:) — tested gold,} i. e. brought to the test, or cu-
pelled. == 2 4:) — preserved souls,} i. e. preserved from the
corruption of the world. = 26:) — 1\\ Am that way going to
temptation, || Where prayers cross.] This appointment of his
for the morrow's meeting, being a premeditated exposure of
himself to temptation, which it was the general object of
prayer to thwart. ^26:) — But lest you do repent,} i. e. "Take
care lest you repent [not so much of your fault, as it is an
evil] as that the sin hath brought you to this shame. — 27:)
Showing, we'd not spa.Te heaven,} i.e. spare to ojf end heaven.
= 28:) There rest.} Keep yourself in this temi>er.= 29:) —
V, injurious love,} probably should be/aw). =30:) Whilst my
invention,] i. e. imagination. =31:) — u»t'tA boot,] £oot is pro-
lit, advantage, gain. = 320 Which the air beats for vain.]
ori;antft/. = 33:) — case,] For outside garb. = 34:) LeVs write
good angel on the devWs horn, |[ ' Tis not the devil's crest.}
This whole passage, as it stands, appears to me to mean :
"O place! O form! though you wrench awe from fools, and
tie even wiser souls to your false seeming, yet you make
no alteration in the minds or constitutions of those who pos-
sess, or assume you. Though we should write good angel
on the devil's horn, it will not change his nature, so as to
give him a right to wear that crest." M. Mason. =36:) The
general, — ] i.e. generality ::^ 56:) — that hath from nature
stolen, &c.] i.e. that hath killed a man. = 37:) i Aad rather
give my body than my soul.} She means I think, 1 had ra-
ther die, than forfeit my eternal happiness by the prosti-
tution of my person. Malone, = 38:) Pleased you to do't,
at peril, kc.} The reasoning is thus: Angelo asks, whether
there might not be a charity in sin to save this brother'^
Isabella answers, that if Angelo will save him, she will
stake her soul that it were charity, not sin. Angelo replies,
that if Isabella would save him at the hazard of her soul,
it would be not indeed no sin, but a sin to tvhich the char-
ity would be equivalent. Johnson. = 39:) Froclaim an en-
shield beauty — J i.e. shielded beauty. =M:) Accountant to
the law upon that pain.] I'ain or penalty. ^=il:) (As I sub-
scribe not that,)} To subscribe means, to agree to. Milton uses
the word in the same sense. = 42:) ^u£ in the loss of ques-
tion,)] i. e. conversation. =i3:) "to let him suffer." Malone.
= 44:)Ignomy in ransom,} So ignominy was formerly Mrit-
ten. = 45:) If not a feodary, but only he, Ace] The meaning
should seem to be this: — We are all frail, says Angelo.
Yes, replies Isabella 5 if he has not one associate in his crime,
if no other person own and follow the same criminal cour-
ses which you are now pursuing, let my brother suffer
death. lVlAi.oi>iE. = 4 6:) In profiting by them.} In taking ad-
vantage of them. = 47:) — false prints.} i. e. take any im-
pression, = 48:) — AotA a licence in't,} an appearance of li-
centiousness. =49:) — seeming! seeming!} Hypocrisy, hypo-
crisy. = 50:) — prompture — J Suggestion, temptation, insti-
gation. =

ACT III. =: 1:) That none but fools would keep:} i.e.

care for. =2:) Thy best of rest is sleep, \\ And that thou

oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st\\ Thy death, which is no
more.} I cannot Mithout indignation find Shakspeare saying
that death is only sleep, lengthening out his exhortation by
a sentence M'hich in the Friar is impious, in the reasoner is
foolish, and in the poet trite and vulgar. Johnson. This was
an oversight in Shakspeare; for in the second scene of the
fourth Act, the Provost speaks of the desperate Barnardine,
as one who regards death only as a drunken sleep. Stee-
VENs. 1 apprehend Shakspeare means to say no more, than
that the passage^ from this life to another is as easy as sleep ;
a position in which there is surely neither folly nor impiety.
Mai.one.^3:) — strange effects,] read affects or affections.
= i:) — serpieo,}'i'he serpigo is a kind of telter. = 5:) — pal-
sied eld;] Eld is here put for old people. Shakspeare de-
clares that man has neither youth nor age; for in youth,
which is the happiest time, or which might be the happiest,
he commonly wants means to obtain what he could enjoy;
he is dependent on palsied eld; must beg alms from the cof-
fers of hoary avarice ; and being very niggardly supplied,
becomes as aged, looks, like an old man, on happiness which
is beyond his reach. And, when he is old and rich, when he
has wealth enough for the purchase of all that formerly ex-
cited his desires, he has no longer the powers of enjoyment.
. — has neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, || To make
his riches pleasant. = 6:) "Uring me to hear them speak."
MAhOT^R. = 7:) —most good in deed:] i.e. truly. = 8:) — —
an everlasting lieger: \\ Therefore your best appointment — ]
Zite^eris the same with resident. Artp ointment ; preparation;
act of fitting, or state of being luted for any thing. = 9:)
• areatralnt, jj Toadetermin'd scope.} Aconliuement

of your mind to one painful idea; to ignominy, of which the
remembrance can neither be suppressed nor escaped. John-
son.=10:) — follies dolheuumvi,} Forces follies to lie in co-
ver, witliout daring to show themselves. = 1 1:) As falcon
doth the fowl — ] as the fowl is afraid to flutter while the
falcon hovers over it. = 12:) His filth within being cast,]
'I'o cast a pond is to empty it of mud. = 13:) — princely
guards!] i. e. badges of royalty, or outward appearances.
Some would read priestly guarus, or sanctity. = 14:) — from
tAt« rank offence,} from the time of my committing this of-
fence, you might persist in sinning with safety. = 16:) Be
perdurabl^ ^n'd .<?] Per durably is lastingly. = 16:) — delighted
spirit — ] i.e. the spirit accustomed here to ease and delights.
= 17:) — viewless winds,} i.e. unseen, invisible. = 18:) — a
warped slip of wilderness] i.e. wildnes8.^= 1^:) — Take my
defiance:] Defiance is refusal. ^=20:) — but a trade:} A cus-
tom; an established habit. =21:) — Vo not satisfy your re-
solution with hopes that are fallible:} i. e. Do not rest with
satisfaction on hopes that are fallible. = 22:) In good time.}
i.e. a la bonne Aeure, so be it, very well. = 23:) — and limit
of the solemnity,} i. e. appointed time. = 24:) — her com-
binate husband,} Combinate is betrothed. = 25:) — bestowed
her on her own lamentation,} i. c. left her to her sorrows,
or gave her up to them. =26:) — only refer yourself to this
advantage,} i. e. reserve to yourself. =27:) — the corrupt
deputy scaled.] i. e. over-reached. = 28:) — the moated
grange,] A grange, in its original signilication, meant a farm-
house of a monastery, from which it was always at some
little distance. = 29:) — bastard.} Dastard was raisin wine.
= 30:) That we were all, as some would seem to be, \\ Free
from our faults, as faults from seeming free!} i. e. as faults
are destitute of all comeliness or seeming. Theiirstof these
lines refers to the deputy's sanctilied hypocrisy ; the second
to the Clown's beastly occupation. Hut the latter part is thus
ill expressed for the sake of rhyme. WAnBUiiTON. Mr. Ma-
lone omits i^ree at the beginning of the \hie. = 31:) His neck
will come to your waist, a cord, sir.} His neck will be tied,
like your waist, with a rope. The friars of the Franciscan
order, perhaps of all others, wear a hempen cord for a girdle.
=32:) — It is not the wear.] i. e. it is not the fashion. = 33:)
— much detected for women;} charged or guilty. = 34:) —
clack-dish:} The beggars, two or three centuries ago, used
to proclaim their w.ait by a wooden dish, with a moveable
cover, which they clacked, to siiow that their vessel was
empty. = 35:) — an inward of his:} Inward is intimate. =
36:) — Tlie greater lile— ] The greater numb('r. = 3 7:) — fAe
business he hath helmed,] The difficulties he hath steered
through. A metaphor from navigation. = 38:) — opposite.} i. e.
opponent, adversary. = 39:) — TAere is scarce truth enough
alive, to make societies secure: but security enough, to
ma,ke fellowships accursed:} The sense is, "■I'here scarcely
exists suflicieut honesty in the world to make social life se-
cure ; but there are occasions enough where a man may be
drawn in to become swreti/, which will make him pay dearly
for his friendships." = 40:)— resolved—} i. e. satisfied. =
41:) — Ae is indeed — justice.] Summum jus, summa injuria.
= 42:) Pattern in himself to know,} "Pattern in himself to
know," is to feel in his own breast that virtue which he
makes others practise. = 43:) How may likeness, made in
crimes, \\ Making practice on the times, \\ Draw with idle
spiders\strings \\ Most ponderous and substantial things!}
Likeness is here used tor specious or seeming virtue. So,
before: "O, seeming! seeming!" The sense then of the pas-
sage is, — How manjr persons, assuming the likeness or sem-
blance of virtue, ivhile they are in fact guilty of the gross-
est crimes, impose with this counterfeit sanctity upon the
world, in order to draw to themselves by the flimsiest pre-
tensions the most solid advantages ; i. e. pleasure, honour,
reputation, Aic. Malone. The same critic reads '■'■Mocking
practice," and "To draw." =

ACT IV. = 1:) — constantly — ] Certainly ; without fluc-
tuation of mind. = 2:) — o planched gate,] i. c. a gate made
of boards. = 3:) In action all of precept,} i. e, in direction
given not by words, but by mute s/gns. = 4:)^ — 1 have pos-
sess'd Aim,] i have inforrnd him.= 5:) — contrarious quests — ]
Different reports, running counter to each other. = b:) —
'scabies of wit — ] i. e.sallies, irregularities. ^ 7:) I>otA flour-
ish tAc deceit.] i. e. ornament. := 8:) — a good favour — ]
Favour is countenance. = 9:) ■ — yare:} i. e. handy, nimble.
z= 10:) — starkly— } Stiffly. These two lines afford a very
pleasing image. Johnson. = 11:) To qualify—] as we say
wine is qualified with water. = 12:) • — meal'd — ] Were he
sprinkled; or perhaps mingled. = 13:) — the unsisting pos-
tern— ] i.e. never at rest, always opening. = 1 4:) — siege of
justice,} i.e. seat of justice. Sie^e, French. = 1 6:) — putting
on:} i. e. spur, iiicitement. = lb:) — one that is a prisoner
nine years old.} i.e. that has been confined these nine years.
= 17:) — in the boldness of my cunning,] i.e. in confidence
of my sagacity. := IS:) — the favour.} i.e. the countenance.
= 19:) —for the Lord's sake.} i. e. to beg for the rest of
their live8. = 20:)— journal— ] i.e. daily. ^= 21:) The under
generation,} i. e. the antipodes. = 2 2:)— weal-6aianced/or/n]
probably well-balanced. ^=23:) — your ftosom-] your wish;
your heart's desire. Johnson. :=: 24:) Jam combined — ] i.e.
bound by agreement. ^26:) — Wend you—} To wend is to
go.— An obsolete word. = 26:) — duke of dark corners-]
this duke who meets his mistresses in by-places. = 2 7:) —
Ae lives not in them.} i. e. his character depends not on them.
=28:)— iDoodman—] A woodmon was an attendant or serv-

V.

T//. S. [Pl:6.]

NOTES

961

ant to the officer called Forester, but is here used in a
wanton sense. = 2P:) — «ort and snit,^ Figure and rank, or,
perhaps, his vassals bound to hold suit and service to their
over-lord. =30:) — Vet reason dares her'f — no:] jet does
not reason challenge or incite her to accuse me? — no, (an-
swers the speaker) for my authority, kc. To dare in this
sense, is yet a school-phrase. Maloke. = 31:) my au-
thority bears a credent bulk, |) That no particular scandal,
^c] Credent is creditable, inforcing credit, not questionable.
Mr. JVIalone reads "bears off." = 32:) — you do blench — ]
To blench is to start off. = S3:) The generous, A:c.] i.e. the
most noble, kc. = 3 4:) Have heut the gates,} Have seized
or taken possession of. =

ACT V. =1:) — Vail your regard — ] i.e. condescend to
look, from higher things, upon, &c. = 2:) — a« shy, as grave,
as just, as absolute,^ As shy; as reserved as abstracted: as
just; as nice, as exact: as absolute; as complete in all the

rotiud of duty. Johnson. = 3:) do not banish reason \\

For inequality ;] Do not suppose I am mad, because V speak
passionately and unequally. Malonb. = 4:) And hide the false,
seems true:] i. e. wuich seems true. = 5:) How he refell'd
me,] To rejell is to refute. = b:) iViy ststeWy remorse— ] i. e.
■pity. = 7:) — fond wretch,'] Fond wretch is foolish wretch.
= &.) In hateful practice:] Practice was used by the old
writers for any unlaM'ful or insidious stratap^om. = t':) In
countenance!] i.e. false appearance, hypocrisy. t=:\Q:) — his
mere request,] i.e. his absolute request. ^=1 U) IFhensoever
he's conveuted.] i.e. cited, summoned. ^19:) Ho vulgarly—]
i. ti. publicly. ^=13:) In this Til be impartial;] Impartial was
sometimes used in the sense of |>arf ia/. == 1 4:) her pro-
mised proportions || Come «Aorto/ composition ;] Her fortune,
which was promised proportionate to mine, fell short of the
composition, that is, contract or bargain. Johnson. = 16:)
These poor informal women — ] i. e. out of their senses. =
16:) — to retort your manifest appeal,] To refer back to
Augelo the cause in which yoii appealed from Angelo to the
Duke. = 17:) Nor here provincial:] !\or here accountable,
as out of his province. =; 18:) Stand like the forfeits in a
barber's shop,] These forfeits, which were customary for-
nitrly, were as much in mock as marA-, both because the bar-
ber bad no authority of himself to enforce them, and also
as they were of a ludicrous nature. 1 perfectly remember
to have seen them in Devonshire, (printed like King Char-
les's Rules,) though I cannot recollect the contents. ilENiiEV.
r=19:) — those giglots too,] A giglot is a wanton wench. =
20:) — can do thee ofticeYJ i. e. do thee service. Steevens.
z= 21:) — my passes;] i.e. what has past in my administra-
tion. =22:) ^aveVtwing-, anrf Ao/j/ — ] Attentive and faithful.
= 23:) — be you as free to us.] lie as generous to us. = 24:)
Make rash remonstrance — ] i. e. a. premature discovery. ^^
2 6:) — denies thee vantage:] The denial of which will avail
thee nothing. = 26:) — after more advice:] after more con-
sideration. =27:) — according to the trick:] To the trick of
the times. = 28:) — that is more gratulate.] Some other
reward in store for him more acceptable than thanks. =:

VI. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

ACT I. =1:) — is signior Montanto returned — ] Mon-
tanto was one of the ancient terms of the fencing-school.
■=2:) He set up his bills, kc] published a general challenge
like a prize-lighter. !5TEEVens.= 3:) — challenged Cupid at
the flight:] Flight means a sort of shooting called roving,
or shooting at long lengths. The arrows used at this sport
are called ^i^At-arrows. = 4:) — at the bird-bolt.] The bird-
bolt is a short thick arrow without a point, and spreading
at the extremity so much, as to leave a flat surface, about
the breadth of a shilling. = 5:) — he' il be mtiet with you,] i.e.
he'll be your match. = 6:) — young squarer — ] A squarer 1
take to be a choleric, quarrelsome fellow, for in this sense
Shakspeare uses the word to square. So, in A Midsummer-
Night s Dream, it is said of Obcron and Titania, that they
never meet but they square. So the sense may be. Is there
no hot-blooded youth that will keep him cotnpany through
all his mad pranks'f 3ou'\soy. ■=1:) ~ fathers herself :] This
phrase is common in Dorsetshire: "Jack fathers himself;"
I.e. is like his father. = 8:) — the flouting Jack;] Jack, in
our author's time, was a term of contempt. = 9:) — wear his
cap with suspicion'^] that is, subject his head to the disquiet
of jealousy. ^10:) (;iaud. If this were to, solvere it uttered.]
i. e. If I had really conflded such a secret to him, he w ould
have blabbed it in this manner. = 1 1:) These were the words
used in a tragic nursery tale, common in Shakspeare's days
and siuce. = 12:) — but that I will have a recheat winded
in my forehead,] that is, / will wear a horn on my fore-
head which the huntsman may blow. A recAeafc is the sound
by which dogs are called back. Shakspeare had no mercy
upon the poor cuckold, his horn is an inexhaustible subject
of merriment. Johnson. = 13:) — the ^ne- ] i. e. the con-
clusion. =14:)— in a bottle like a cat,] In some counties in
England, a cat was formerly closed up with a quantity of
soot in a wooden bottle, (such as that in which shqiherds
carry their liquor,) and was suspended on a line. He who
beat out the bottom as he ran under it, and was nimble
enough to escape its contents, was regarded as the hero of
this inhuman diversion. Steevbns. =:1 5:) — and he that hits

me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam.]
Perhaps Adam Bell, a famous archer. = 16:) In time the
savage bull doth bear the yoke ] A line from The Spanish
Tragedy, or Hieronymo, Ate. = 17:) — guarded with frag-
ments,] Guards were ornamental laces or borders. = 18:) —
ere you flout old ends, &c.] Before you endeavour to dis-
tinguish yourself any more by antiquated allusions. ^=:li:)

— 'tis once, tAou lov'st;] Once may mean ^^once for all," —
"'tis enough to say at once." Steevens. = 2 0:)^ — o thick-
pleached alley—] i.e. thickly interwoven. = 21:) "Cousin."
!vlAi,0NE. = 2i::) "good year.''^ Mai,one.=23:) — claw no man
in his humour.] To claw is to flatter. = 24:) — smoking a
musty room,] I'he neglect of cleanliness among our ances-
tors, rendered such precautious too often necessary.^ 25:)

— in sad conference:] Sad in this, signifies serious. =

ACT II. :=!:) — 171 f Ac woollen.] I suppose she means —
between blankets, irithout sheets. Steevens. = 2:) — be too
important,] i.e. importunate. = 3:) — your friend VJ Friend,
in our author's time, Mas the common term for a /over, and
applicable to both sexes. = 4:) — A/« dryAanrf— ] At^riyband
was anciently regarded as the sign ot a cold constitution.
^= 6:) — Hundred fnerry Tales ;] I'erhaps Boccace's Deca
meron. = 6:) — his bearing.] i.e. his carriage, his demeanor.
= 7:) — usurer's chain'?] Chains of gold, of considerable
value, were, in our author's time, usually worn by vrealthy
citizens, and others; and it appears that the mercnants were
the chief usurers of the age. = 8:) — sucA impossible cunret/-
ance,] Impossible seems to be used in the sense of incre-
dible, or inconceivable. = Q:) — tAt' infernal Ate — ] The Go"d-
dess of Revenge, or Discord. = 1 0:") — / gave him use for
it,] Use, or interest. = 11:) — a noble strain,] i. e. descent,
lineage. ^12:) — queasy stomach,] i. e. squeamish. = 13:) — •
intend a kind of zeal — ] i. e. pretend. = 14:) "Claudio."
Mai.one.= 15:) yVe'll fit the kid- fox irttA a penny-worth.}
i.e. we will be even with the fox now discovered. ^^ 16:) —
Stalk on, stalk on: the fowl sits.] An allusion to the stalk-
ing-horse; a. horse either real or factitious, by which the
fowler anciently sheltered himself from the sight of the
game. = 17:) — but that she loves him with an enraged af-
fection, — it is past the infinite of thought.] The meaning,
I think, is, — but with what an enraged affection she loves
him, it is beyond the power of thought to conceive. Malone.
^= 18:) — Jiave dalFd — ] To daff is the same as to doff, to
do off, to put aside. ::= 19:) — contemptible spirit.] i. e. con-
temptuous. = 20:) — a very proper man.] i. e. a very hand-
some man. ^21:) "unworthy to have so good, &.c." IVI alone.
= 22:) — was sadly borne.] i.e. was seriously carried ou.=
23:) "You take pleasure then in the message." Malone. =

ACT III. =^1:) Proposing ȣtA tAe prince and Claudio:]
Proposing is conversing, from the French Mord — propos,
discourse, talk. = 2:) Misprising — ] Despising, contemning,
or undervaluing. = '6:) — so swift and excellent a wit,] Swift
mi'ansrearfj/. = 4:) — argument,] or conversation. = d:) She's
lim'd — ] Entangled with birdlime. = (5:) Taming m^ vrild
heart to thy loving hand;] This image is taken from fal-
conry. She had been charged with being as wild as Aag-jS^arrfs
of the rock; she therefore says, that jvild as her heart is,
she will tame it to the hand. Johnson. = 7:) — all slops;]
Slops are large loose breeches or troivsers, worn only by
sailors at present. = 8:) — Dogberry and Verges,] The first
of these worthies had his name from the i>o»-6err»/, i.e. the
female cornel, a shrub that grows in the hedges in every
county of England, f erges is only the provincial pronunci-
ation of f erjuice.=9:) — bills benot stolen:] A bill is still
carried by the watchmen at Lichfield. It was the old wea-
pon of English infantry, which, says Temple, g-ai'C tAe most
ghastly and deplorable wounds. It may be called securis
falcata. Johnson. = 10:) — "it bleats." Malone. ^= 11:) —
tAoK art uuconlirmed :] i. e. unpractised in the Mays of the
world. = 12:) — reechy painting;] Is painting discoloured by
smoke. = 13:) — sometime, like the shaven Hercules in the
smirched, AdC] Hercules when shaved to make him look like
a woman, while he remained in the service of Umphale, hia
Lydian mistress. Smirched is soiled, obscured. = 14:) — ra-
bato — ] An ornament for the neck, a collar-band or kind of
ruff. = 15:) — side-«/ee«es,] iSirfe-sleevcs mean long ones.=
lb:) — Light o' love ;] This is the name of an old dance tune,
which occurs also in TAe Two Gentlemen of f'erona.-=^l'7:)
— no bams] A quibble between barns, repositories of corn,
and bairns, the old word for children. ^:= 18:) — turned !/'urt,J
i e. taken captive by love, and turned a renegade to his re-
ligion.=19:) — some moral — ] 'I'hat is, .'ouie secret meaning,
like the moral of a fable. Johnson. = 20:) — palabras,] So,
in TAe Taming of the Shrew, the tinker says, pocas pala-
6ras, i.e. few words. A scrap of Spanish, which might once
have becu current among the vulgar. ^= 2 1:) — it is a world
to see!] i.e. it is wonderful to see. =22:) — to a non com:]
i.e. to a non compos mentis; or, perhaps, to a non-plus. =:

ACT IV. ^=h) — some be of laughing,] This is a quota-
tion from the Accidence. Johnson. =2:) "\ot lo knit." .VIa-
L0NE. = 3:) — word too large;] i.e. licentious. = 4:) — tAot
Ae rfotA speak so wide'?] i.e. so remotely from the present
business. =5:)— kindly power—] That is, kindred power. =
6:) — liberal villain:,] Liberal here, as in many places of
these plays, means jrank beyond honesty, or decency. Free

61

962

NOTE S

[Via 7.] Th. S.

of tongue. = 7:) — conjecture—'] Conjecture is here used for
guspicioii. = 8:) And never shall it more be gracious.] i. e.
lovely, attractive. = 9:) The story that is printed in her
blood'^l 'I'hat is, the story which Iter blushes discover to be
true. = 10:) Chid I for that at fruaal nature's frame'?]
Grieved I at nature's being so frugal as to have framed
for me only one child '?= ll:) Who smirched — ] To smirch
is to daub, to sully. = 12:) — of my book;] i. e. of what 1
have read. = 13:) — bent of honour f\ Bent is used by our
author for the utmost degree of any passion, or mental qual-
ity. In this play before, Benedick says of Beatrice, her
affection has its full bent. = li:) — we rack the value;), i.e.
we exaggerate the value. The allusion is to rack-rents. ==
15:)-^?««/ inwardness — ] i.e. intimacy. = 16:) — bear her in
hand—I i.e. delude her by fair promises. = 17:) — anrZ coun-
ties !] County m as the ancient general term for a nobleman.
= 18:) — a goodly couat-confect ;] i.e. a specious nobleman
made out of sugar. = 19:) — the eftest «('«»/.•] for de/fesf, i.e.
readiest. ^=20:) "Let them be in the hands." Malo>e. =

ACTV. =1:) make misfortune drunk \\ Jf^ith caiMe-

wasters;] Perhaps, those who sit up all night to drink. = 2:)

— than advertisement.] That is, than admonition. = 3:) Des-
pite his nice fence,] i. e. defence or skill in the science of
fencing, or defence. = 4:) Canst thou so datf me?] or doff,
i.e. put me off. ^=5:) — foiniiig fence (] Foining is a term in
fencing, and means thrusting. =6i) Scumbling,^ i.e. scram-
bling.= 7:)"Come, brother, away."— Malone. = 8:)iVia.V, then
give him another staff; &c.] An allusion to tilting. = 9:) —
to turn his girdle.'] A proverbial speech. = 10:) — Shall I
not find a woodcock too /} A woodcock, means one caught
in a springe; alluding to the plot against Benedick. ^= 11:)
What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet
and hose, and leaves off his wit!] Perhaps the meaning is:

— What an inconsistent fool is man, when he covers his body
with clothes, and at the same time divests himself of his
understanding != 12:) But, soft you, let be;] i.e. desist. ^=
12:)— pluck up, my heart, and be sad!] i. e. rouse thyself,
my heart, and be prepared for serious consequences != 14:)
Mr. Malone thinks that Dogberry, Verges, &c. should enter
here, and not before Claudio's speech. = 15:) — incensed me
to slander, kc] That is, incited me. ^^ 16:) — was -pacji'd—]
j. e. combined; an accomplice. = 17:) — lewd—] Lewd,\n this
instance, means ignorant. = 18:) — / give thee the Bucklers.]
To give the bucklers is, perhaps, to yield, or to lay by all
thoughts of defence, so clypeum abjicere. = 19:) — in festival
terms.] i.e. in splendid phraseology. := 2 C:) — undergoes my
challenge ;] i.e. is subject to it. = 21:) — old coil—] Coil is
bustle, stir. = 22:) — in guerdon — ] Guerdon is reward, re-
muneration. = 23:) Those that slew thy virgin knight;] i.e.
virgin Hero.^= 24:) "Why no." Malone. = 25:) "Troth no,
no more than reason." Malone. =

VII. midsummer-night's dream.

ACT I. =1:) — gawds,] i.e. baubles, toys, trifles. = 2:)
To leave the figure, or disligure it.] i. e. rjou owe to your
father a being which he may at pleasure continue or des-
troy. =i:) Know of your youth,] Consider your youth. = 4:)
But earthlier happy—] perhaps, earlier; or, earthly happy.
= 5:) — spotted — ] As spotless is innocent, so spotted is
wicked. = 6:) BeteemtAew— ] (Jive them, pour out upon them.
= 7:) — momentany as a sound,] \.e.mo?nentary.^=:S:) — the
collied night,] Collied, i. e. black, smutted with coal. = 9:)
— fancy's followers.] Fancy is love. =r 10:) — by that fire
which burnd the Carthage queen,] Shakspeare had forgot
tfaatTheseus performed his exploits before the Trojan war,
and consequently long before the death of l)ido.^= 1 1:) i>e-
metrius loves your fair:] Fair is used as a substantive. =
12:) Your eyes are lode-stars;] This was a compliment not
untrequent among the old poets. The lode-star is the lead-
ing or guiding star, that is, the pole-star. = 1 3:) — 0, were
favour so!] Favour is feature, countenance. = 14:) — to be
to you translated.] To translate, says Mr. Steevens, in our
author, sometimes signifies to change, to transform; but
here it obviously means transferred. C. = 15:) Take com-
fort ; he no more shall see my face ; || Lysavder and myself
will fly this place. — || Before the time 1 did Lysander see,]
Perhaps every reader may not discover the propriety of
these lines, llermia is Milling to comfort Helena, and to
avoid all appearance of triumph over her. !She therefore
bids her not to consider the power of pleasing, as an ad-
vantage to be much envied or much desired, since Hermia,
whom she considers as possessing it in the supreme degree,
has found no other effect of it than Uie loss of happiness.
Johnson. = 16:) "Like a paradise." Maloise. = 17:) — • —
wlien thwbe doth behold, iVc. 1| — — deep midnight.] f^hak-
epcare has a little forgotten himself. It appears from p. 126,
that to-morrow night would be within three nights of the
new moon, when there is no moon-shine at all, much less
at deep midnight. The same oversight occursin Actlll.sc.i.
BiiACKSTOisK.^= l8:)— ingame— ] Ciame here signilies sport,
jest. = IS:) — Hermia's eyne,] This plural is common both
in Chaucer and !*penser.=20:) — it is a dear expence:] i. e.
it will cost him much, (be a severe constraint on his feel-
ings,) to make even so slight areturn I'or my communication.
STi;EVK>s. = 21;)ln thia scene 4>ihakspeare takes advantage

of his knowledge of the theatre, to ridicule the prejudices
and competitions of the players. Bottom, who is generally
acknowledged the principal actor, declares his inclination to
be for a tyrant, for a part of fury, tumult, and noise, such
as every young man pants to perform when he tirst steps
upon the stage. The same Bottom, who seems bred in a
tiring room, has another histrionical passion. He is for en-
grossing every part, and would exclude his inferiors from
all possibility of distinction. He is therefore desirous to
play Pyramus, Thisbe, and the Lion, at the same time. John-
son.-=22:) — the scrip.] A scrip, Ft.escrip, now written ecrit.
= 2 3:) — spread yourselves.] i. e. stand separatelj', not in a
group. ^= 2 4:) "And s-hivering shocks." Malone. = 25:) —
slow of stu(ly.] Study, Mr. Steevens says, is still the cant
terra used in a theatre for getting any nonsense by rote;
but Mr. Malone says it is not more a cant term than any
other word of art, nor is it applied necessarily to nonsense.
Malone asserts, that Steevens made the above remark to
vex Garrick, with whom he had quarrelled. = 26:) — an
Htvere — ] ^w means as if. =27:) — properties,] Properties
are whatever little articles are wanted in a play lor the
actors, according to their respective parts, dresses and scenes
excepted. The person who delivers them out is to this
day called the property-man. = 28:) At the duke''s oak we
meet. \\ — Hold, or cut bow-strings] To meet, v>hether bow-
strings hold or are cut, is to meet in all events. To cut the
bow-string, when bows were in use, was probably a common
practice of those who bore enmity to the archer. =

ACT II. =::1:) To dew her orbs upon the green:] These
orbs are circles supposed to be made by the fairies on the
ground, whose verdure proceeds from the fairies' care to
Mater them.-=;2:) The cow s\\\is tall Aer pensioners fte—;-] This
Mas said in consequence of Queen Elizabeth's fashionable
establishment of a band of military courtiers, by the name
of pensioners. They were some of the handsomest and tall-
est young men, of the best families and fortune, that could
be found. = 3:) — lob of spirits,] Lob, lubber, looby, lobcock,
all <lenotc both inactivity of body and dulness of mind, and
Mere used as terms of contempt. = 4:) — sheen,] Shininj:.
bright, gay. Johnson. =5:) i?Mt they do square;] To square
here is to quarrel. = 6:) — in the quern,] Quern is a hand
mill: kuerna, mola.^=li) — no barm'?] Barme is a name for
yeast, in some parts of England, and universally in Ireland
and Scotland. = 8:) — sweet Puck,] The epithet is by no means
superfluous ; as Fuck alone Mas far from being an endearing
appellation. It signiiied nothing better than /ienri. or devil.
It seems that in the fairy mythology. Puck, or liobgoblin,
was the trusty servant ot Oberon, and always employed to
Match or detect the intrigues of Queen Mab, called by Shak-
speare, Titania. = P:) — a roasted crab;] i. e. a wild apple
of that name. = 10:) ..(inrf tailor crjVs,] The custom of crying
tailor at a sudden fall backwards, I think I remember to
have observed. He that slips besides his chair, falls as a
tailor squats upon his board. Johnson. = 11:) — hold their
hips, and lolfe;] i. e. laugh. = 12:) And waxen—] And en-
crease,aa the moon waxes. = 1S:) — the glimmering wfg-ftt—]
the night faintly illuminated by stars. = 14:) And never,
since the middle summer's spring, <!tc.] The middle summer" s
spring, is, I apprehend, the season M'heu trees put forth
their second, or, as they are frequently called, their mid-
summer shoots. Henley. = 15:)— pelting—] This word is
always used asaMord of contempt. = 16:) — overborne their
continents:] Borne down the banks that contain them. = 17:)
— murrain ^ocA:;] 'l"he murrain is the plague in cattle. =
18:) The nine men's morris is fllVd up with viud;] Nine
men's morris is a game still played by the shepherds-, cow-
keepers, &c. in the midland counties, as follows : — A iigure
is made on the ground by cutting out the turf; and two per-
sons take each nine stones, which they place by turns in
the angles, and afterwards move alternately, as at chess or
draughts. He who caii place three in a straight line, may
then take otf any one ot his adversary's where he pleases,
till one, having lost all his men, loses the game. = IP:) —
the quaint mazes in the wanton green,] 'I his alludes to a
sport still followed by boys: i. e. what is now called run-
ning the figure of eight. Steevens. =20:) The humanmor-
tals-] Shakspeare might have employed tnisX'pithet, which,
at first sight, appears redundant, to mark the difference be-
tween men and fairies. Fairies were not human, but they
were yet subject to mortality. = 2 1:) That rheumiitic^ dis-
eases do abound:] Uheumaiic diseases signiiied in Shak-
speare's time, not what mo now call rheumatism, hut distil-
lations from the head, catarrhs, iVc. = 22:) — this distem-
perature,] is either this perturbation of the elements, or the
perturbed state in which the king and queen had lived for
some time past. = 23:) The childing autumn,] is the preg-
nant autumn, which unseasonably produces flowers on those
of summer. = 24:) By their increase,] that i.s, by their pro-
duce.^2 H:) — henchman.] Page of honour. 'Phis office was
abolished at court by Queen Elizabeth, but jirobably remained
in the city. Henchmen were a certain number of youths, the
sons of gentlemen, who stood or walked near the person of
the monarch on all public occasions. = 26:) "Not for thy
fairy kingdom." Malone. = 27:) At a fair vestal, throned
by the west:] A compliment to Queen Elizabeth. = 28:) —
fancy-free:] i. e. exempt from the power of love. =:2P:) —
and viood within this wood,] Wood, or mad, wild. ^= 30:) —
"do use" — Malone. ^=31:) — impeach your modesty-] i.e.
bringing it into question. = 32:)— /or that.] i. dot leaving

Tir.S. [Pi.: 7]

NOTES

963

the city, &c. Tyrw'ihtt. =33:) "and held," — Mai.one. =
34:) To die upon the hand, Acc] To die upon, &c. in our
author's language, perhaps means — "to die by the hand."
= 35:) "where the, kc." Mai,o^E.=^36:) IVhere ox-lips—]
The ox-lip is the gredUr coii'slip.^S'7:} Quite over-canopied
with lush woodbine,li All the old editions read — luscioun
M'oodliinc; which Mr. Malone prefers, but both lush and
luscious (says Mr. Henley) are words of the same origin. =
38:) — a roundel,] Hounds, or roundels, were like the pre-
sent country dances. =3t:)—«'jf/t rear mice— ] Xrere mouse
is a bat, a mouse that rears itself from the ground by the
aid of wings. = 40:) — uu'f A double tongue,] our author nuans

forked. -=iU) Newts, and blind-worms,] The newt is the

eft, the blind-worm is the Ccecilia or slow-worm. = lk2:) Be
it ounce,] The ounce is a small tiger, or tiger cat. ^=4 3:) 0,
take the sense, sweet, of my innocence;] I'nderstand the
meaning of my innocence, or my innocent meaning. = ii:)
Now much beshrew, &c.] This word, of which the etymology
is not exactly known, implies a sinister wish, and means the
same as if she had said "now ill befall my manners," kc.
= 45:) "this kill-courtesy." Malonk. =46:) j4ll the jtowcr
this charm doth owe:] i. e. all the power it possesses. =il:)
—■wilt thou darkling—] i. e. in the dark. =48:) —/nj ^race.]
My acceptablcness, the favour that I can gain.^=4!^:) "i\a-
ture shows her art. Malo>"e.=50:) "now 1 love." Malokb.
= 51:) — ti7/ now ripe not to reason;'] i. c. do not ripen^ to
it. i{//>e,iu the present instance, is a verb. =52:) — touching
now the point of human skill,] i. c. my si-nses being now at
the utmost height of perfection.^ d'i:) Reason becomes the
marshal to my will.] that is, my will now follows reason.
= 54:) Speak, of all loves;] Of all loves is an adjuration
more than once used by our author. =

ACT III. =1:) In the time of Shakspeare there were many
companies of players, sometimes live at the same time, con-
tending for the favour of the public. Of these some were
undoubtedly very unskilful and very poor, and it is probable
that the design of this scene was to ridicule th<!ir ignorance,
and the odd expedients to which they might be driven by
the want of proper ilecorations. Hottora wa-* perhaps the
head of a rival house, and is therefore honourid with an
ass's head. JoHTisoN. ^=2:) By'rlakin, a parlous /ear] Hy our
ladykin, or little lady. Failons is a word corrupted from
perilous, i. c. dangerous. = 3:) — in eight and six.] i. e. in
alltrnate verses o'f eight and six syllables. = 4:) No, 1 am
no such thing; kc] Shakspeare probably meant to allude to
a fact which happened in his time, at an entertainment ex-
hibited before t^uecn Bli/abeth. It is recorded in a manu-
script collection of anecdotes, stories, kc. entitled. Merry
passages and leasts, MS Hail. 6395: "Ihere vtas a spec-
tacle presented to Queen Elizabeth upon the water, and among
others Harry Goldingham was to represent ^r/on upon the
dolphin's backe; but finding his voice to be veryc hoarse
and unpleasant, when he came to perform it, he tears otf
his disguise, and swears he was none of ^rion, not he, but
even honest Harry Goldingham; which blunt discoverie
pleased the queene better than if it had gone through in the
right way: — yet he could order his voice to an instrument
exceeding well." =5:) — that brake;] Brake signilies here a
thicket, or furze-bush. ^=6:) "!»'o hath," — .Malone. ^ 7:) —
Juvenal,] i. e. young man. =8:) — cues and all.] A rue, in
stage cant, is the last words of the preceding speech, and
serves as a hint to him who is to speak next. = 9:) TAe ousel-
cock,] 'The ouzel-cock is gcntrallj;- understood (o be the cock
black-bird; but the ouzel differs irouuhe black-bird by hav-
ing a white crescent upon the breast, and is, besides, rather
larger. == 10:) — plain-song cuckoo, kc] That is, the cuckoo,
who, having no variety of strains, sings in plain song, or
in piano cantu; by which expression the uniform modulation
or simplicity of the chant was anciently distinguished, in
opposition to prick song, or variegated music sung by note.
= 11:) — gleek—] Joke or scotf, deceive, or beguile. = 12:)

— OTt«tre»«S(|uasli,] X squash is an immature peascod= 13:)
"Tie up my lover's tongue." Mai.one. = 14:) What night-
rule — ] Night-rule in this place should seem to mean, what
frolic of the night, what revelry is going forward? = 15:)

— patches,] Patch was in old language used as a term of
opprobry ; perhaps with much the same import as we use
raggamuffin, or tatterdemalion. = 16:) Jn ass's nowl — ] a
head. = 17:) — choughs,] The chough is a bird of the daw
kind. = 1 8:) — sort,] company. = 1 1:) — latch' d—] Or letch'd,
lick'd over, lecher, to lick, Fr. In the \orth, it signifies to
infect. = 20:) Durst thou have looked upon him, being awake,

\\yind hast thou kiWd him sleeping'/] Hast thou kill'd him
sleeping, whom, when awake, thou didst not dare to look
upon"*=21:)— 0 brave touch!] Touch inShakspeare's time
was the same with our exploit,orra.t\\eT stroke: but a toucA
anciently signified a trick. ^= 22:) — on a mispris'd luood:]
is put for "m a misprisUl mood;" i.e. "in a mistaken man
ner." =23:)— pa/e o/ cheer— ] CAeer, from the Italian cara,
is frequently used by the old English writers for counten-
ance. := 24:) Bearing the ba<lge of faith, to prove them true '(]
In allusion to the badges (i. e. family crests) anciently worn
on the sleeves of servants and retainers. = 25:)— Taurus''
snow,] Taurus is the name of a range of mountains in Asia.
= 26:) — join, in souls,] i.e. join heartily. = 27:)— o// yon
fiery oes — ] Shakspeare uses O fora circle. = 28:) "O, now,
is all forgot*" Mai.one.^ 2 P:) — artilicial gods,] Artificial
is ingenious, artful. = 30:) Have with our neelds, i^c] or
needles. = 3 1:) Two of the first, like coaf« in heraldry, ||

Due but to one, and croivned with one crest.] Helena meaua
to say, that she and her friend were as closely united, as
much one pers-on, as if thej; were both of the first house;
as if they both had the privilege due hut to one person,
(viz. to him of thL' first house,) tfie right of bearing the fa-
mily coat without any distinguishing mark. Mai.one. = 32:)

— such an argument.] Such a subject of light merriment.
= 33:) No, no, sir: — he will, kc] The only difficulty in
this passage arises from the words — Ac will, «tr, wfiich arc
omitted in tlic second folio. In that edition it runs thus :
"l\o, no, sir, seeme to brcake loose; || "Take on as you would
follow, ;| "But yet come not: you are a tame man, go."
'I'his appears to me the true reading. M. Mason. Mr. Ma-
lone reads, — "Xo, no, he'll — sir." = 34:) — curst ;]i. e. shrew-
ish or mischievous. = 35:) — how fond / am.] Fond, i.e.
foolish. = 36:) SAe was a vixen,] f'ixen or /Jj:en, primitively
signifies a female fox. = 37:) — of hindering knotgrass
made;] It appears that knot-grass was anciently supposed
to prevent tlie growth of any animal or child. =38:) — in-
tend— ] i. e. jjretend. = 39:) Thou shalt aby it.] To aby is
to pay dear tor, to suffer. ^ 40:) —so did sort,] So happen
in the issue.= 41:) virtuous property,] Salutiferous.=: 42:)

— wend,] i. e. go. ^= 43:) damned spirits all, [\ That in

cross-w ays and floods have burial,] The ghosts of self mur-
derers, who arc buried in cross-roads; and of those who
being drowned, were condemned (according to tW opinion
of tlic ancients) to wander for a hundred years, as the rites
of sepulture had never been regularly bestowed on their
bodies. = 44:) i with the morning's love have oft made sport ; \
By the morning's love 1 apprehend Cephalus, the mighty
iiunter and paramour of Aurora, is intended. Tlie context,
"And, like a forester," A.c. seems to show tiiat the chace
was the sport which Oberon boasts he partook with the
morning's love. Holt White. =

ACT IV- =1:) — do coy,] To coy, is to sooth, to stroke.
2:) — nief,] i.e. fist. =3:) — the tongs—] The old rustic mu-
sic of the tongs and key. = i:) — and be all ways a«)aj/. ]i. e.
disperse your.-elves and scout out severally, in your watch,
that danger approach us from no quarter. = 5:) So doth the
woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, .Vc] What Shakspeare
seems to mean, is this — So the woodbine, i. e.the sweet honey-
suckle, doth gently entwist the barky fingers of the elm,
and so does the female ivy curing the same fingers. This
passage has given rise to various conjectures. = 6:) — the
female ivy—] Though tlie ivy here represents the female,
there is an evident reference in the words enrings and fin-
gers, to the ring of the marriage rite. Henley. = 7:) —
fiourets' eyes,] 'I'he erjc of the flower is the technical term
for its center. :^ 8:) l>tara'8 bud o'er Cupid's flower — ] Dian's
bud, is the bud of Agnus Castus, or Chaste Tree. Cupid's
flower is the Fiola Tricolor, or Love in Idleness. = 9:) "pros-
perity :" — Malone. = 10:) — our observation is perform'd;]
The honours due to the morning of May. I know not why
Shakspeare calls this play A Midsummer Night's Dream,
when he so carefully informs us that it happened ou the
niglit preceding May day. Johnson. The title of this play
seems no more intended to denote the precise time of the
action, than tliat of The Winter's Tale ; which we find, w as
at the season of sheep-shearing: Faiimer. 1 imagine that
the title of this play was suggested by the time it was first
introduced ou the stage, whicii was probably at Midsummer.
"A Dream for the entertainment of a Midsummer-nigiit."
Twelfth-Night and The Winter's Talc had probably their
titles from a similar circumstance. Malone. := 1 1:) — the
vaward of the day,] f award is compounded of uon and utorrf,
the forepart. ^12:) — such gallant chiding;] Chiding in this
instance means only sound.^= 15:) So flew'd,] SirT. llanuier
justly remarks, that flews are the large cliaps of a deep-
mouth'd hound. = 14:) — so sanded;] Of a sandy colour,
which is one of the true denotements of a blood hound. =
15:) The rite of May;] Tlie rite of this month was once so
univerrally observed, that even authors thought their works
would obtain a more favourable reception, it published ou
i>iaj/-i>aj/. = 16:) — Saijft Valentine is past;] Alluding to the
old saying, that birds begin to couple on St. Valentine's day.
= 17:) Fair Helena in fancy — ] Fancy is for love or affection.
= 18:)— an idle gawd,] i. e. bauble, toy, or trifle. = 19:)
And 1 have found Demetrius like a jewel, || Mine own, and
not mine own.] He'eiia means to say, that having Jound
Demetrius unexpectedly, shu considered her property in him
as insecure as that whicii a person has in a jewel that he
has found by accident; which he knows not whelherhe shall
retain, and which therefore may properly enough be called
his own and not his own. Malone. = 20:) Mr. Malone begins
Demetrius's speech thus, Dem. ".\re you sure || "That we
are awake]* It seems to me," tVc. = 21:) — patched fool,]
That is, a fool in a particolour'd coat. =22:) — otAerdeotA.J
He may mean the death of Thisbe, or, being killeil, as Pj-
rainus, on the stage, he may mean after his death. = 2 3:)
— good strings to your beards, — ] i. e. to prevent the false
beards, which they w ere to w ear, from falling off; or, per-
haps, ornamental strings, employed to give au air of novelty
to the countenances of the performers. =

V.

AC*r V. = 1:) Are of imagination all compact :] i. e. are
made of mere imagination. ^2:) — in a brovv ofEgypt:] the
brow of a gipsy. ■= 3:) — constancy ;] Consistency, stability,
certainty. = 4:) "Wait iu" — Malonb. =o:) Say, what abridg-

61*

964

NOTES

Pl;8.1 Tu.S.

meiit, &c.] By abridgment our author may mean a dramatic
performance, which crowds the events ot' years into a few
hours. It may be M'orth while, hoviever, to observe, that in
the iXortb the word abatement had the same meaning as diver-
sion or amuse7neiit.^&.) — a brief,] i.e. a short account or
enumeration. = 7:) — unbreath' d —'] iJnexercised, unpractised.
= 8:) — arfrfrest.] That is,ready. = y:) /^/ourisA o/ trumpets.']
It appears that the prologue was anciently ushered in by
trumpets. = 10:) — on a recorder:] It should seem that the
flute and the recorder were diti'ereut instruments, and that
the latter in propriety of speech was no other than the flage-
let. =11:) — but not in government.] That is, not tunefuliy.
= 12:) — by name lion hight.,] Hight, in old English, signi-
fies— is called. = X i:) AtuI like Limander, kc] For Leander
and Hero. Sliafalus and I'rocrus, forCephalus and Procris.
= 14:) — Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.]
The old copies read — a man, kc. which jVlr. Maloue adopts.
= 15:) — in snuff.] An equivocation. Snuff signifies both the
cinder of a candle, and hasty anger. Johnson. =10:) tf^ell
moused, Hon.] To mouse siguilied to mammock, to tear in
pieces, as a cat tears a mouse. = 17:) Cut thread and thrum;]
Thrum is the end or extremity of a \i eaver's warp ; it is
popularly used for very coarse yarn. The maids now call a
mop of yarn a thrum /rtop. = 18:) — and quell!] To quell is
to murther, to destroy. = 19:) — cheer.] i.e. countenance. =
20:) "lips,"] — Malosk. =21:; — a Bergomask dance,] A
dance after the manner of the peasants of Bergomasco, a
country in Italy, belonging to the Venetians. = 22:)— heavy
gait — J i. e. slow passage, progress. ^^ 23:) — fordone.] i.e.
overcome. = 24:) / am sent, with broom, before, || To sweep
the dust behind the door.] Cleanliness ia always necessary
io_ invite the residence ami the favour of the fairies. =25:)
Aor mark prodigious,] i'rodigious for portentous. ^ 2 ti:) —
take his gait;] i.e. take his wuy, or direct his steps. =27:)
"Ever shall in safety rest," — ] Malone. =28:) — unearncrf
luck,] i. e. if v e have better fortune than we have deserved.
= 2y:) Koto to 'scape the serpent's tongue,] that is, if we
be dismissed without hisses. = 30:) Give nie your hands,]
That is, clap your hands. Give us your applause. Johnson.^

viii. love's labour's lost.

ACT I. =1:) With all these—] i. e. the King, Biron, &c.

= 2:) while truth the while || Doth falsely blind — ]

Falsely is here, and in many other places, the same as dis-
honestly or treacherously. = S:) IVho dazzling so, that eye
shall be his heed, i| And give him light that wa-s it blinded
by.] This passage is unnecessarily obscure; the meaning is,
that when he dazzles, that is, has his eye made weak, by
fixing his eye upon a fairer eye, that fairer e^e shall be
his heed, his direction or lode-star, and give him light that
was blinded by it. Johnson. Mr. Malone reads '■'■it teas.'" =
4:) — sneaping /rost,] To sneap is to check, or rebuke. =5:)

— May'snew-fangledshows;] By these shows thepoetmeans
Maygames at which a snow would be very unwelcome and
unexpected. It is only a periphrasis for JMat/.:^ 6:) — s\t you
out:] To sit out: is a term from the card-table. =7:) Mr.
Malone omits And.= 9>:) "This penalty "<" —Malone. = y:)
A dangerous law against gentility.] or urbanity. = 10:) —
lie here — ] Means resiV/e here, in the same sense as an am-
bassador is said to lie lieger. = 11:) Aot by might master'd,
but by special grace:] tiiron, amidst his extravagancies,
speaks with great justness against the folly of vows. They
are made without sufficient regard to the variations of life,
and are therefore broken by some unforeseen necessity.
They proceed commonly from a presumptuous confidence,
and a false estimate of human power. Johnson. = 12:) Sug-
gestions— ] Temptations. ^13:) — quick recreation — ] Lively
sport, spritely diversion. = 14:) A man of complements,]
Compliment, in Sliakspeare's time, did not signify, at least
did not only signify verbal civility, or phrases of courtesy,
but, according to iis original meaning, the trappings, or or-
namental appendages of a character, in the same manner,
and on the same principles of speech with accomplishment .
= 15:) This child of fancy,] This fantastic. = 16:) — That
Armado hight,] Who is culled \rtn-diin.^= 17:) And J unll use
him for my minstrelsy.] i.e. I will make a minstrel of him,
whose occupation was to relate fabulous stories. = 18:) —
lire- new words,] i. e.rwords newly coined, new frohi the forge.
Fire-new, new off the irons, and the Scottish expression
brennew, have all the same origin. = 19:) — tharborough :]
i. e. thirdborough, a peace oflicer, alike in authority with a
headborough or a constable. = 20:) A high hope for a low
having:] 'I'hough you hope for high words, and should have
them, it will be' but a low acquisition at best. = 21:) — taken
with the manner.] i. e. »n tAe /act. =22:) — curious knotted-
garden.] Ancient gardens abounded with figures of which
the lines intersected each other in many directions. = 2 3:)

— base minnow of thy mirth,] Thebasenjinno?»of thy mirth,
is the contemptible little ob.iect that contributes to thy en-
tertainment. =24:) — my tender \\\\cna.\'l] Juvenal is youth.
= 25:) — crosses love not him.] By crosses he means money.
=26:) — the dancing horse will tell you.] Bankes's horse,
which play'd many remarkable i)ranks,and is alluded to by
many writers contemporary with Shakspeare. = 27:) Green,
indeed, is the colour of lovers:] An allusion to jealousy, or
perhaps to the green willow. = 2 8:) Which native sAe doth
owe.] i.e. of which she is naturally possessed. = 2S:) — my

digression^ Digression on this occasion signifies the act
of going out of the right way, transgression. = 30:) — for
the ilay-woman.] i. e. for the dairy-maid. = 31:) That's
hereby.] i. e. as it may happen. = 32:) With that facef]
This cant phrase has oddly lasted till the present time.=
ZZ:) — affect— ] i.e. love. = 34:) — butt-sAa/t— ] i.e. an ar-
row to shoot at butts with.=

ACT II. =1:) — your dearest spirits;] Dear, in our au-
thor's language, has many shades of meaning. In tlie pre-
sent instance and the next, it appears to signify ^6est, most
powerful. Steevens. = 2:) Bold of your worthiness,] i. e.
confident of it. = 3:)^nd much too little, kc] i.e. And my
report of the good 1 saw, is much too little compared to
his great worthiness. = 4:) — competitors in oath,] i.e. con-
federates. =5:) Were all address'd— ] 'Vo address is to pre-
pare. = 6:) Where—] Where is here used for whereas. ^=
7:) — depart withal,] To depart and to part were anciently
synonymous. = 8:) \o poynt,] A negation borrowed from the
French.^?:) My lips are no common, though several they
be.] A play on the word sclera/, which, besides its ordinary
signification of separate, rftsti/jct, likewise signifies in unin-
closcd lands, a certain portion of ground appropriated to
either corn or meadow, adjoining the common field. = lO:)
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,] Althougii
the expression in the text is extremely odd, 1 take the sense
of it to be that his tongue envied the quickness of his eyes,
and strove to be as rapid in its utterance, as they in their
perception, Steevens. =

ACT III. ^=1:) Concolinel — ] Here is apparently a song
lost: in the old comedies, the songs are frequently omitteu.
= 2:) — festiuately hither;] i. e. hastily. = 3:) — a French
brawlV] A brawl is a kind of dance, perhaps what we now
call a cotillon. ^=k:) — canaryto it with your feet,] Canary
was the name of a spritelynimble dance. = 5:) iJy my penny
of observation.] The allusion is to the famous old piece,
called a Fenniworth of Wit. = 6:) — here's a Costard bro-
ken— ] i.e. a head. = 7:) — I'envoy;] The I'envoy is a term
borrowed from the old French poetry. It appeared always
at the head of a few concluding verses to each piece, which
either served to convey the moral, or to address the poem
to some particular person.' It was frequently adopted by
the ancient English writers. = 8:) — no salve in the mail,
sir:] What this can mean, is not easily discovered; if mail
for a packet or bag was a word then in use, no salve in the
mail may mean, no salve in the mountebank's budget. Or,
perhaps we should read — no salve in them all, sir. = 9:)
Like the sequel, J.] Alluding to the sequel of any story. =
10:) — my incony Jew!] Incony or kony in the North, signi-
fies, fine, delicate — as a. kony thing, a line thing. ^11:) —
guerdon;] i e. reward. = 12:) — in print.] i.e. exactly, with
the utmost nicety. ^= 13:) — so magnificent!] i. e. glorying,
boasting. = li:) This wimpled,] The wimple was a hood or
veil which fell over the face. = 1 5:) Dread prince of plackets,]
A placket is a petticoat. = 16:) Of trotting paritors,] An ap-
paritor, or paritor, is an oflicer of the Bishop's court, who
carries out citations; as citations are most frequently issued
for fornication, the paritor is put under Cupid's government.
= 17:) And I to be a corporal of his field,] A corporal of
the field was employed as an aide de-camp is now,iu taking
and carrying to and fro the directions of the general, or
other the higher officers of the field. = 18:) And wear his
colours like a tumbler's hoop!] Tumbler's hoops are to this
day bound round with ribbands of various colours. =

ACT IV. = 1:) God dig-you-dcn — ] A corruption of —
God give you good even. = 2:) Break up this capon.] i. e.
open this letter. Our poet uses this metaphor, as the French
do their poulet ; which signifies both a young fowl and a
love-letter. ^= 3:) — erewhile.] Just now; a little while ago.
r= 4:) — a Monarcho,] The allusion is to a fantastical cha-
racter of the time. ^5:) — queen Guinever —] This was king
Arthur's queen, not over famous for fidelity to her husband.
= 6:) Jh'ide o'the bow hand.'] i.e. a good deal to the left of
the mark; a term still retained in modern archery. = 7:) —
tlie clout.] The clout was the white mark at which archers
took aim. The pin was the wooden nail that upheld it. =
8:) _ you talk greasily,] i. e. grossly. = 9:) Enter Holofernes,]
By Holofernes is designed a pedant and schoolmaster of ouir
author's time, one John Florio, a teacher of the Italian tongue
in London, who has given us a small dictionary of that
language under the title oi A World of Words. = 10:) — ripe
as opomewater,] A species of apple formerly much esteemed.
Malus Carbonaria. = 11:) — a patch — ] Patch, or low fel-
low. = 12:) And raught not—] i.e. reach' d [lot. = 13:) The
allusion holds in the exchange.] i. e. The riddle is as good
when 1 use the name of Adam, as when I use the name of
Cain. =14:) — affect the letter;] That is, I will practise al-
literation. = 15:) — claws Aim uiit A a talent.] i. e. flatters him.
= 16:) — the tired Aorse- 1 The fired horse was the horse
adorned with ribbands, — 'Ihe famous flantes's Aorse so of-
ten alluded to. = 17:) Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron,]
Shakspeare forgot himself in this passage. Jaquenetta knew
nothing of Biron, and had said, just before, that the letter
had been "sent to her from Don Armatho, and given to her
by Costard." = 18:) — colourable colours.] i. e. specious ap-
pearaucea. = 19:) — certes — ] i. e. certainly, in trutn. =i 2 0:) —

TH.S.[Ph:9.]

NOTES.

965

/ am toiling in a pitch-] Alluding to lady Rosaline's com-

E!exion, who is through the whole play represented a<« a
lack bcautv. =21:) — Ae comes in like a perjure,'] The pu-
nishment of perjury is to wear on the breast a paper ex
firessiiig the crime. = 22:) Disfigure not his slop.] This al-
udeit to the usual tawdry dress of Cupid, whesi he appea-ed
oil the stage. = 23:) — the liver vein,] The liver was an-
ciently supposed to be the feat of love. ^ 24:) yill hid, all
hid,] The chiUlreu's cry at hide and seek. = 25:) — amber
coted.J The word here intended, thougii mispelled, is quoted,
which signilies observed or regarded, both here and in every
place where it occurs in these plays; and the meanii.g is,
that amber itself is rcMrded as foul, when compared with

her hair. ^26:) trhy, then incision '\ Would let her out

in saucers;] It was the fashion among the young gallants
of that age, to stab themselves in the arms, or elsewhere,
in order to drink their mistress's health, or Mrite her name
in their blood, as a proof of their passion. = 2 7:) "such
zeal" — Malone. ^= 28:) Your eyes do make no coaches;]
Alluding to a passage in the king's sonnet: "Xo drop but
as a coach doth carry thee." = 29:)^ teen!] i. e. grief. =
30:) To see a king transformed to a gnat!] Biron is abusing
the 5,ing for his sonneting like a minstrel, and compares
him to a gnat, vhich always sings as it flics. = 31:) — cri-
tic Tijnon — ] Critic and critical are used by our author in
the same sense as ctjnic and rwnira/. = 3 2:) /n pruning /nei?]
A bird is said to prune himself when he picks and sleeks
his feathers. = 33:) — a gait, a state,] State, 1 believe, in
the present instance, is opposed to gait (i. e. the motion),
and signifies the act of standing. ^= Si:) "doth not" — M.4-
to>"E. = 35:) And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well]
i. e. the very top, the height of beauty, or the utmost de-
gree of fairness, becomes the heavens. =36:) — and usurp-
ing hair,] i. e. false hair. = SI:) — some quillets,] Quillet
is the peculiar word applied to law-chicane. = 38:) — affec-
tion's men at arms:] i. e. Ye soldiers of affection. := 39:)
The nimble spirits in the arteries ;] Li the old system of
physic they gave the same office to the arteries as is now
given to the nerves. = 4 0:) Mr. tMa'oue has followed this
line by a hemistich "with ourselves" — for which it would
be ditticult to find a meaimng.^=il:) Other slow artsentirely
keep the brain;] As we say, keep the house, or keep their
beil. M. Maso?!. ^ 42:) — the suspicious head of theft is
stopp'd;] i.e. alover in pursuit of his mistress has his sense
of hearing quicker than a thief (who suspects every sound
he hears) in pursuit of his prey. Or, the suspicious head
of theft may mean the head suspicious of theft. = 43:) —
cockled—] i. e. insbelled, like the iish called a cockle. =
44:) Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?] Our author
seems to have thought that the latter word was the name
of the garden in which the golden apples were kept: and
some of his contemporaries are chargeable with the same
inaccuracy. =4 5:)— a word that loves all men;] i. e. that
is pleasing to all men.=

ACT "V. ^= U) — your reasons at dinner have been, &c.]
1 know not well what degree of re.spect !*hakspeare intends
to obtain for his vicar, but he has here put into his mouth
a finished representation of colloquial excellence. It is very
difficult to add any thing to his character of the school-
master's^ table-talk, and perhaps all the precepts ofCasti-
glione will scarcely be found to comprehend a rule for con-
versation so justly delineated, so widely dilated, and so
nicely limited. It may he proper just to note, that reason
here, and in many other places, signifies rf/scourse; and that
audacious is used in a good sense for spirited, animated,
confident. Opinion is the sameuith obstinacy or opinidtrete'.
JoHysoy. ^2:) — without affection,] i. e. witnout affectation.
■= 3:) — thrasonical.] Hoastful, bragging, from Terence. =
4:) — He is too picked,] nicely drest. =a:) — point-devise — ]
A French expression for the utmost, or iiuical exactness. =
6:) — a flap-dragon.] A flap-dragon is a small inflammable
substance, which topers swallow in a glass of wine. =7:) —
a quick vcnew of wit:] A renew is the technical term for a
bout at the fencing school. = 8:) — the charge-house—] per-
haps, is the /reescAoo/. ^= 9:) — imrard —] i.e. confidential.
= 10:) — / «o beseech thee, remember thv courte=y; 1 be-
seech thee, apparel thy head;] By "remeuiGer thy courtesy,"
1 suppose Armado means — rememjer that all this time thou
art standing with thy hat off. Steevens. r= 11:) — dally
with my excrement,] The author calls the beard valour's
excrement in The Merchant of Venice. = 12:) — cAmcA,] i.e.
chicken; an ancient term of endearment. = 13:) — j/ rA««
fadge Tiof,] i.e. suit not, pass not into action. r= 14:) f'ia,]
An Italian exclamation, signifying courage! come on.'^15:)
— to make his god-head wax ;] To wax anciently signilied
to grow. It is yet said of the moon, that she waxes and
«rane«. = 16:) — mouse,] This was a term of endearment for-
merly. =17:) -fair/ng If in snuff,] Snuff is here used equi-
vocally for anger, and the snuff of a candle —IS:) — a aet
of wit—] A term trom tennis. = 19:) A pox of that jest .'
and beshrew all shrows!] "Pox of that jest!" Mr. Theobald
is scandalized at this language from a princess. But there

needs no alarm — the »»ia// pox only fs alluded to; with

aots or artificers ; meaning 1 w ish I was as sure of his ser
vice for any time limited, aa if 1 had hired \am.z=22\) And

make him proud to make me proud that jests!] The mean-
ing of this obscure line seems to be, I would make him
proud to flatter me who makeamock of his flattery. -=25:)
— spleen ridiculous — ] Is, a ridiculous flt of laughter.^
24:) "you" — M ALONE. ^=25:) Beauties no richer than rich
taffata.] i. e. the taffata masks they wore to conceal them-
selves. ^ 26:) To tread a measure — ] The measures were
dances solemn and slow.= 27:) Mr. Ma'one omits do. ^=28:)
Since you can cog,] To cog, signifies to falsify the dice, and
to falsify a narrative, or to lye. JoHKso!<i.=:2P:) Well-lik-
ing wits—] Well-liking is the same as embonpoint. -=: 30:)
No point, quoth I;] Foint in French is an adverb of nega-
tion; but if properly spoken, is not sounded like the point
of a sword. A quibble, however, is intended.^ 31:) — bet-
ter wits have worn plain statute-caps.] Hr. Johnson thinks
this is an allusion to the statute-cap of the universities.
Mr. Steevens, that it means better witsmay be found among
the citizens, who wore a kind of woollcn-cap by statute. =
32:) Are angels vailing clouds,] i. e. letting those clouds
which obscured their orightness, sink from before them.
Joiiivso>. ^33:) — wasscis,] JFassels, vere meetings of rus-
tic mirth and intemperance. ^^34:) .:# mean — ] The mean ia
music, is the tenor. =35:) 3Ty ladtj {to the manner of the
days,) 'f In courtesy, gives undeserving praise.] To the man-
ner of the days, means according to the manner of the times.
Gives undeserving praise, means praise to what does not
de-erve it. = 3t>:) Mr. Maloiie reads, "V!y gentle sweet."
= 37:) — my friend;] i.e. mistress. = 38:) Three pil'd hy-
perboles,] A metaphor from thepiVeof velvet. =39:) "Spruce
affection"?" — Malone. = 40:) Write, Lord have mercy on
t/»,]_This was the inscription put upon the doors of the hou-
ses infected with the plague, to which Biron compares the
love of himself and his companions; and pursuing the me-
taphor finds the tokens likewise on the ladies. The token*
of the plague are the first spots or discolorations, by which
the infection is known to be received. Johnson. = 41:) —
you force not to forswear.] You force not is the same with
you make no difficulty. This is a very just observation.
The crime which has "been once committed, is committed
again with less reluctance. Johnson. = 42:) — a consent,] i. e.
a conspiracy. = 43:) — zany,] A zany is a buffoon, a merry
Andrew. = 4 4:) — his cheek in years;] In years, signifies,
into wrinkles; but Mr. Malone reads "jeer«," or gibes. =
45:) — by the squire,] From esquierre, French, a rule, or
square. = 4 6:) — Go, you are allow'd;] i. e. you may say
what you will. = 47:) You cannot beg us,] That is, we are
not fools, or lunatics; our next relations cannot ftpg- the ward-
ship of our persons and fortunes. = 48:) Abate a throw at
novum;] A'ocwm (or norcni) appears to have beensomcgame
at dice. ^4S:) With libbard's head—] i.e. leopard's. ^=1)0:)

— it stands too right] It should be remembered, to relish
this joke, that the head of Alexander «as obliquely placed
on his shoulders. Steevens. = 51:) — A-jax:] There is a
conceit otAjax and a jukes, which, paltry as it is, was used
by Ben Jonson, and ('amden the antiquary. = 5 2:) — a little
o cr-parted:] That is, the part or character allotted to him
in this piece is too considerable. .Mai.one.-=5 3:) — on a flask.]
i.e. a soldier's pnwder-horn.^=^ 54:) St. George's hclf-cheek
/n a brooch.] A brooch is an ornamental buckle, for fastening
hat-bands^irdles. mantles, i>tc. = 35:) Hector was but a Tro-
jan— ] A Trojan was, in the time of s^hakspeare, acant term
for a thief. = 56:) — of lances—] i. e. of lance-men.= 57:)

— More .Ates,] That is, more instigation. Ate was the mis-
chievous goddess that incited bloodshed. ::^68:) — likeanor-
thern wan;] fir borealis, a clown. =:= 5P:) — woolward — 1
To go woolward was a phrase appropriatea to pilgrims and
penitentiaries. ^= 60:) — liberal-—] Free to excess. ='6 1:)_ In
the converse of breath,] Perhaps converse may, in this line,
mean interchange. = tj2:) And often, at his very loose, de-
cides, 4;c.] At his very loose, maj' mean at the moment of
his parting, i. e. of his getting loose, or away from us. =
63:)— u'AtfA fain it would convince;] The words which fain
it would convince, mean what it would wish to succeed in
obtaining. =64:) Suggested us — ] That is, tempted us. =:
65:) — and thin weeds,] i. e. clothing. r= 6 6:) — anrf/a«t love;]
Means, if it continue to be love. = 67:) — cuckoo-buds — ]
Cuckoo-buds must be wrong. I believe cotpslip-buds, the true
reading. Farmer. = 68:)— rfotA keel the pot.] i.e. cool the
pot. =6P:) — tAe /larsons saw,] Saif seems anciently to have
meant, not as at present, a proverb, a sentence, but the
whole tenor of any instructive discourse. = 70:) When
roasted crabs, &:c.] i.e. the wild apples so called. 'I'he bowl
must be supposed to be filled with ale; a toast and some
spice and sugar being added, what is called lamb's wool is
produced. =

IX. MERCHANT OF VEMCE.

ACT I. =1:) It is not easy to determine the orthogra-
phy of this name. In the old editions the owner of it li
called — SaZanio, Sa/iVio, and Solanio. Steevens. —2:) Thig
character I have restored to the Fersonx Dramatis. The
name appears in the first folio: the description is taken from
the quarto. Steevens = 3:) — argo«»V»—] A name given in
our author's time to ships of great burthen, probably gal-
leons, such as the Spaniards now use in their West India
trade. Johnson. In Uicaut's Maxima of Turkish Policy,
ch. xiv. it is said, "Those vast carracks called argosiet.

966

NOTES.

[Pl:9.] Tii.S.

which are so much famed for the vastness of their burthen
aiul bulk, were corruptly so denominated from iiagos/es,"
i. e. ships of Jiagusa, a city and territory on the gulf of
Venice, tributary to the Porte; but the word may have de-
rived its origin from the famous ship Argo. = 4;) i. e. 'I'he
Venetians, who may well be said to live on the sea. DoiicB.
Mr. Vl alone reads "o/j the flood." =5:) P/ucttng- the grass,
i:c.] By holding un the grass, or any light body that will
bend by a gentle blast, the direction of the wind is found.
= 6:) — Andrew—] The name of the sliip.= 7:) Vailing her
high-top — ] i. e. lowering. =8:) "The same." Maloke.^Q:)
— a more swelling port, k.c.'] Port, in the present instance,
comprehends the idea of expensive equipage, and external
pomp of appearance. ^= 1 0:) —prest unto it:'] frest may not
here signily impress''d, as into military service, but ready.
Fret, Fr. = 11:) — is there the county Palatine.^ County
and coujit in old language were synonyinous=12:) — a pro-
per man's picture;] Proper is handsome. ^= 13:) — / think,
the Frenchman became his surety,] Alluding to the constant
assistance, or rather constant promises of^as-istance, that
the French gave the Scots iu their quarrels with the English.
The alliance is here humorously satirized. Warburton. =
14:) "I wish them," &c. IMai.one. ^= 15:) — the condition—]
i.e. the temper, qualities. = 16:) — tJie habitation ivhich your
prophet, the ]\a!i,arite, conjured the devil into:'] Perhaps
there is no character through all Shakspeare, drawn with
more spirit, and just discrimination, than l*hylock's. His
language, allusions, and ideas, are every where so appro-
priate to a Jew, that Shylock might be exhibited for an ex-
emplar of that peculiar people. Hekley. = 17:) — the ripe
wants of my friend,'] Ripe wants are wants come to the
height, wants that can have no longer delay. -= 18:) — pos-
sessed,] i.e. acquainted, informed. = IP:) — the eanlings — ]
Lambs just dropt: from ean, eniti. r=20:) — of kind,] i.e. of
nature. ^2 1:) "This thrift." Malotve. =22:) — my usances:]
Use and usance are both words anciently employed for u«urJ/,
both in its favourable and unfavourable sense. Hut Mr. Kit-
son says, that use and usance mean nothing more than in-
terest; and the former word is still used by country people
in the same scnsv:. ^=23:) Shylock,] Our author, as Dr. Far-
mer informs me, took tne name of his Jew from an old
pamphlet entitled: Caleb Shillocke, his Frophesie: or the
Jewes Prediction. London, printed for T. P. (Thomas Pa-
vyer.) >o date. Steevens. = 2^:) A breed for barren inetal
of his friend f] A breed, that is interest money bred from
the principal. Hy the epithet barren, the author would in-
struct us iu the argument on which the advocates against
usury went, yhich is this; that money is a barren thing,
and cannot, like corn and cattle, multiply itself. And to set
off the absurdity of this kind of usury, he put breed and
barren in opposition. VVAH)iiinT0N. = 25:) — left in the fear-
ful guard, yc] Fearful guard, is a guard that is not to be
trusted, but gives cause of fear. To fear was anciently to
give as M'ell as feel terrours. Johnson. =

ACT II. :=!:) To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or
mine.] To understand how the taw ny prince, whose savage
dignity is very well supported, means to rtcommend him-
self by this challenge, it must be remembered that red blood
is a traditionary sign of courage: Thus Macbeth_ calls one
of his frighted soldiers, a lily-liver'd bov ; again, in this
play, cowards are said to have livers as white us milk; and
an effeminate and timorous man is termed a milksop. John
SON.— 2:) Hath fcar'd the valiant;'] i.e. tcrrify'd. To fear
is often used, by our old writers, in this sense. ^=3:) — there-
fore be advised.] Therefore be not precipitant; consider well
what you are to do. Advised is the word opposite to rash.
= 4:) "Hlest." Mai,one. =5:) — try conclusions—] To try
conclusions is to try experiments. == 6:) — /nj/ thill-horse — ]
Thill or fill, means the shafts of a cart or waggon. Malone
reads Tihill-horse.^= 7:) — more guarded — ] i. e. more orna-
mented. ■= 8:) — jyell; if any man in Italy have a fairer
table,] Table is the palm of the hand extended. Launcelot
congratulates himself upon his dexterity and good fortune,
and in the height of his rapture inspects his hand, and con-
gratulates himself upon the felicities in his table. ^9:) — in
peril of mjj life with the edge of a feather-bed ;] A cant
phrase to signify the danger of marrying. ^=10:) Something
too liberal:'] i. e._ gross, coarse, licentious. = 11:) — sad
ostent — ] Ostent is a word very commonly used for sJtow
among the o'd dramatic writers. = 12:) — your bearing.]

Bearing is carriage, deportment. = 13:) to feed upon\\

The prodigal Christian] Shylock forgets his resolution. In
a former scene he declares he will neither eat, drink, nor
pray with Christians. Of this circumstance the poet was
aware, and meant only to heighttn the malignity of the
character, by making him depart from his most settled re-
solve, for the prosecution of his jevenge. Steevens. = 1 4:)
— then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding
on Black-Monday last,] '■'■Black- Monday is Easter- Monday,
and was sq called on this occasion : in the 34th of Edward 111.
(1360) the 14th of April, and the morrow after Easter-day,
King Edward, with his host, lay before the city of Paris ;
which day was full of dark mist and hail, and so bitter cold,
that many men died un their horses' backs with the cold.
Wherefore, unto this day it hath been called the Blac.ko-
Monday.'" Stowe, p. 264 — 6. Grhv. ^=16:) The patch — ] A term
lor a fool. = 1 6:) — scarfed bark—] i.'e. the vessel decorated
with flags. = 17:) To rib — ] i.e. inclose, as the ribs inclose
the viscera. = 18:) — insculp'd upon:'] To insculp is to en-

grave. The meaning is that the figure of the angel is raised
or embossed on the coin, not engraved on it. = 19:) 1 rea-
son'd with a Frenchman yesterday ;] i. e. I conversed. =
2C:) Slubber not — ] To slubber is to do any thing carelessly,
imperfectly. ^21:) And even there, his eye being big with
tears, \\ Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, &c.]
So curious an ob.server of nature was our author, and so
minutely had he traced the operation of the passions, that
many passages of his works might furnish hints to painters.
It is indeed surprizing that they do not study his plays with
this view. In the pa.-isage before us, we have the outline
of a beautiful picture. Mai.one. = 22:) — embraced heavi-
ness—] The heaviness which he indulges, and is fond of.
= 23:) And so have I address'd me:] To address is to pre-
pare. = 24:) — in the force—] i. e. the power. = 25:) —
jump—] i. e. agree with. = 26:) Hoiv much low peasantry
would then be glean' d \\ From the true seed of honour'^]
The meaning is. How much meanness would be found among
the great, and howtnuch greatness among the mean. =27:)
— / wis,] 1 know. Wissen, German. ^28:) or, misfortune.
= 2 9:) — regreets:] i.e. salutations. =

ACT III. = 1:) — it was my turquoise; I had it of
Leah, when I was a bachelor :~] A turquoise is a precious
stone found in the veins of the mountains on the confines
of Persia to the east, subject to the Tartars. As Shylock
hadbeeu married long enough to have a daughter grown
up, it is plain he did not value this turquoise on account of
the money for which he might hope to sell it, but merely
in respect of the imaginary virtues formerly ascribed to the
stone. It was said of the Turkey-stone, that it faded or
brightened iu its colour, as the health of the wearer in-
criased or grew less; and other superstitious qualities are
imputed to it, all of^ which were either monitory or pre-
servative to the wearer. ^2:) — to peize the time;] To
peize, is to weigh, or balance; and figuratively, to keep in
suspense, to delay. =3:) IVith no less presence,] With the
same dignity of mien. =4:) — fancy — ] i. e. love. = 5:) "Ileply,
reply," as part of the song. Malone. =6:) — gracious Doice,]
Pleasing, winning favour. = 7:) — approve it—] i.e. justify
it. •= 8:) — valour's excrement,] i. e. what a little higher is
called the beard of Hercules. = 9:) — the guiled shore — ]
i.e. the treacherous shore. Shakspeare in this instance, as
in many others, confounds the participles. Guiled stands
for guiling. = 10:) "Paleness." Malone. = 11:) Fair Por-
tia's counterfeit 'J] Counterfeit, which is at present used
only in a bad sense, anciently signified a likeness, a re-
semblance, without comprehending any idea of fraud. = 12:)
"And happier." Malone omits ond. = 13:) — being blent to-
gether,] 1. e. blended. = 14:) —you can wish none from me:']
that is, none away from me; none that I shall lose, if you
gain it.= 15:) — for intermission — ] Intermission is pause,
intervening time, delay. =16:) The paper as the body — ]
The expression is somewhat elliptical: "The paper as the
body," means — the paper resembles the body, is as the
body. = 17:) "Should lose." Malone. = 18:) — cheer;] i. c.
countenance. = 19:) "Aor rest" — Malone. = 20:) — so
fond—] i.e. so foolish. =21:) Unto the trauect,] Theold
copies concur in this reading, which appears to be derived
from tranare, and was probauly a word current in the time
of our author, though I can jiroduce no example of it. Stee-
vENs. = 22:) "Withal." Malone. =23:) — i promise you, 1
fear you.] 1 fear for you. =

ACT IV. =1:) — feis envy's reach,] Envy in this place
means hatred or malice. = 2:) — remorse,] i.e. pity. = 3:) —
apparent — ] that is, seeming; not real. = 4:) — where — ]
For whereas. = 5:) "Cannot contain," Kc. — Malone reads
thus: "Cannot contain their urine i"or affection : [| Masters
of passion, sway it to the mood," kc. = 6:) Malone reads
"a woollen bag-pipe." = 7:) — you question — ] To question
is to converse. = 8:) — many a purehas'd slave,] This argu-
ment, considered as used to the particular persons, seems
conclusive. I see not how Venetians or Englishmen, while
they practise the purchase and sale of slaves, can much
enforce or demand the law of doing to others as we would
that they should do to us. Johnson. = :9) "'tis mine." Ma-
lone. =10:) Cownof impugn you,] To impugn, is to oppose,
to controvert. = 1 1:) i'ou stand within his danger,] i. e.
within his reach or control. = 12:) -^ — in the course of
justice, none of us \\ Should see salvation:] Portia referring
the Jew to the Christian doctrine of salvation, and the
Lord's prayer, is a little out of character. Blackstone. =
13:) Ay, for the state; kc] that is, the state's moiety may
be commuted for a fine, but not Antonio's. Malone. = 14:)
— thou should'st have had ten more,] i. e. a jury of twelve
men, to condemn thee to be hanged. = 15:) — upon more
advice,] i. e. more reflection.^=

ACT V. =1:) "In such a night," — Malone. = 2:) —
with patines of bright gold;] A patine, from patina, Lat.
A patine is the small flat dish or plate used with the chal-
ice, in the administration of the Eucharist. In the time of
pojiery, and probably in the following age, it was commonly
made of g<il(i. Malone. =3:) Such harmony is in immortal
souls; iVc] This passage having been much misunderstood,
it may be proper to add a short explanation of it. <-••■-■>-

Such

Til. S. [Pl: lO.J

NOTES

967

harmony, kc. is not an explanation arising from tlic fore-
going line— "So great is the iiarmony ! " — hut an illustra-
tion: — "Of the same, kind is the harmony." — The whole
rnus thns : — There is not one of the heavenly orbs but sings
as it moves, still quiring to the cheruhin. Similar to the
harmony they make, is that of immortal souls ; oi, (in other
words,) each of us have as perfect harmony in our souls as
the harmony of the spheres, inasmuch as we have the qual-
ity of being moved by sweet sounds (as he expresses it
afterwards ;) but our gross terrestrial part, which environs
us, deadens the sound, and prevents our hearing. — It,
[Doth grossly close it in,] 1 apprehend, refers to harmony.
Mai.onb. = 4:) — wake Diana with a hymn ;] Diana^ is the
moon, who is in the next scene represented as sleepinj;. ■=
6:) — without respect;} Xot absolutely good, but relatively
g(iod as it is inodilied by circumstances. = b":) ^4 tucket — J
Toccata, Ital. a flourish on a trumpet. — 7:) Let me give
light, iVc.J There is scarcely any word Avith which Shak-
speare so much delights to trifle as with /tg^At, in its various
signilications. Johnson. = ii:) — this breathing courtesy.'} This
verbal complimentary form, made up only of breach, i. e.
words. ^=y:) — like cutler's poetry—} Knives, as Sir J.liaw-
kius observes, were formerly inscribed, by means of aqua
fortis, with short sentences in distich. For posy, Mr. Ma-
lonc reads poesy, in his last edition, but not in his iirst. =
10:) — swear by your double self,} Double is here used in a
bad sense for — /«// of duplicity. = 11:) — for his wealth;]
For his advantage; to obtain his happiness, jyealth was,
at that time, the term opposite to adversity, or calamity. =^

X. AS YOU LIKE IT.

ACT I. = 1:) Mr. Malone reads, "As I remember, Adam,
it was upon this fashion. He bequeathed me by will but a
poor thousand crowns," iic. = 2:) -stays nie here at home
unkept ;} We should read stys, i. e. keeps me like a brute.
The following words — for call you that keeping — fftat dif-
fers not from the stalling of an ox 'f coniiriiis this emen-
dation. So Caliban says-- "And here you sty me !| "In this
hard rock." \V akbuhton. Sties is better tnan stays, and
more likely to be Shakspeare's. Johnson. = 3:) —wAot make
you here'f} i. e. what do you here'* == 4:) — be better em-
ployed, and be naught awhile.] i. e. It is better to do mis
chief,thanto do nothing. Johnson. 1 believe that the words
be naught awhile, mean no more than this: "Be content to
be a cypher, till 1 shall think lit to elevate you into conse-
quence." Steevens. Naught and nought are frequently
confounded in old Engli.-h books. 1 once thought that the
latter was here intended, in the sense afiixed to it by Mr.
Steevens: "Be content to be a cypher, kc." But the follow-
ing passage in Stveetnam, a comedy, 1620, induces me to
think that the reading of the old copy (naught) and Dr.
Johnson's explanation are right: "—get you both in, and
be naught awhile.'" The speaker is a chamber-maid, and
she addresses herself to her mistress and her lover. Ma-
lone. =5:) "him I am." Mai.one. = U:) — a/Actt, I confess,
your coming before me is nearer to his reverence.] 'j'his,
probably, refers to the courtesy of distinguishing the eldest
son of a knight, by the title ot esquire. = 7:) J am no vil-
lain:] The Mord villain is used by the elder brother in its
present meaning, for a worthless, wicked, or bloody man;
by Orlando, in its original signification, for a felloio of base
extraction. Johnson. = 8:) — good leave — } As often as this
phrase occurs, it means a ready assent. = P:) — for the
duke's daughter,] i.e. the usurping duke's daughter. Sir T.
Hanuicr reads — the ne«' duke's; and in the preceding speech
— the old duke's daughter; but in my opinion unnecessarily.
The ambiguous use of the word duke in these passages is
much in our author's manner. Malone. = 1 0;) —in t/<ejorcst
of Arden,] Ardenne is a forest of considerable extent in
French Flanders, lying near theMeuse, and between Charle-
niont and Rocroy. = 1 1:) — tAis gamester:] Gamester^ in
the present instance, and some others, does not signily a
man viciously addicted to games of chance, but a frolicsome
person.^ 12:)— of all sorts-] Sorts, in this place, means
ranks and degrees of men. Hitson.= 13:) — mock the good
housewife. Fortune, from her wheel,} Tiie wheel of Fortune
is not the ivheel of a housewife. Shakspeare has confounded
Fortune, whose wheel only ligures uncertainty and vicissi-
tude, with the destiny that spins the thread of life, though
not indeed with a wheel. Johnson. = 14:) Malone reads,
"who perceivith our natural wits too dull to reason of such
goddesses, and hath sent, &c." = 16:) — you'll be wliipp'd
lor taxation,] Taxation is censure, or satire. = lb':) — since
the little wit, that fools have, was silenced,} Shiikspeare
probably alludes to the age of fools or jesters, who for some
ages had been allowed in all courts an unbridled liberty of
censure and mockery, and about this time began to bo less
tolerated. Johnson. = IT:) — laid on with a trowel.}To lay
on with a trowel, is, to do any thing strongly, and without
delicacy. If a man flatters grossly, it is a common expres-
sion to say, that he lays it on with a trowel. M. Mason. =
18:} You amaze me,} To amaze, here, is not to astonish or
strike with wonder, but to perplex; to confuse, so as to put
out of the intended narrative. Johnson. = 19:) — /^tt/i bills
OM their necks, — Be it known unto all men by these pre-
sents,} 1 don't think that by bill is meant either an instru-
ment of war, or utiiu uf law, but merely a label or adver-

tisement — as we say a play-bill, a hand-bill ; unless these
words were part of Le Beau's speech; in which case the
word bill would be used by him to denote a m capon, and b^
P.osalind perverted to mean a label. M. Mason. ^= 20:) — l«
there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides'f^
This probably alludes to the pipe of Fan, which consisting
of reeds of unequal length, and gradually lessening, bore
some resemblance to the ribs of a man. M.Mason. Brokeu
music either means the noise which the breaking of riba
would occasiouj or the hollow sound which proceeds from a
person's receiving a violent fall. Douce. 1 can otfer no le-
gitimate explanation of this passage, but may observe that
another, somewhat parallel, occurs '\\\ K. Henrij I .: "Come,
your answer in broken music ; for thy voice is music, and
thy English broken." Steevens. = 21:) —if you saw your-
self with your eyes, or knew yourself with yinir judgment,']
i. e. if you should use your own eyes to see, or your own
judgment to know yourself, the fear of your adventure
would counsel you. Johnson. = 22:) — that calling,] i.e. ap-
pellation; a very unusual, if not unjirecedented seiise of the
word. Steevens. = 23:) "all promise." Maionk. = 2 4:) —
one out of suits with fortune ;] Out of suits with fortune.

1 believe, means, turned out of h(;r service, and stripped of
her livery. Steevens. = 25:) 7« but a quintain, a mere life-
less block.} A quintain was a post or butt set up for several
kinds of martial exercises, against which they threw their
darts and exercised their arms. But all the commentators
arc at variance about this word, and have illustrated their
opinions with cuts, for which we must refer the reader to
the new edition, 21 vols. 8\o. ^=26:) — the date's condition,]
The word condition means character, temper, disposition. =

2 7:) '■'■Smaller.''' Malone. ^= 28:) — by this kind of chasCj]
That is, by this way of following the argument. Vear is
used by Shakspeare in a double sense for beloved^ and for
hurtful, hated, baleful. Both senses are aiitliorised and
both drawn from etymology ; but properly, beloved is dear,
and hateful is dere. Kosalind uses dearly in the good, and
Cclia in the bad sense. Johnson. = 29:) l^hy should I not?
doth he not deserve well'if} t'elia answers Kosalind, (who
had desired her "not to hate Orlando, for her sake,") as if
she had said — "/oi'e him, for my sake ■/' to which the former
replies, "Why should Iji-ot [i.e. love himjT' =30:) -remorse;]
i. e. coj/jjiassioji. =31:) "in the forest of Arden." Mai,onf:.=:

3 2:)^nf/ with a kind of umber smirch my face:] Umber is
a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought from I'lnbria in Italy.
= 33:) — curtle-a.v —} Or cutlace, a broad sword. = 34:)
We'll have a swashing, kc] A swashing outside is an ap-
pearance of noisy, buming valour. Swashing blow is men-
tioned in Homeo and Juliet; and in King Henry J . the boy-
says: — "As young as 1 am, 1 have observed these three
swashers;''' meaning Nym, Pisto), and Bardolph. =

ACT II. =1:) Which, like the toad, ugly and venom-
ous, !| Wears 7jet a precious jewel in his head ;] It was
the current opinion in Shakspeare's time, that in the head
of an old toad was to be found a stone, or pearl, to which
great virtues were ascribed. Thomas Lupton, in his First
Jiooke of Notable Things, 4to. bl. 1. bears fi-peated testi-
mony to the virtues of the "Torfe-sf one, called Crupaudina."
In his Seventh Booke he instructs us how to procure it; and
afterwards tells us — "You shall kiiowe whether the Tode-
stone be the ryght and perfect stone or not. Hold the stone
before a 'J'ode, so that he may see it; and if it be a ryght
and true stone, the Tode will leape towarde it; and make
as though he would snatch it. He envieth so much that man
should liave that stone." Steevens. = 2:) — with forked
head -I — ] i.e. with arrows, the points of which were barbed.
= 3:) — in the needless stream;} The stream that wanted
not such a supply of moisture. = 4:) "of country." Malone.
= 5:) — to cope Aim — ] To encounter, or engage with him.
^6:) — the roynish clown,} Roynish, from rogncMX, French.
= 7:) — quail—} To quail is to faint, to sink into dejection.
= 8:) — 0 you memory — ] Shakspeare often uses memory
for -memorial ;_ and Beaumont and Fletcher sometimes. =9:)
— so fond — ] i.e. so indiscreet, so inconsiderate. =10:) TAe
bony priser — ] 'I'he word bonny occurs more than once in
the novel from which this play of As You Like It is taken.
It is likewise much used by the common people in the nor-
thern counties. 1 believe, however, botty to be the true
reading. Malone. = 1 1:) This is no place,] i.e. for you. =
12:) — diverted—] turned out of the course of nature. =
IS:) Even with the having:] Even with tiie promotjo;/ gained
by service is service extinguished. Johnson. = 14:) — no
cross,] A cross was a piece of money stamped with a cross.
On this our author is perpetually quibbling. = 15:) "Wear-
ing." Malone. = 16:)— anight — J Thus the old copy. Anight,
is in the night. The word is used by (^hauccr, in The Le-
gende of good Women. Our modern editors read, o'nights,
or o' night. ■:= IT.) — batlet,} The instrument with which
washers beat their coarse clothes. Johnson. = 18:) — so is
all nature in love mortal in folly.] This expression 1 do
not well understand. In the middle counties, mortal, from
mart, a great quantity, is used as a particle of amplifica-
tion ; as mortal tall, mortal little. Of this sense 1 believe
Shakspeare takes advantage to produce one of his darling
equivocations. Thus the meaning will be, so is all nature
ill love ahuniidingrn folly. Johnson. = 19:) ./nrf /if We recks— 1
i.e. heeds, cares for. =20:)^Hrf t« my voice — ] as far as 1
have a voice or vote. =21:) — raggerf;] Our modern editors
(Mr. M^Iuuc e>.ccpted) read rugged; but ragged had au-

V.

968

NOTES

[Pl:10.] 7/7. S.

cicntly the same meaning. rr=^ 22:)— disputable— 1 For dis-
putatious. := 23:) — dncdamc ;] For ducdame, Sir Thomas
llaiimcr, very acutely and jutliciousiy, reads due ad mc,
that is, bring him to me. Dr. Farmer thinks it is cvident!^-
a word coined for the nonce. = 2 4:) "And if he will come
to mc." ]VlAI,o^E.= 2,6:) — compact of jars.,] i. e. made up
of discords. = 2t:) Call me not fool, tilt heaven hath sent
me fortune:] Fort una favet fatuis, is, as Mr. Upton ob-
serves,.the saying here alluded to; or, as in I'liblius Syrus:
'■''Fortuna, niniium quern fovet, stultum facit.'''' =^27:) ■ —
only suit;] Suit means petition, not rfre«.v. = 28:) — if not,
Jkic.j Unless men have the prudence not to appear touched
with the sarcasms of a jester, they subject themselves to
his power; and the wise man will have his folly nnatomtserf,
that is dissected and laid open, by the squandering glances
or random, nhots of a fool. .loH^so^■. = 2 i^:) — /or c counter,]
About the_ time vhen this play Mas written, the Frencli
counters (i. e. pieces of false money used as a means of
reckoning) were brought into use in England. ^= 80:) — his
bravery—] i. e. his line clothes. = 31:) "There then: How
then, what then'?" kc. Mai.onk. =32:) — inland bred,] hi-
land here, and elsewhere in this play, is the opposite to
outland, or upland. Orlando means to say, that he liad not
been bred among clowns. = 33:) Jtnd know some nurture:]
]\urture is education, breeding. = 34:) yinrf take upon com-
mand— ] At your own command. t= 3 S:) His acts being seven
ages.] 1 have seen, more than once, an old print, entitled
The Stage of Man's Life, divided into seven ages. As em-
blematical representations of this sort were formerly stuck
up, both for ornament and instruction, in the generality of
liouses, it is more probable that Shakspeare took his hint
from thence, than from Hippocrates or Procliis, who are
quoted by Mr. Malone. Hkm.ky. = 36:) — and bearded like
the pard,] Beards of different cut were appropriated in our
author's time to ditferent characters and prolessions. The
soldier had one fashion, the judge another, the bishop dif-
ferent from both, &c. = 37:) — sudden and quick—] jjest it
should be supposed that these epithets are synonymous, it
is necessary to be observed that one of the ancient senses
of sudden is violent. = 38:) — modern instances,] Modern
meema trite, common. = SH:) Thou art not so unkind, &.C.]
That is, thy action is not so contrary to thy kind, or to
human nature, as the ingratitude of man. = 40:) Thy tooth
is not so keen, l| Because thou art not seen,] It is the opinion
of the best commentators, that this can only be tortured
into a meaning. Dr. Johnson paraphrases thus: — Thou win-
ter wind, thy rudeness gives the less pain, as thou art not
seen, as thou art an enemy that dost not brave us with thy
presence, and whose unkindness is therefore not aggravated,
by insult. ^= 41:) ^« friend remember'd 7iot.] Remember'' d
for remembering. =

ACT III. = 1:) — an absent argument — ] An argument
is used for the contents of a book, thence Shakspeare con-
sidered it as meaning the subject, and then useil it for «m6-
ject in yet another sense. ::= 2:) Make an extent — ] "To make
an extent of lands," is a l<'gal phrase, from the words of
a writ, (extendi facias,) whereby the sheriff is directed to
cause certain lands to be appraised to their full extended
value, before he delivers them to the person entitled under
a recognizance, kc. in order that it may be certainly known
how soon the debt will be paid. Mai.0!\k. = 3:) — expediently,]
That is, expeditiously. = 4:) — unexpressive — ] For inex-
pressible. = 6;) — may complain o/good breeding,] May com-
plain of a good education, for being so ineilicicnt, of so
little use to Jiim. M.4I,o>e.= &.) — like an ill-roasted egg,]
Of this jest 1 do not fully comprehend the meaning. John-
son. Shakspeare's similes hardly ever run on four feet.
Mai.otse. = 7:) — make incision in thee!] VVarburton says,
to make incision was a proverbial expression then in vogue
lor to make to understand. ButSteevens thinks the allusion
is to that common expression, of cutting such a one for the
simples, in either case we regret the profaneness= 8:) —
thou art raw.] i. e. thou art i;:iiorant, unexperienced. -^ ?:)

— bawd to a bell-wether;] Wether and ram had anciently
the same meaning. Johnson. = 10:)— /airest lin'd,] i.e. most
fairly delineated. = 11:) But the fair—] Fair is beauty,
complexion. = 12:) — ranis to market.] Sir T. Hanmer reads

— ratj to market, which Mr. Miilone adopts. The hobbling
metre of these verses, (says Touchstone,) is like the am
bling, shuffling pace of a butter woman's horse going to
market. = 13:)— the earlie.-it /rutt— ] Shakspeare seems to
have had little knowledge in gardening. The medlar is one
of the/ate»t fruits, being uneatable till the end of INovcmber.
Stkkvkns. = 14:) That shall civil sayings show.] Civil, 1
believe, is not designedly opposed to solitary. It means only
grave, or solemn. Stkevkns. = 15:) —in little show.] The
allusion is to a miniature jmrtrait. The current phrase in
our author's time was "painted in little." Malonk. _— 16:)
Jtalanta's better part:] The commentators are not agreed
what this lady's better part was: Dr. Johnson inclines to
her beauty; Mr. 'J'ollet to her virgin chastity; Dr. Farmer
and Mr. Malone to her wit; Mr. Slecv< us sums up the evi-
dence in these words: "after all, 1 believe that Atalanta's
better part, means only — the best part about her, such as
was most commended.''' = 17:) — the touches—] The fea-
tures; lea traits. -= IS:)— a palm-tree:] A palm tree, in the
forest of Jrden, is as much out of its place, as the lioness
in a subsequent scene. i=i IP:) — 7 was never so berhymed
since l^ythagorai' time, that J was an Irish rat,] Hosalind

is a very learned lady. She alludes to the Pythagorean
doctrine, which teaches that souls transmigrate from one
animal to another, and relates that in his time she was an
Irish rat, and by some metrical charm was rhymed to death.
Johnson. = 20:)— /rtenrfs to meet;] Alludingironically to the
proverb: "Friends may meet, but mountains never greet."
= 21:) — out of all whooping!] i. e. out of all mcasiire, or
reckoning. This appears to have been a phrase of the same
import as another formerly in use, "out of all rr»/." = 22:)
Good my complexion!] A little unmeaning exclamatory ad-
I dress to her beauty ; in the nature of a small oath. Uitson.
= 23:) -- One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off disco-
very.] The old copy reads, and Mr. Malone adheres to it-
is a South-sea of discoverie: which, says Mr. Henderson,
is the only rending that can preserve the sense of Rosalind.
A South-sea of discovery, is not as a discov"ery, as kar okk,
but as OOMPKEHENSIVE as the S.)uthsea,- which, being the
largest in the world, affords the widest scope for exercising
curiosity. =2 4:) — speak sad brow, and true maid.] i.e.
speak with a grave countenance, and as truly as thou art a
virgin; speak seriously and honestly. ^= 2.5:) If herein went
hef] Jnwhnt mannerwas heclothedV How did he go dressed'?
= 26:) — Garagantua's moulh-] Rosalind requires nine
questions to be answered in one word. (3elia tells her that
a word of such magnitude is too big for any mouth but that
of Garagantua, the giant of Rabelais. Johnson. =2';:) — to
count atomies,] Atomies are those minute particles discern-
ible in a stream of sunshine that breaks into a darkened
room. Henley. = 2 8:) Cr//, holla! to thy tongue,] Holla was
a term of the manege, by wJiich the rider re.-trained and
stopped his horse. = 2^:) — to kill my heart.] A quibble be-
tween/iprart and Aart. = 30:) — hut I answer yoti right painted
cloth,] This alliHles to the fashion in old tapestry hangings,
of mottos and moral sentences from the mouths ot theligures
worked or painted in them. = 31:) — removed—] i.e. remote,
sequestered. = 32:)— in-land man;] is used in this play for
one civilized, in opposition to the rustic of the priest. =
33:) — a blue eye:] i.e. a blueness about the cyes.= 34:) —
an unquestionaiile spirit;] that is, a spirit univilling to he
conversed with. = 6iS:) — your having—] Having is posses-
sion, estate. = 3 6:) Then your hose should be ungarter'd,
kc] These seem to have been the established and charac-
teristical marks by which tlic votaries of love were denoted
in the time of Shakspeare. = 37:) — point-device — ] i.e. ex-
act, drest with linical nicety. =38:) — a moonish youth,] i.e.
variable. ■=^^9:) — Audrey ;] I« a corruption of tltheldreda.
'J'he saint of that name is so styled in ancient calendars. =
40:) — as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among
tAeGotlis.] Capricious is not here humoursome, fantastical,
kc. but lascivious. Upton. Mr. Upton is, perhaps, too re-
lined in his interpretation of capricious. Our author remem-
bered that caper was the Latin for a goat, and thence chose
this epithet. This, I believe, is the whole. Tliere is a poor
quibbl<^ between goats and Goths. M\i.ojiK.^= ii:) — ill in-
habited!] i. e. ill-lodged. An unusual sense of the word. ^=
42:) — it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning
in a little room:] A great reckoning in a little room, im-
plies tliat the entertainment was mean, and the bill extra-
vagant. =43:) y/ material fool!] A fool with matter \n him:
a fool stocked with notions. :=:44:)— / am foul.] Not fair,
or homely. = 45:)— what though/] What then'? = 46:) —
the rascal.] Lean, poor deer, are called rascal deer.^=47:)
— defence — ] Defence, as here opposed to "no skill," signi-
lies the art of fencing. = 48:)— Sir Oliver:] He that has
taken his lirst degree at the university, is in the academical
style called Dominus, and in common language was hereto-
fore termed Sir. The Sir Hugh Evans ofShakspcare is not
a Welsh knijjht who hath taken orders, but only a Welsh
clergyman without any regular degree from either of the
Universities. Sec Harrington's History of the Gwedir Fa-
mily. Nichols. = 4P:)— God'ild you—] i.e. God yield you,
God reward you. = 50:) — his bow,] i. e. his yoke. The an-
cient yoke in form resembled a bow. = 51:) "behind thee."
Malone. = 52:) "with thee." Malone. = 53:) Something
browner than ^^\l{a.»'s:] Judas was constantly represented
in ancient painting or tapestry, with red hair and beard.
= 54:) rfaith,his hair is of a good colour.] There is much
of nature in this petty pcrverseness of Rosalind: she finds
fault in her lover, in hope to be contradicted, and when (^c-
lia in sportive malice too readily seconds her accusations,
she contradicts herself rather than suffer her favourite to
want a vindication. '= 55:) -p as the touch of holy bread.]
V\ e should rend beard, that is, as the kiss of an holy saint
or hermit, called the kiss of charily. This makes the com-
parison just and decent; the other impious and absurd. VVar-
KUiiTON. = 56:) — as concave as a cover'd goblet,] i. c. hol-
low. = 57:)— raMcft question — ] i. e. conversation. = 58:) —
quite traverse, athwart, kc] An unexperienced lover is here
compared to a puny tilter, to whom it was a disgrace to
have his lance broken across, as it was a mark either of
want of courage or address. 'J'his happened when the horse
flew on one side, in the career: and hence arose the jocular
proverbial phrase of spurring the horse only on one side.
-— B9:) — of his lover;] i.e. of his mistress. == 60:) Tjs
pretty, sure, and very probable:] Sure for surely. = dU)
The cicatrice and capable impressure — ] Cicatrice is here
not very properly used; it is the scar of a wound. Capable
may mean here — perceptible. -= 62:) — power of fancy,]
Fancy is here used for love. = 63:)— Who might be your
mother,] It is common for the poets to express cruelty by
saying, of those who cuoimit it, that they were born of rucks,

Til. S.[Vl: it]

NOTES.

969

or suckled by tigress-'CB. Johnson. ^=64:) "ma beauty." Ma-
lum!. =65:) Of -nature's sale-work:] Tjie nllu^^ioii is to the
Eracticc of nieclianics, whose work bespokc is more cla-
orato tlian that which is made up lor chaiire customers. =
66:) Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.'] 'I'he sense
is, The vgty seem most ugly, when, thougii ugly, they are

scoffers. := o7:) though all the world could see, || None

could be so abused in sight as Ac] Thougli all mankind
rould look on ^ou, j)o;ie could be so deceived ;is to think
you bciiuiiful but lie. Johnson. = 6 S:) Dead shepherd! vow
t find thy saw of might ; \\ \Yho ever lov'd, tnat lov'd not
at first sigiit'?] The second of these lines is from Marlowe's
JJero and Leander, 1637.= 6!-':) TAat the old carlot— ] i.e.
■peasant, from carl or churl; probably a word ot ><hak-
speare's coinage. = 70:) — a peevish 6oy;] feevish, in an-
cient language, signifies weak, silly. = "1 1:) "lie is not very
tail." Mai.om;. =

ACT IV. ^t:^^ 1:)— tchich is nice-,] i. e. silly, trifling. r=
?:) Maloue reads, "travels ; which by often runnnutiou wraps
me, in a uiost humorous sadness." -= ff:) — disable — ] i. e.
undervalue. = 4:) — swam in a gondola.'] That is, been at
A enice, the seat at that time of all licentiousness, where
the young English gentlemen wasted their fortunes, debased
Ihcir morals, and sometimes lost their religion. = 6:) — a
liosalind of a better leer than you.'\ i. e. of a better fea-
ture, complexion, or coiour, than you.=^ 6:)i will weep for
nothing, like Dia-ia in the fountain,] Statues, and particu-
larly tnat of Diana, with water conveyed through them to
give the appearance of weeping figures, were anciently a
frequent ornament of fountains. = 7:) — J will laugh like a
hyeii,] The bark of the hyena was ancienily supposed to re-
semble a loud laugh. = 8:) — Make the doors—] This is an
expression used in several of tiie midland counties, instead
of bar the door. -= ^:) — IVit, whither wilt'f] 'I"his was an
exclamation much in use, when any one was either talking
nonsense, or usurping a greater share in conversation than
Justly belonged to hiln._= 10:) — make her fault herhus-
band's occasion,'] That is, represent her fault as occasioned
by her husband. =^11:) — tAe /nost pathetical 6reat-promj«e,]
Itosaliiid means a lover w hose falsehood would most deeply
affect his mistress. = 12:) —begot of thouglit,] i. c. of me-
lancholy. ^= 13:) The foregoing noisy scene v\as introduced
only to lill up_ an interval, which is to represent two hours.
This contraction of the time we might impute to poor Rosa-
lind's impatience, but that a few minutes after we iind Or-
lando sending his excuse. I do not see that by any probable
division of the Acts this absurdity can be obviated. Johnson.
= 14:) — ^/nrf Acre much Orlando.'] Much! was frequently
used to indicate disdain. = 15:) "did hid me." Malonk.=
16:) — vengeance — ] is used for mischief . = 11:) — youth and
kind — ] Kind is the old word for nature. = 1&.) — alt that

1 call make;] i.e. raise as prolit from any thing.= lS:) — /
see, love hath made thee a tame snake,] This term was, in
our author's time, frequently used to express a poor con-
temptible fellow. :=: 20:) — purlieus of this forest,'] Furlieu,
says Manwood's Treatise on the Forest Laws, c xx. "Is
a ccrtaine territorie of ground adjoyning unto the forest,
meared and bounded with unmoveable marks, meercs, and
boundaries: which territories of ground was also forest, and
afterwards disaforested agaiiie by the perambulations made
for the severing of the new I'orest from the old." Ukbo. =

2 \:) — napkin :] i.d handkerchief. ^22:) And he did render
Aim—] i.e. describe him. = 23:)— in which hurtling—] To
hurtle is to. move with impetuosity and tumult. ::= 2 4:) —
Cousin — Ganymede !] Cclia, in her lirsl fright, forgets llo-
salind's character and disguise, and calls out cousin, then
recollects herself, and says Ganymede. Johnson. =

ACT V. = 1:) "or, to wit." Mai.one. — 2:) And you.
fair sister.] Oliver speaks to her in the character she had
assumed, of a woman courted by Orlando his brother. = 3:)

— clubs cannot part them.'] It appears from many of our old
dramas, that, in our auth'.ir's time, it was a common custom,
on the breaking out of a fray, to call out '■'■Clubs— clubs,"
to part the combatants. = 4:) — human as she is.] that is,
not a phantom, but the real Rosalind, without any of the
danger generally conceived to attend the rites of incantation.
Joii>s<iN..= 5:) — bid your friends ;] i.e. invite your friends.
= 6:) — all observance;] Probably an error, for obeisance.
^^7:) — a woman of the world ] To go to the world, is to
be married. So, in iVlucA .^rfo About Nothing: "I'hus (says
Beatrice) every one goes to the world, but 1."= 8:) Truli/,
young gentlemen, ^c] The sense seems to be— Though the
words of the song were trifling, the music was not {as might
have been expected) good enough to compensate their de-
fect. ■= 9:) As those that fear they hope, and know they
fear.'] The meaning, 1 think, is, As those who fear, — theii
even those very persons, entertain Aones, that their fears
will not be realized; and yet at the same time they well
know that there is reason for their fears. Mm.onk = 10-)

— trod a measure;] a very stately solemn dance.' = 1 1!)
God lid you, sir;'] i.e. God yield you, reward jou. = 12-) —
according as marriage binds, and blood breaks :] A man by
the marriage ceremony, swkars that Ac will keep only to
his wife; wlycn, therefore, he leaves her for another alooo
HREAKS his matrimonial obligation, and he is ron'swoRN.
Henlby. = 13:) — du/cet diseases.} This word is caprictousi!;)

used for sayings, though neither in its primary or figurative
sense it has any relation to that word. = 14:) — seeming,']
i. e._ seemly. Seeming is often used by Shakspcare for be-
coming, or fairness of appearance. = 15:) 0, sir, we quar-
rel in print, by the book:] Tlie poet has, in this scene, ral-
lied the mode of formal duelling, then so prevalent, with
the highest humour and address: nor could lie have treated
it with a happier contempt, tlian by making his ('low 11 so
knowing in tlie forms and preliminaries of it. The particu-
lar book here alluded to, is a very ridiculous treatise of one
Vincentio Saviolo, intitled. Of Honour and Honourable
Quarrels, hi itn., printed by VVoli, 16^4.=^! 6:) Enterllymitiy,]
liosalind is imagined by the rest of the company to be
brought by enchantment, and is therefore introduced by a
supposed iicrial being in the character of Hymen. t= 17:) //
i truth holds true contents.] That is, if there bo truth in
I frufA, unless trutii fails of veracity. ^=18:) — co/n6j";/e.] Shak-
speare is licentious in his use of this verb, which here only
signifies to bind.= 19:) To sec no pastime, 1: Xc] Ami<lst
I this general festivity, the reiider may be sorry to take his
1 leave of Jaques, wlio appc.irs to have no share in it, and
remains behind unreconciled to society. He has, however,
iilled with a gloomy sensibility the spdce allotted Jo him in
the play, and to the last preserves that respect_ which is due
to him as a consistent chiiracter, and an amiable, though
solitary moralist. — It may be observed, with scarce less
concern, that Shakspeare has, on this occasion, for^'ot old
Adam, the servant of Orlando, whose fidelity should have
entjtlicl him to notice at the end of the piece, as well_ as to
that happiness whicti he would naturally have found, in the
return of fortune to his master. =r 20:) — 719 bush,] It ap-
pears formerly to have been the custom to hang a ttift of
try at the door of a vintner. The practice is still observed
in Warwickshire and the adjoining counties, at statute hir-
ings, wakes, &c. by people who sell ale at no other time.
= 2 J:) — furnished like a beggar,] that is, dressed: so be-
fore, he was furnished like a iiuntsmau. = 22:) "As please
you, and 1." Malone. =23:) — // I were a woman,] In this
author's time, the parts of women were always performed
by men or boys. ^ 24:) — complexions that liked me,] i. e.
that I liked. =

XI. ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

ACT I. = 1:) Lnfeu,] We should read — £e/eu. Stee-
VE^s.= 2:) Parolles,] 1 suppose we should write this name

— Paroles, i.e. a creature made up of empty words. Stbe-
vens. ^ 3:) f iolenta only enters once, and tiien she neither
speaks, nor is spoken to. This name appears to be borrowed
from ail old metrical history, entitled Didaco and f'iolenta,
1576. Steevens. = 4:) — in ward,] I iider his particular care,
as my guardian, till I come to age. It is now almost for-
gotten in England, that the heirs of great fortunes were
the king's wards. Whether the same practice prevailed in
France, it is of no great use to enquire, for Shakspeare
gives to all nations the manners of England. Johnson. = 6:)

— virtuous qualities,] By virtuous qualities are meant qual-
ities of good breeding and erudition, and not moral ones.
Wakburton. ^= 6:) — they are virtues and traitors too; in
her they are the better for their simplencss ;] Her virtues
are the better for their simplencss, tliat is, her excellencies
are tlie better because they are arlle-is and open, without
fraud, without design. The learned couimentaior has well
explained virtues, but has not, 1 think, reached the force
of the word traitors, and therefore has not shown the full
extent of Shakspeare's masterly observation, firtues in
an unclean mind are virtues and traitors too. Estimable
and useful qualities, joined with an evil disposition, give
that disposition power over others, who, by admiring the
virtue, are betrayed to the malevolence. The Tatlcr, men-
tioning the sharpers of his time, observes, that some of
them are even ot such elegance and knowledge that a young
man who falls into their way, is betrayed as much by his
judgment as his passions. Johnson. ^=7:) — all livelihood—]
i. e. all appearance of life. = 8:) / do affect a sorrow, in-
deed, but I have it too.] Helena has, I believe, a meaning
here, th;it she does not wish should be understood by the
countess. Her affected sorrow was for the death of her
father; her real grief for the lowness of her situation, which
she feared would for ever be a bar to her union with her
beloved Bertram. ^=9:) Jf the living be enemy to the grief,
the excess makes it soon mortal.] Lafcu says, excessive
grief is the enemy of the living: the countess replies, Jf
the living be an enemy to grief, the excess soon rnakes it
mortal: that is, If the living do not indulge grief, grief
destroys itself by its own cvcess. By the word mortal, I
understand that which dies; and Dr. Warburton [who reads

— be not enemy—] that which destroys. 1 think that my
interpretation g"ives a sentence more acute and more refined.
Let the reader judge. Johnson. = 10:) That thee may furnish,]
That may help thee with more and better qualifications. =
11:) Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold tAc credit
of your father. || H'.l. O, were that all!— I think not on my
father;] Would that the attention to maintain the credit of
my father, (or, not to act unbecoming the daughter of suclx
afather, — lor such, perhaps, is the meaning,) were my only
solicitude ! I think not of him. My cares are all lor Ber-
tram. Malone. = 12:) In his bright radiance and collateral

V.

970

NOTES.

[Pl:11.] Tii.S.

light, &c.] I cannot be united with him and move in the
same sphere, but must be comforted ut a distance by the
radiance that shooti^ on all sides from him. JoH^(io^. = 13:)
Jn our heart's talile;] A table was, in our authorV time, a
term for a picture, in which sense it is used here. = 14:) —
triclio/ his sweet favour:^ Trick is an exjiression taken from
drawing; but on the present occasion may mean neither
tracing nor outline, but peculiarity.^^ 1 £:) Cold wisdom wait-
ing on superfluous folly.'] Cold "lor naked: as superfluous
for over-clothed. This makes the propriety of tlie antithe
819. VVAKBURT0iii. = 16:) Jnd no.] I am no more a queen than
you are a monarch. = 17:) — inhibited sin — ] i. e. lorhidden.
= 18:) — Your date is better — ] Here is a quibble on the
word date, wh\ch means both a^e, and a candied //ti/t much
used in our author's time. = li*:J .4 phoenix, iVc ] Tue eigiit
lines following friend, I am persuaded is the nonsense of
some foolisli conceited player. Warkukton. = 20:) — a trai-
tress,] It seems that traitress was in that age a term of
endearment. = 2 1:) — fAristerif/oms,] This word, which signi-
iies_ a collective body of Christianity, every place where the
christian religion is embraced, is surely used with much li-
cence on the present occasion. = 22:) And shoio what we
alone must think;] And show by realities wliat we now must
only think. ^23:) — so thou wilt be capable of a courtier^s
counsel,] \.e. thou wilt comprehend it. = 24:) jy hat power
is it, which mounts my love so high ; \\ That makes me see,
and cannot feed mine eye'*] She means, by what influence
is my love directed to a person so much above me'? why
am 1 made to discern excellence, and left to long after it,
without the food of hope'? Johisson. = 25;) — kiss like native
things.] Things formed by nature for each other. = 26:) —
Senoys—] The Sanesi, as they are termed by Boccace.
Painter, who translates diim, calls them Senuis. They were
the people of a small republic, of which the capital was
Sienna^ The Florentines were at perpetual variance with
them. Steevens. =27:) — It much repairs wie — ] To repair,
in these plays, generally sigiiilies, to renovate. = 28:) He
had the wit, kc] 1 believe honour is not dignity of birth
or rank, but acquired reputation : — Your father, says the
king, had the same airy flights of satirical ivit with the
young lords of the present time, but they do not what he
aid, hide their unnoted levity, in honour, cover petty faults
with great merit. This is an excellent observation. Jocose
follies, and slight offences, are only allowed by mankind in
him that over-powers them by great qualities. Johnson. =
29:) His tongue obey'd his hand:] We should read — His
tongue obey'd the hand. That is, the hand of his honour^s
clock, showing the true minutes when exceptions bad him
speak. = 30:) So in approof lives not his epitaph, || As in
your royal speech.] Mr. Heath supposes the meaning to be
this: "His epitaph, or the character he left behind him, is
not so well established by the specimens he exhibited of his

worth, as by your royal report in his favour." =: 31:)

whose judgments are || Mere fathers of their garments f]
Who have no other use of their faculties, than to invent
new modes of dress. =32:) — Sfewan/, and Olown.] A clown
in Shakspeare is commonly taken for a licensed jester, or
domestic fool. We are not to wonder that we find this cha-
racter often in his plays, since fools were at that time main-
tained in all great families, to keep up merriment in the
hoiise._ In the picture of Sir Thomas Moore's family, by Hans
Holbein, the only servant represented is I'atisou the fool.
This is a proof of the familiarity to which they were ad-
mitted, not by the great only, but the wise.^33:) — to even
your content,] To act up to your desires. = 34:) — you lack
not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make
such knaveries yours.] It appears to me that the accusative
them refers to knaveries, and the natural sense of the pas-
sage seems to be this: "You have folly enough to desire to
commit these knaveries, and ability enough to accomplish
them." M. Mason. =36:) — fo go to the world,] This phrase
has already occurred, and sigmlies to be married. ^=: 3b:) —
Service is no heritage:] This is a proverbial expression. =
37:) — that ears my land,] To ear is to plough. = 38:) A
projphet 1, madam; and 1 speak the truth the next way:]
It is a superstition, whicii has run through all ages and
people, that natural fools have something in them of divin-
ity. On which account they were esteemed sacred : Tra-
vellers tell us in what esteem the Turks now hold them;
nor had they less honour paid them heretofore in France, as
appears from the old word benet, for a natural fool. Next
way, is nearest way. =39.) tf^'as this fair face the cause,
&C.J The name of Helen, whom the countess has just called
for, brings an old ballad on the sacking of Troy to the
clown's mind. Fond done is foolishly done =40:) "or every,"
i.e. before every. Mai-one. = 41:) — 'twould mend the lot-
tery well;] This surely is a strange kind of phraseology. I
have never met with any example of it in any of the con-
temporary writers ; and if there were any proof that in the
lotteries of queen Elizabeth's tiipe wheels were employed, I
should be inclined to read — lottery wheel. Malone. = 42:)
Clo. That man, kc] Here is an allusion, violently enough
forced in, to satirize the obstinacy with which the puritans
refused the use of the ecclesiastical habits, which was, at
that time, one principal cause of the breach of the union;
and perhaps, to insinuate, that the modest purity of the sur-
plice was sometimes a cover for pride. = 43:) — sithence,]
1. e. e/nce. = 44:) By our remembrances — ] That is, accord-
ing to our recollection. So we say, he is old by my rec-
koning. Johnson. =: 45:) WhaVs the matter, \\ That this

distetnper'd messenger of wet, || The many-coloured Iris,

rounds thine eye'/] There is something exquisitely beautiful
in this representation of that siitfusiun of colours which
glimmers round the sight when the eye-lashes are wet with
tears. flENi.KY. = 46:) 1 care no more for,] There is a de-
signed ambiguity : / care no more for, is, 1 care as much
for. I wish it equally. Farmer. -==4 7:) —af rive— ] 'I'o strive
is to contend. = 48:) Your salt tears' head.] 'I'he source,
the fountain of your tears, the cause of your grief. John-
.soN. = 4i^:) — in their kind—] i.e. in their lasiguage, accord-
ing to their nature. =60:) — captious and inieuible sieve,]
Dr. Farmer supposes captious to be a contraction of capa-
cious. Mr. Malone thinks it means recipient, capable of re-
cciving what is put into it; and by intenible, incapable of
holding or retaining it. ::= 51:) And lack not to lose still:]
Helena means to say, that, like a person who pours water
into a \ essel full of holes, and still continues his employ-
ment, though he linds the water all lost, and the vessel
empty ; so, though she linds that the ipaters of her love are
still lost, that her affection is thrown away on an object
whom she thinks she never can deserve, she yet is not dis-
couraged, but perseveres in her hopeless endeavour to ac-
complish her wishes. =6 2:) fFhose aged honour cites a
virtuous youth,] i. e. whose respectable conduct in age shows,
or proves tliiit you were no less virtuous when young. =
53:) IFtsA chastly, and love dearly, that your JJi.an \lFas
both herself and love;] i.e. Venus. Helena means to say —
"If ever you wished that the deity who presides over chas-
tity, and the (juccn of amorous rites, were one and the same
person ; or, in other words, if ever you wished for the
jioncsi and lawful completion of your chaste desires." = 5^:)
— notes, whose faculties inclusive — ] Receipts in whicli
greater virtues were inclosed than appeared to observation.^
= 55:) EmhotveWd of their doctrine,] i. e. exhausted of
their skill. =

ACT II. =1:) "young lords." Malone. =2:) "my lords."
Mai.one. = 3:) — and yet my heart,k.c.] i.e. in the comutoii
phrase, / am still heart-whole ; my spirits, by not sinking
under my distemper, do not acknowledge its influence. = 4:)

let higher Italy \\ (Those 'bated, that inherit but the

fall I; Of the last monarchy ,) see, i:c.] The ancient geogra-
phers have divided Italy into the higher and the low er, the
Apennine hills being a kind of natural line of partition; the
side next the Adriatic was denominated the higher Italy,
and the other side the lower ; and the tw o seas follow ed the
same terms of distinction, the Adriatic being called the up-
per Sea, and the Tyrrhene, or Tuscan, the lower. \ovv the
Sennoiies, or Senois, with whom the Florentines are here
supposed to be at war, inhabited the higiier Italy, their
chief town being Armiiiium, now called Rimini, upon the
Adriatic. Hanmer. Dr. Johnson says, that the sense may
be this: Let upper Italy, where you are to exercise your
valour, see that you come to gain honour, to the abatement,
that is, to the disgrace and depression of those that have
now lost their ancient military fame, and inherit but the
fall of the last monarchy. To abate is used by Shakspeare
in the original sense of abattre, to depress, to sink, to de-
ject, to subdue. ^^5:) beware of being captives, \\ Jiefore

you serve.] The word serve is equivocal; the sense is, lie

not captives before you serve in the war. = 6:) and no

sword worn, l\ Hut one to dance with.'] It should be remem-
bered that, in Shakspeare's time, it was usual for gentle-
men to dance witu swords on. Our author gave to all coun-
tries the manners of his own. =7:) — they wear themselves
in the cap of the time, there, do muster true gait, kc]
'i'he obscurity of the passage arises from the fantastical
language of a character like Parolles, whose atFeciation of
wit urges his imagination from one allusion to another,
without allowing time for his judgment to determine their
congruity. The cap of time being the lirst image that oc-
curs, true gait, manner of eating, speaking, kc. are the se-
veral ornaments which they muster, place, or arrange in
time's cap. This is done under the influence of the most
received star; that is, the person in the highest repute for
setting the fashions : — and though the devil were to lead
the measure or dance of fashion, such is their implicit sub-
mission, that even he must be followed. Hem,bv. = 8:) —
lead the measure,] i. e. the dance. ^=':i:) — across :] This word
is used when any pass of wit miscarries. VVhilc_ chivalry
was ill vogue, breaking spears against a quintain was a
favourite exercise. He who shivered the greatest number
was esteemed the most adroit ; but then it^ was to be per-
formed exactly with the point, for if achieved by a side
stroke, or across, it showed nnskilfitlness, and disgraced the
practiser. = 10:) — medicine,] is here put for a she-physi-
cian. ^= W:) — dance canary,] a kind of dauce. = 12:) —Acr
years, profession,] Hy profession is meant her declaration
of the end and purpose of her coining. r= 13:) Than I dare
blame my weakness:] Lafeii's meaning appeyrs to me to be
this: — "That the amazement she excited in him was so
great, that he could not impute it merely to his own weak-
ness, but to the wonderful qualities of the object that occa-
sioned it." M. Mason. = 14:)- Cressid's uncle,] I am like
Pandarus. See Troilus and Cres«i'e/a. = 15:) — well found.]
i. e. of known, acknowledged, excellence. := 16:) When mi-
racles have by the greatest been denied.] i. e. disbelieved,
or contemned. -^=17:) Myself against the level of mine aim ;]
i. e. I am not an impostor that proclaim one thiiij^ and de-
sign another, that proclaim a cure and aim at a fraud. =
18:) — no worse of worst extended,] i. c. to be so defamed

T//. S.[Pl:11.]

NOTES

971

that nothinr severer can be said against those who are most
[lubliclv reporleil to be infamous. = IP:) Jnd what impoKfi-

lONB. = 20:) — I" thee hath estimate;] May be counttd
amonff the gifts en joyed by Hue. JoM^s^^^. =21:) —prime—]
Voiitli; the sprightly vigour of life. = 22:) — in property—]
lu property s^eems to be here used, with much laxity, tor —
in the due performance. =i3:) lyith any branch or image
of thy ftate:~i Brain h refers to the collateral descendants
of the royal Hood, and image to the direct and immediate
line. Hem.kv. = 24:) To be young again,] The lady censures
her own levity in trilling with her jester, as a ridiculous
attempt to return back to youth. r= 2d:) O Lord^sir,] \ ri-
dicule on that foolish expletive of speech then in vogue at
court.= 26:)— inorfern— J i. e. common; ordinary. ^= 27:) —
vnk-noim fear.] Fear is here an object of fear.=:28:) — aii-
Ibentic filloirs,^ The epithet authentic «as in our author s
time particularly applied to the learned. = 29:) /f Ay, your
dolphin is not lustier:] By dolphin is meant the dauphin,
the heir apparent, and the hope of the crown of France.
His title is so translated in all the old books. ^ 30:) — la-
cinorous spirit,] Facinorous is wicked. = 31:) Lustic,] Lus-
tigh is the Dutch word for lusty, chearful, pleasant. = 32:)
O'er irAom both sovereign power and father"* rotce— ] They |
were his leards as well as his subjects. Hkm-ey. = 33:) — j
marry, to each, but one!] i.e. except one. = 3 4:) — 6a»/ Cur-
tal ] i. e. a bay, docked horse. = 35:) 3Iy mouth no more \
were broken—] A broken mouth is a mouth which has lost
part of its teeth. Joh>so>. =3(i:) Let the white death, &c.]
The trhite death is the chlorosis. The ueslilence that ra- i
vaped England in the reigu of Edward 111. was called ' the
black death." = 31:)— the rest is mute.] i.e. 1 have no more
to say to you. = 38:) — aines ace— ] i. e. the lov\est chance
of the dice. = 39:) Vo all they deny hcr^] ^oue of tnem
have yet denied her, or deny her afterwards, but Bertram.
The scene must be so ngulated that Lafeu and I'arolles
talk at a distance, where they may see what passes between
Helena and the lords, but not hear it, so that they know not
by whom the refusal is made. Johkson. = 40:) 'Tis only
title—] i.e. the want of title. = 41:) fyhere great additions
swell,] Additions are the titles and descriptions by which

men are distinguished from each other. = 4 2:) good

alone i Is good, without a name; vilevess is so:] The nieau-
ing is, — Good is good, independent on any worldly distinc-
tion or title: so vileness is vile, in whatever state it may
appear. IMai.onb. = ii:) — honour s born,] i. e. is the cAi7d
of honour. Bom is here used, as bairn still is in the North.

Hk>lkv. = 44:) "Honours thrive." .Mai.onb. =45:) that

canst not dream, " IFc, poizing us in her defective scale, |
Shall weigh thee to the beam ;] That canst not understand,
that if you and this maiden should be w eighed together, and
our royal favours should be thrown into her scale, (which
you esteem so light,) we should make that iu which you
should be placed, to strike the beam. Malo>f.. = 4(5:) into
the staggers,] One species of the staggers, or the horse's
apoplexy, is a raging impatience, which makes the animal
dash himself with a destructive violence against posts or
walls. To this the allusion, 1 suppose, is made. Johnson.

t= 47:) whose ceremony '\ Shall seem expedient on the

now-born brief, ;i ^nd be performed to-night;] A brief, iu
ancient language, means any short and suuimary writing or
proceeding. The now-born brief is another phrase for the
contract recently and suddenly made. The ceremony of it
(says the king) shall seem to hasten after its short preli-
minary, and be performed to-night, iiC. Stkevens. The
meaning of the present passage, 1 believe, is: Good-fortune,
and the king's favour, smile on this short contract; the ce-
remonial part of w hich shall immediately pass — shall fol-
low close on the troth noip plighted between the parties,
and be performed this night; the solemn feast shall be de-
layed to a future time. M.ii.one. = 48:) — for two ordina-
ries,] Whilst 1 sat twice with thee at table. Johnson. = 49:)
— taking up;] To take up is to contradict, to call to ac-
count ; as well as to pick off the ground. Johnson. = 50:) —
in the default,] That is, at a need. =r 51:) —for doing I
am past ; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give
me leave.] Mr. Edwards has, 1 think, given the true mean-
ing of Lafeu's words. "/ cannot do much, says Lafeu;
doing I am past, as I will by thee in what motion age will
give me leave ; i. c. as 1 will pass by thee as fast as I am
able: — And he immediately goes out. It is a play onthe
word }>a«t: the conceit indeed is poor, but f^hakspeare plainly
meant it." M ai.onb.^52:) That hugs his kicksy-wicksy, Aic]
SirT. Haumer, in his Glossary, observes, that,' ticA-»»/-u'ic<r«u
is a made word in ridicule and disdain of a wife. ^53:) I»
the dark-house,] The dark-house is a house made gloomy
by discontent. = 64:) "But puts it off fo a coinpcll'd re-
straint." Mai.onk. = Si:) — probable need] A specious ap-
pearance of necessity.^ 56:)— a bunting.] The bunting is,
in feather, size, and form, so like the sky-lark, as lo require
nice attention to discover the one from the other; it also
ascends and sings iu the air nearly iu the same manner:
but it has little or no song, which gives estimation to the
sky-lark. = 5 7:) You have made shift to run into't, boots
and spurs and all, tike him that leaped t'nfo the custard;]
This odd allusion is not introduced without a view to satire.
It was a foolery practised at city entertainments, whilst
the jester or zany was in vogue, for him to jump into a

large deep custard, set for the purpose. =58:) "Will to de-
serve." Malone. = 5P:) Jnd rather muse,] To mute is to
wonder. = 60:) — the wealth I owe;] i.e. 1 own, possess. ■=

ACT m. = 1:)— / cannot yield,] 1 cannot inform you
of the reasons. Johnson. = 2:) — an outward man,] i.e. one
not iu the secret of affairs. = 3:)— the younger of our na-
ture,] i. e. as we say at present, our young fellows. = 4:)
niend fAe ruff,] The'tops of the boots, iu our author's time,
turned down, and huug loosely over the leg. The folding
is what the clown means by the ruff. Beu Jonsun calls it
ruffle; and perhaps it should be so here. = 5:) Can woman
i„e — ] i. e. affect me suddenly and deeply, as my sex are
usually affected. = 6:) >A Aen thou canst get the ring upon
my finger,] i. c. when thou canst get the ring, which is on
my linger, into thy possession. = 7:) Jf thou tngrossest all
the griffs are thine, Kc] This sentiment is elliptically ex-
pressed. If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself, i. e. "all

the griefs fAat are thine," A-c. = 8:) a deal of that, too

much, i| fh Inch holds him much to have.] That is, his vices
stand him in stead. = 9:) i\"ot so, iic] The gentlemen declare
that they are servants to the countess; she replies, -^ No
otherwise than as she returns the same offices of civility.

Johnson. ^10:) move tAe still-piecing air, || TAat sings

with piercing,] Warburton says the words are here oddly
shuffled into nonsense ; but the commentators have not suc-
ceeded in making sense of them. = 11:) — fAe raviu lion — ]
i.e. the ravenous or ravening lion. To ravin is to swallow
voraciously. = 12:) Whence honour but of danger, K.C.] The
sense is, from that abode, where all the advantages that
houour usually reaps from the danger it rushes upon, is only
a scar in testimony of its bravery, as on the other hand, it
often is the cause of losing all, eveu life itself. Heath. =
13:) — Juno,] Alluding to the story of Hercules. = 140 —
lack advice — ] Advice is discretion or thought.^=l6:)That
he does weigh too light:] To weigh here means to value or
esteem.^ 16:) — fAo«e suggestions — ] Suggestions^rKtcmpta-
tions. = 17:) — are not lAe things they go under:] They
are not the things for which their names would make them
pass. ^18:) — palmers — ] Pilgrims that visited holy places;
so called from a staff, or bough of palm they were wont to
carry, especially such as had visited the holy places at Je-
rusalem. = 19:) — for lAe king, ice] For, in the present in-
stance, signifies ftecouse. = 20:) — mere tAe truth;] The ex-
act, the entire truth. =21:) — examined.] That is, questioned,
doubted.^ 22:) "1 write good creature." Malone. =23:) —
brokes—] To broke is to deal with panders. A broker, in
our author's time, meant a bawd or pimp. =24:) — a hildiug,]
A hilding is a paltry, cowardly fellow. =2 5:)— Ae is car-
ried into the leaiguer — ] i. c. com/). = 2 6:) — if you give him
not John Drum's entertainment,] i. e. treat him very ill ; a
proverbial expression of doubtful origin. = 2 7:) — / would
have that drum or another^ or hie jacct.] i. e. Here lies; —
the usual beginning of epit.iphs. 1 would (says Parolles)
recover either the drum I have lost, or another belonging
to the enemy; or die in the attempt. Malosk._= 2 8:) — /
will presently pen down my dilemmas,] i. e. he will pen down
his plans ou the one side, aud the probable obstructious he
was to meet with, ou the other. ^^29:) Par. / love not many
words. J 1 Lord. 3o more fAan a fish loves water.] Here we
have the origin of this boaster's name; which, without doubt,
(as Mr. Steevens has observed,) ought, iu strict propriety,
to be written — Paro/e«, But our author certainly intended
it otherwise, having made it a trisyllabic: "Rust sword,
cool blushes, and Parolles live." He probably did not know
the true pronunciation. Malone. = 30:) — ice have almost
emboss'd Aim,] To em6oss a deer is to inclose him in a wood.
= 31:) = ere we case Aim] That is, before we strip him
naked. = 32:) — we have Vthe wind,] To have one in the
wind, is enumerated as a proverbial saying by Ray. = 33:)
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon] i. e. by disco-
vering herself to the count. =34:) Now his important—]
Important, here, is tmjiortunate. =3S:] — the county loeor*,]
i. e. the count. =

ACT rV. = 1:) — some band of strangers fthe adver-
sary's entertainment.] That is, foreign troops in the ene-
my's jiaj/. = 2;) — so we seem to know, is to know, inc.] We
must each fancy a jargon for himself, without aiming to be
understood by one another, for provided we appear to un-
derstand, that will be sufficient for the success of our pro-
ject. Henley. = 3:)— tAe instance'?] The proof. = 4:] — o/
Bajai.et's mule,] Parolles probably means, he must buy a
tongue which has still to learn the use of speech, that he
may run himself into no more difficulties by his loquacity.
Mr. Malone reads mute. = 5:) i.e. the shaving of my beard.
=: 6:) What is not holy, that we swear not by,] The sense
is _ We never sw ear by what is not holy, but sw ear by, or
take to witness, the Highest, the Divinity. The tenor ot
the reasoning contained in the follow ing lines perfectly cor-
responds with this: If I should swear by Jove s great attri-
butes, that I loved you dearly, would you believe my oiattas,
when yon found by experience that I loved you ill, and was
endeavouring lo gain credit with you in order to seduce you
to your ruin J No, surely; but you would conclude that I
had no faith either in Jove or his attributes, and that my
oaths were mere words of course. For that oath can cer-
tainly have no tie upon us, which we swear by him we pro-

972

NOTES.

[Pl: 12] Th. S.

fcss to love and honour, when at the same time we give the
strongc»tt proof of our disbelief in him, by purguing u course
whicii wo know will offend and dishonour him. Heath.=_7:)
/ see, that men make hopes, in such affairs, J i. e. I perceive
that while our lovers are making iirofessious of love, they
entertain hopes that we shall be oi'trayed by our passions
to yield to their desires. Mr. Maloue reads, "in such a
tce.ne.'''' =8:) — Since Frenchmen arc so braid,] i. e. crafty
or deceitful. = ii:) — in his proper stream overflows himselj .]
That is, betrays his own secrets in his own talk Tlie reply
shows that this is the meaning. Johnson. = 10:) It is not
meant damnable in us,] Adjectives are often used as ad-
verbs by our author and his contemporaries. •=11:) — his
company — ] i. e. his companion. -= 12:) — bring forth this
counterfeit module;] Module being the pattern of any thing,
may be here used in that sense. Hriiig forth this fellow,
who, by counterfeit virtue, pretended to make himself a
pattern. Johnson. = 13:) — in usurping his spurs so long.]
These w ords allude to the ceremonial degradation of a kniglit.
= 14:) — that had the whole thcoviK—l i. e. theory. = !!)•.] —
1 con him no thanks for't,] To con thanks exactly answers
the French sqatwir grc. 'I'o con is to know. = lu:) — if I
were to IWc this present hour, kc.] Perhaps we should read:

— if I were to live but this present hour. Steevkns.= 17:)

— off their cassocks,] Cassock signilies a horseman's loose
coat, and is used in that sense by the writers of the age of
Shakspeare. = 18:) — my conditions,] i.e. my disposition and
character. Mr. Malone reads condition. = i9:) — intergato-
ries:] i. e. interrogatories. ^=20:) — though I know, his brains
are forfeit to the next tile that falls.] In Lucian's Contem-
plantes, Mercury makes Charon remark a man that was
killed by the falling of a tile upon his head, whilst he was
in the act of putting off an engagement to the next day. =
21:) Half won, is match well made; match, and well make
it;] The meaning is, "a match well made, is half won; make
your match, therefore, but make it well." = 22:) — an egg
out of a cloister;] He will steal any thing, however trifling,
from any place, however holy. Robbing the spital, is a
common phrase, of the like import. ^i= 23:) —for a quart
d'ecu— ] The fourth part of the smaller French crown; about
eight-pence of our money. = 24:) frhy does he ask him of
me<!] This is nature. Kvery man is, on such occasions,
more willing to hear his neighbour's character than hisovvn.
Johnson. = 26:) — to beguile the supposition—] That is, to
deceive the opinion, to make the count think me a man that
deserves well. = 2b:) — my motive — ] Motive for assistant,
or rather for morer. = 27:') When saucy—] Saucy may very
properly signify luxurious, and by conse{|uence lascivious.
z= 28:)— death and honesty — ] i.e. an honest death. = 29:)

— your imposition,-',] i. e. your commands. =^ 30:) Uur wag-
gon is prepar''d, and time revives us:] Time revives us,
seems to refer to the happy and speedy termination of their
embarrassments. She had just before said: — "With the
word, the time will bring on summer." =31:) AWs well that
ends ivell:] AlVs well that ends well, is one of Camden's
proverbial sentences. =32:) — still the flne^s the crown;]
1. e. the end, flnis coronal. = 33:) — whose villainous saf-
fron—] Here some pariicularitics of fashionable dress are
ridiculed. Snipt taffata needs no explanation; but villain-
ous saffron alludes to a fantastic fashion, then much fol-
lowed, of using yellow starch for their bands and ruffs. =
3 4:) — to suggest—] i.e. seduce. -=3 5:) I am a tvoodland fel-
low, sir, &C.J Shakspeare is but rarely guilty of such im-
pious trash. And it is observable, that then he always puts
that into the mouth of his fools, which is now grown the
characteristic of the fine gentleman. VVarbuuton. = 36:) —
unhappy.] i. e. mischievously waggish, unlucky. = 37:) —
carbonadoed — ] i. e. scotched like a piece of meat for the
gridiron. =

ACT V. =1:) Enter a gentle Astringer.] A gentle as-
trlngcr is a gentleman falconer. The m ord is derived frop
ostercus or austercus, a goshawk; and thus, says Cowcll, in
his Law Dictionary : "We usually call a falconer, who keeps
that kind of hawk, an fflustri7)ger." = 2:) Our means will make
us means.] Shakspeare delights much in this kind of redu-
plication, sometimes so as to obscure his meaning. Helena
says, theij will follow with such speed as the means which
they have will give them ability to exert. zr=3:) — Lavatch,]
This is an undoubted, and perhaps irremediable, corruption
of some French word: or perhaps la vache. = 4:) "mood."
— Malonb. =: 6:) — allow the wind.] i. c. stand to the leeward
of me. = ti:) — save your word.] i. c. you need not ask; —
here it is.= 7:) — ynu shall eat;] I'arolles has many of the
lineaments of Falstaff, and seems to he the character which
Shakspeare delighted to draw, a fellow that had more wit
than virtue. Though justice required that he should be de-
tected and exposed, yet his vices sit so fit in him that he
is not at last suffered to starve. Johnson. -=8:) — esteem— ]
Meaning tliat his esteem was lessened in its value by Ber-
tram's misconduct; since a person who was honoured with
it could be so ill-treated as Helena had been, and that with
impunity. = 9:) — home.] That is, completely, in its full ex-
tent. = 10:) Of richest eyes;] Shakspeare means that her
beauty had astonished those, who, having seen the greatest
number of fair women, might be said to be the richest in
ideas of beauty. -=1 1:) the first view shall ki.ll\\Jll re-
petition:] The first interview shall put an end to all re-
eollection of the past. Shakspeare is now hastening to the
end of the play, liuds hia matter suflicicnt to fill up his re-

maining scenes, and therefore, as on such other occasions,
contracts bis ilialogue and precipitates his action. Decency
required that Uertram's double crime of cruelty and disobe-
dience, joined likewise with some hypocrisy, shoud raise
more resentment; and that though his mother might easily
forgive him, his king sh<iuld more pertinaciously vindicate
his own aiitliority and Helen's merit. Of all this Shakspeare
could not be ignorant, but Shakspeare wanted to conclude
his play. Johnson. = 12:) I am not a day of season,] I'hat
is, of uninterrupted rain; one of those wet days that usually
happen about the vernal equinox. = 13:) My high-repented
blames,] High repented blames, are faults repenteil of to
the height, to the utmost. ;= 14:) In Florence was it from
a casement thrown me,] Hertram still continues to have too
little virtue to deserve Helen. He did not know indeed that
it was Helen's ring, but he knew that he had it not from a
window. Johnson. = 15:) noble she was, and thought\\

1 stood ingaged:] Ingaged, in the sense of uningaged, \h a
word of exactly the same formation as inhabitable, which
is used by Shakspeare and the contemporary writers for
uninhabitable. Malone.=:1 6:) Plutus himself, \\ That knows
the tincl and multiplying medicine,] I'lutus, the grand al-
chemist, who knows the tincture which confers the proper-
ties of gold upon base metals, and the matter by which
gold is multiplied, by which a small quantity of gold is
made to communicate its qualities to a large mass of base

metal. = 17:) Then, if you know !| That you are well

acquainted with yourself, || Confess 'twas hers,] The true
ineaning of this expression is. If you know that your facul-
ties are so sound, as that you have the proper conscious-
ness of your own actions, and are able to recollect and re-

j late what you have done, tell me, kc. JoitNsoN. = 18:) My
1 fore-past proofs, kc] 'I'he proofs which I have already had
I are suflicieut to show that my fears were not vain and ir-
rational. 1 have rather been hitherto more easy than I
ought, and have unreasonably had too little fear. Johnson,
= 19:) tVho hath, for four or five removes, come short,
Lc] Who hath missed the opportunity of presenting it in
person to your majesty either at Marseilles, or on the road
from thence to Kousillon, in consequence of having been
\ four or live removes behind you. M4I,(ine. = 20:) / will buy
I me a son in-law in a fair, and toll him:] i e. I'll buy me
; a son-in-law as they buy a horse in a fair; toul him, i. e.
: enter him on the toul or toll-hoo\i, to prove I came honestly
by him, and ascertain my title to him. Mr. Malone reads
tne passage thus: "I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair,
! and loll for this: I'll none of him." ^^ 21:) — shall cease,]
' i. e. decease, die. = 22:) — and rich validity,] Validity means
value. = 2S:) Methought, you said,] The poet has here for-
got himself, Diana has said no such thing. Blackstone. =

2 4:) He's quoted—] i. e. noted, or observed. ^= 25:) fVhose
nature sickens, but to speak a truth:] i. c. only to speak a
truth. =26:) — all impediments in fancy's course, kc] Every
thing that obstructs lore is an occasion by which love is
heiglitened. And, to conclude, her solicitation concurring
with her fashionable appearance, she got the ring. I am
not certain that I have attained the true meaning of the
word 7«orfern, which, perhaps, signifies rather meaw/^/ pretty.
Johnson. = 27:) May justly diet me.] May justly make iiie
fast, by depriving me (as Dcsdemona says) of the rites for
which 1 love you. =-=28:) — companion— J i.e. fellow. ^=2P:)
— But thou art too line — ] Too fine, too full of finesse, too
artful. A French expression — fro;) y(np. = 30:) — cKsfomer ]
i.e. a common woman. =;3I:) fie knows himself, kc] The
dialogue is too long, since the audience already knew the
whole transaction; nor is there any reason for puzzling the
King and playing with his passions; but- it was much easier
than to make a pathetical interview between Helen and her
husband, her mother, and the king. Johnson. =-32:) —e.ror-
cist — ] Shakspeare invariably uses the word exorc/st, to im-
ply a person who can raise spirits, not in the usual sense
of one that can lay them. ^=33:) Ours be your patience then,
and yours our parts;] fhe meaning is; Grant us then your
patience: hear us without interruption. And take our parts ;
that is, support and defend us. =

XII. TAMING OF THE SHREW.

IND. =; 1:) ril pheese you,] To pheese or fease, is to
separate a twist into single threads. In the figurative sense
itmay well enough be taken, like teaze, or to%e, for to harass,
ioplague, orUtbcat. Perhaps V II pheese you, may becquiva-
leut to ril comb your head, a phrase vulgarly used by per-
sons of Sly's character on like occasions.= ?:) — no rogues:]
That is, vagrants, \\» mean fellows, but gentlemen. Johnson.
= 3:) — paueas pallabris ;] Sly, as an ignorant fellow, is
purposely made to aim at languages out of his knowledge,
and knock the words out of joint The Spaniards say, po-
cas palabras, i. e. few words; as thev do likewise, Cessa,
i. e. bequiet. = 4:) — ?/o« have burst "f] To A«rst and to break
were anciently synonymous. Burst is still used for broke
in the North of Kngland =: 5:) — fi^o by, says Jeronimy; —
Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.] These phrases are
allusions to a fustian old play, called Hi<;ronymOj or the
Spanish Tragedy, which was the common butt of raillery to
all the poets in'Shakspeare's time. Mr. Malone reads "Go
by S. Jeronimy." =: 6:) — the thlrdborough.] The r' " e of
thirdborough is the same with that of constable, r t in

rii.S.[PL:i2.]

NOTES.

973

filaces where there are both, in which case the former is
ittle more than the coiistubli;'s assistant. := 7:) Urach Mer-
riman, — the poor cur is cmboss'd,] The Commentators are
not agreed as to the meaning of brack; it is a species of
huund but of what kind, uncertain. Mr. Malone thinks that
brach is a verb; and SirT. ilaamer reads leech Merriinan:
i. e. apply some reinedits to him. Einbosa'd is a hunting
term. When a deer is hard run, and foams at the mouth,
he is said to be einbosa'd. \ dog also when he is strained
with hard-running (especially upon iiard ground,) will have
his knees swelled, and then he is said to be emboss' d: from
the French word basse, which signifies a tumour. •= 8:) This
do, and do it kindly,] Kindly means naturally. = ?:) — 7«o-
desty.] JJy modesty is meant moderation, without suffering
our merriment to break into an excess. = 10:) — to accept
our duty.} it was in those times the custom of players to
travel in companies, and otfer their service at great houses.
Johnson. = 11:) — take them to the buttery,] Mr. Pope had
probably these words in his thoughts, when he wrote the
following jtassage of his preface: " — the top of the pro-
fession were then mere players, not gentlemen of the stage;
they wore led into the buttery by the steward, not placed
at the lord's table, or the lady's toilette." Hut he seems
not to have observed, that the players here introduced are
strollers: and there is no reason to suppose that our author,
lleminge, Burbage, Coudelle, kc. who were licensed by King
James, were treated in this manner. Malone. At the periott
when this comedy was written, and for many years after,
tiie profession of a player was scarcely allowed to be re-
putable. The imagined dignity of those who did not belong
to itinerant companies, is, therefore, unworthy consideration.
1 can as easily believe that the blundering editors of the
iirsi folio were sulfered to lean their hands on Queen Eliza-
beth's chair of state, as that they were admitted to the table
of the Earl of Leicester, or the toilette of Lady Hunsdon.
Like Stephen in Every Man in his Humour, the greatest
indulgence our histrionic leaders could have expected, would
have been "a trencher and a napkin in the buttery.'" Stek-
VENS. = l2:) "this seven." Malone. = 13:) Jn onion—] Jt
is not unlikely that the onion was an expedient used by the
actors of interludes. -= 14:) — of Burton-heath; — Marian
/Jacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot,] 1 suspect we should
read — iJarfon-heath. Barton and yy'oodmancot, or, as it
is vulgarly pronounced, Ifoncot, are both of them in Glouces-
tershire, near the residence of 'Shakspeare's old enemy,
Justice Shallow. Very probably too, this fat ale-wife might
be a real character. Steevens. = 15:) — lamnot bestraught:]
Bestraught seems to have been synonymous to distraught
or distracted. = l6:) — /eet,] At the court-leet, or courts of
the manor. = 17:) — Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol,
or a tumbling trick'/] Thus the old copies ; the modern ones
read — It is not a commodity, &c. Commonty for comedy,
lVc. Steevbns. In the old play the players themselves use
the word commodjfj/ corruptly for a comedy. Blackstone.=

ACT I. = 1:) — ingenious — ] It was probably written —
ingenuous studies, but of this and a thousand such obser-
vations there is little certainty, lu Cole's Dictionary, lb77,
it is remarked — ''''ingenuous and ingenious are too often
confounded."=2:) — to serve all hopes conceivd,] To fullil
the expectations of his friends. In the preceding line, Mr.
Malone reads "Vicenlio's son." = 3:) — Aristotle's checks,]
Tranio is here descanting on academical learning, and men-
tions by name six of the seven liberal sciences. I suspect
this to be a mis-print, made by some copyist or compositor,
for ethics. The sense coniirms it. Bla«;kstone. = t:) — to
(juicken you,] i. e. animate. = 5:) ^ pretty peat!] I'eat or
pet is a word of endearment from petit, little, as if it
meant pretty little thing. = O:) — so strange'/] That is, so
odd, so ditlcrent from others in your conduct. Johnson. =
7:) — cunning men — J Cunning had not yet lost its original
signiticatiou of knoicing, learned, as may be observed in
the translation of the Bible. Johnson. = b:) — your gifts—]
Gifts for endowments. = i^:) — 1 will wish Aim to tier fa-
ther.] i.e. 1 will recommend him. = 10:} — upon advice,] i.e.
on consideration, or reflection. ^= 11:) — Happy man be his
dole!] A proverbial expression. JJole is any thing dealt out
or distributed, though its original meaning was the provi-
sion given away at the doors of great men's houses. Stee
yens. = 12:) — /s not rated—] Is not driven out by chiding.
= 13:) lledime, iic] Our author had mis line from Lilly,
which 1 mention, that it might not be brought as an argu-
ment for his learning. Johnson. = 1 4:)— /ong/»/—] i.e. long-
ingly. I have met with no example of this adverb. Stee-
VENS. = 15:) — daughter of Jgenor—] Europa, for whose
sake Jupiter translornied himself into a bull. = lb:) /?csta;]
i. c. 'tis enough; Italian and Spanish. = 17:) — J have it
full.] i. e. conceive our stratagem in its full extent, I have
already planned the whole of it. = 1 8:) — 7)orr,] Fort is
ligure, show, appearance. = 19:) Mr. Malone reads, "meaner
man ot I'lsa." = 20:) —goorf and weighty.] The division for
the second Act of this play is neither marked in the folio
nor quarto editions. Shakspeare seems to have meant the
lirst Act to conclude here, where the speeches of the tinker
are introduced; though they have been hitherto thrown to
the end of the lirst Act, according to a modern and arbi-
trary regulation. Steevens. =21:) — wring it;] Here seems
to be a quibble between ringing at a door, and ivringing a
man's ears. Steevens. = 2)i:) — what he 'leges in Latin.]
i. e. I suppose, what he alleges in Latin. Steeveks. = 23:)

— knock me soundly?] Shakspeare seems to design a ridi-
cule on this clipped and ungrammatical phraseology; which
yet he has introduced in Othello: "i pray talk me of Cas-
sio." = 24:) lyhcrc small experience grows. But in a few,]
Jn a few, means the same as in short, in few words. John-
son. =25:) (As wealth is burthen of my wooing daace,)]
The burthen of a dance is an expression which 1 have never
heard ; the burthen of his wooing song had been more pro-
per. Johnson. =26:) Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,"]
The allusion is to a story told by Gower in the lirst Book
Ve Confessione Amantis. Florcnt is tne name of a knight
who had bound himself to marry a deformed ha^, provided
she taught him the solution of a riddle on which his life
depended. = 27:) — og/et-6a6j/;] i.e. a diminutive being, not
exceeding in size the tag of a point. An aglet-baby was a
small image or head cut on the tag of a point, or lace. =
28:) — shrew'd,] here means, having the qualities of a shrew.
The adjective is now used only in the sense of acute, in-
telligent.■=: 29:) — an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-
tricks.] Ropery or rope-tricks originally signified abusive
language, without any determinate idea; such language ai
parrots are taught to speak. ^=30:) — stand him—] i.e. with-
stand, resist him. = 31:) — that she shall have no more eyes
to see withal than a cat:] It may mean, that he shall swell
up her eyes with blows, till she shall seem to peep with a
contracted pupil, like a cat in the light. Johnson. = 32:)
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,] To take order
is to take measures. = 33:) ff^'ell seen in music,] Seen in
versed, practised. = 3 4:) — at any hand;] i.e. at all events.
=: 3 6:) — iiHth bugs.] i. e. with bug bears. = 5 6:) Mr. Ma-
lone gives this speech to Biondello. ^37:) i'/eo.se ye u>e /nay
contrive this afternoon,] Contrive does not signify here to
project, but to spend and wear out; probably Irom contero.
= 38:) — as adversaries do in law,] By adversaries in law,
I believe, our author means not suitors, but barristers, who,
however warm in their opposition to each other in the courts
of law, live in greater harmony and friend.ship in private,
than perhaps those of any other of the liberal professions.
Their clients seldom "eat and drink with their adversaries
as friends." Malone. ^ 3S:) — Fellows, iet's iegone.] Fel-
lows means fellow- servants. Grumio and Biondetio address
each other, and also the disguised Luceutio. Malonb.=

ACT U. =1:) — hilding—] The word hilding orhindel-
ing, is a low wretch: it is applied to Katharine lor the
coarseness of her behaviour. Johnson. = 2:) And, for your
love to her, lead apes in hell.] "To lead apes," was in our
author's time, as at present, one of the employments of a
bear-herd, who often carries about one of those animals
along with his bear: but 1 know not how this phrase came
to be applied to old maids. Malonr. That women who re-
fused to bear children, should, after death, be condemned
to the care of apes in leading-strings, might have been con-
sidered as an act nf posthumous retribution. Steevens. ^=
3:) liaccare .'] A proverbial word, meaning stand back, or
give place. = 4:) — this small packet of Greek and Latin
books:] In queen Elizabeth's time the young ladies of quality
were usually instructed in the learned languages, if any
pains were bestowed on their minds at all. Lady Jane Grey
and her sisters. Queen Elizabeth, L*i:c. are trite instances.
Percy. = 5:) — her frets,] A fret is that slop of a musical
instrument which causes or regulates the vibration of the
string. Johnson. ^6:) y^/jrf— twangling Jack;] To twangle
is a provincial expression, and siguilies to flourish c.ipri-
ciously on an instrument, as performers often do after hav-
ing tuned it, previous to their begiiiiiiiig a regular compo-
sition.=7:) A joint-stool.] This is aproverbial expression;
"Cry you mercy, I took you for a .join'd stool." See Ray's
Collection. = 8":) — a craven.] A craven is a degenerate,
dispirited cock. Craven was a term also applied to those
who in appeals of battle became recreant, and by pronoun-
cing this word, called for quarter from their opponents; the
consequence of which was they were for ever after deemed
infamous. = f:) "a wild Kate to a Kate." — Malone. ^ 10:)
She vied so fast,] T'ye and revye were terms at cards, now
superseded by the more modern word, brag.^^ 11:) — 'tis a
world to see,] i. e. it is wonderful to see. This expression
is often met with in old historians as well as dramatic wri-
ters.=12:)^ meacock wretch — ] i.e. a timorous, dastardly
creature. -= 13:) — counterpoints,] These coverings for bed*
are at present called counterpanes; but either mode of spell-
ing is proper. Counterpoint is the monkish term for a par
ticular species of music, in which, notes of equal duration,
but of different harmony, are set in oppositionto each other.
In like manner counterpanes were anciently composed of
patch-work, and so contriveil that every pane or partition
in them, was contrasted with one of a different colour, though
of the same dimensions. Stkkvens. = 1 4:) — tj/io galliasses,]
A galeas or galliuss, is a heavy low-built vessel of burthen,
with both sails and oars, partaking at once of the nature of

a ship and a galley. Steevens
a term at the old game of gleek.

15:) — out-vied.] 'I'his is
When one man was wed

upon another, he was said to be out-vied. = 16:) Sirrah,
young gamester,] Gamester, in the present instance, has no
reference to gaming, and only siguilies— a wag, a frolic-
some character. = 1 7:) Vet I have faced it with a card of
ten.] That is, with the highest card, in the old sitnple games
of our ancestors. ^=

974

NOTES.

[Pi.: 13.] Tii. S.

ACT III. =1:) — no breeching scAoiar — ] i.e. no school-
boy liable to corporal correction. = 2:) — ■pantaloon.'] The
old cully in Italian farces. = 3:) fef/ascu/e,] Fcdascule, from
pedant. ^=i:) — but I be deceivyi,} But, i.e. unless. ^= 5:) —
full of spleen;] that is, full of humour, caprice, and incon-
stancy. Johnson. = 6:) Mr. Malone reads, "invite them, and,"
4:0. = 7:) "'vex a very saint," — Malone. = 8:) — two broken
points:] i.e. two broken tags to the laces. = 9:) — infected
with the fashions, — past cure of the lives,] Fashions. So
called in the West of Enf^land, but by the best writers on
farriery, farcens or farcy. Fives. So called in the West:
vives elsewhere, and avives by the French; a distemper in
horses, little diiferin^ from the strangles. Grev. = 10:) —
iie'er-/e^g-erf before,] i. e. foiinder'd in his fore-feet. = 11:)

— crupper of velure,] Velure is velvet, f elours, Fr. = 12:)

— stock — ] i. e. stocking. = li:) — an old hat, and The hu-
mour of forty fancies pricked iii't for a feather:] This was
some ballad or drollery at that time, which the poet here
ridicules, by making Petruchio prick it up iu his foot-boy's
hat for a feather. His speakers are perpetually quoting
scraps and stanzas of old ballads, and often very obscurely;
for, so well are they adapted to the occasion, that they
seem of a piece with the rest. Warburton. = 14:) — to di-
gress;] To deviate from my promise. := 15:) — (iuaffUl off
the muscadel,] The fashion of introducing a bowl of wine
into the church at a wedding, to be drank by the bride and
bridegroom, and persons present, was very anciently a con-
stant ceremony; and, as appears from this passage, not
abolished ia pur author's age. = 16:)^nrf kiss'd her lips — ]
This also is a very ancient custom, as appears from the
following rubric : "Surgant ambo, sponsus et sponsa, et ac-
cipiat sponsus pacem a sacerdote, et ferat sponsx, osculans
earn, et nemiuem aliuni, nee ipse, nee ipsa." Manuale Sa-
crum. Paris, 1533, 4to. fol. 69. = 17:) "And I, seeing this,"
&c. — Malone.^ 18:) "uiy horsse." — Malone. =

ACT IV. = 1:) — man so rayed?] i. e. bewrayed, made
dirty. ^2:) — Jack boy! ho boy.'] is the beginning of an old
round in three parts. = 3:) — Be the jacks fair within, the
Jills fair without,] i. e. Are the drinking vessels clean, and
the maid servants dressed? Probably the poet meant to play
upon the words Jack and Jill, which signify tivo drinking
measures, as well as men and maid servants. ^4:) — the
carpets laid,] Iu our author's time it was customary to cover
tables with carpets. Floors, as appears from the present
passage and others, were strewed with rushes. = 5:) — be-
moiled ;] i.e. be-draggled; bemired. = 6:) — was burst;] i.e.
broken. = T:) — he is more shrew than she.] The term shrew
was anciently applicable to either sex. = 8:) — tAet'r blue
coats brushed,] The dress of servants at the lime. = 9:) —
garters of an inditferent knit:] Perhaps by "garters of an
indifferent knit," the author meant parti-colour d garters;
garters of a different knit. In Shakspeare's time indifferent
was sometimes used for different. ^= iO:) — no link to colour
Peter's hat,] A link is a torch of pitch. = 11:) fFhere, A-c]
A scrap of some old ballad. Ancient Pistol elsewhere quotes
the same line. In an old black letter book intituled, ^^ ^or-
gious Gallery of gallant Inventions, London, 1578, 4to. is
a song to the tune of ff^here is the life that late 1 led. =
12:) Soud, soud, Ike] This, 1 believe, is a word coined by
our poet, to express the noise uiade by a person heated and
fatigued. Malose. = 13:) It was the friar of orders grey,]
Dispersed through Shakspeare's plays are many little frag-
ments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which cannot
now be recovered.^ Many of these being of the most beauti-
ful and pathetic simplicity, Dr. Percy lias selected some of
them, and connected them together with a few supplemental
stanzas ; a work, wliich at once demonstrates his own poe-
tical abilities, as well as his respect to the truly venerable
remains of our most ancient bards. Steevens. = 14:) Come,
Kate, and wash,] It was the custom iu our author's time,
(and long before,) to wash the hands immediately betore
dinner and supper, as well as afterwards. As our ancestors
eat with their lingers, which might not be over- clean before
meals, and after theai must be greasy, we cannot wonder
at such repeated ablutions. Steevens. = 16:) — full-gorg'd,
iic] A hawk too much fed was never tractable. The lure
was only a thing stutl'ed like that kind of bird which the
hawk was designed to pursue. The use of the lure was to
tempt hini bacK after he had flown. =16:) — tu man my hag-
gard,] A haggard is a wild hawk ; to man a hawk is to tame
licr. =^17:) That bate,] To bate is to flutter as a hawk does
when it swoops upon its prey. = 18:) — amid this hurly, I
intend,] Intend is sometimes used by our author for pre-
tend. = 19:) "that mistress Bianca" — Malone. = 20:) —
cullion:] A term of degradation, with no very decided mean-
ing: a despicable fellow, a fool, Hic. =21:) ^In ancient an-
gel—] For angel Mr. Theobald, and after him Sir T. Han-
mer and Dr. Warburton, read englc, or a gull, but angel
m'.iy mca.a' messenger. = i2:) Master, a mercalante — ] The
old editions read marcantant. i'he Italian word mercalante
is frequently used in the old plays for a merchant, and
therefore I have made no scruple of placing it here. Stee-
VEN8. = 23:) To pass assurance—] To pass assurance means
to make a conveyance or deed. Deeds are by law-writers
called, "The common assurances of the realm," because
thereby each man's properly is assured to him. =: 24:) Go
with me, Kc] There is au old comedy called Supposes,
trauiilatcd from Ariosto, by George Gascoigue. Thence

Shakspeare borrowed this part of the plot, (as well as some
of the phraseology,) though Theobald pronounces it his own
invention. There, likewise, he found the names of Petru-
chio and Llcio. My young master and his man exchange
habits, and persuade a Scencrse, as he is called, to person-
ate the father, exactly as in this play, by the pretended
danger of his coming Irom Sienna to Ferrara, contrary to
the order of the government. = lb:) — ^Fhat, sweeting, all
amort (] Ihis gallicism is common to many of the old plays
That IS, all sunk and dispirited. = 26:) ^inrf all my pains is
sorted to no proof:] And all my labour has ended in nothing
or proved nothing. = 27:) — wiA his ruftling treasure.] i. e!
rustling. ^= 28:) Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;]
In our poet s time, women's gowns were usually made by
men. =29:) J custard-ctiiliu,] \ coffin was the ancient cu-
linary term tor the raised crust of a pie or custard =30-)
— censer—] We learn from an ancient print, that these cen-
ser* resembled in shape our modern brasiers. I'Jiey had
pierced convex c .vers, and stood on feet. They not only
served to sweelen a barber's shop, but to keep his water

warm, and dry his cloths on. = 31:) tliou thread, i| Thou

thimble,] 'I'ht: tailor's trade, having an appearance of elfc-
minacy, has always been, among the rugged English, liable
to sarcasms and contempt. Johnson. ==3^:) — 6e-meie— ] i e.
be-mea«ure thee. = 33:) — faced many things] i. e turned
up many gowns. Ate. with facings, &c. = 34:) — braved many
men,] i. e. made many men fine. Bravery was the ancient
term lor elegance of dress. = 35:) — a small compassed cape ;]
A compassed cape is a round cape. To compass is to come
round. Johnson. =36:) — fAi/ mete-yarrf,] i.e. thy measuring
yard. = 37:) — but / be deceived,] But, i. c. unless. = 38)
"ready and willing." — Malone. = 39:) For curious / can-
not be with you,] Curious is scrupulous. = 40;) Jind pass
my daughter a sufficient dower,] To pass is, in this place,
synonymous to assure or convey; as it sometimes occurs iu
the covenant of a purchase deed, that the grantor has power
to bargain, sell, iVc. "and thereby to pa!;s and convey" ihe
premises to the grantee. = 41:) "fully made," — Malone.
= 42:) fVe be allied;] i. e. betrothed.= i3:)Jnd, happily ]
Happily, III Shakspeare's time, signilied accidentally, as
well as fortunately. = 44:) — or moral—] i. e. the secret
purpose. = 45:) iMr. Malone reads "expect;" i. c. wait the
event. =: 46:) — cum prm/egto ad imprimendum solum:] It
is scarce necessary to observe, th»u these are the words
which commonly were put on books where au exclusive right
had been granted to particular persons for printing them
Ueeo. =47:) — to the church;] i. e. go to the church, &c
= 48:) "1 know it is the moon." — Malone. = 49:) That
every thing 1 look on secmcth green:] Shakspeare's obser-
vations on the phaBJiomena of nature are very accurate. When
one has sat long in the sunshine, the surrounding objects
will often appear tinged with green. The reason is assigned
by many ot the writers on optics. Blackstone. =:

ACT V. =1:) — a copatain hat.'] is, I believe, a hat
with a conical crown, anciently worn by well-dressed men.
Johnson. = 2:) — coney cat ched—] i. e. deceived, cheated.
= 3:) PFhile counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne.] To
blear the eye was an ancient phrase signifying to deceive.
= i:) Here's packing,] i.e. plotting, underhand contrivance.
= 5:) Aly cake is dough:] A phrase generally used when
any project miscarried, or rather when any disappointment
was sustained, contrary to every appearance or expectation.
= 6:) My banquet—] A banquet, or (as it is called in some
of onr old books,) an afterpast, was a sli|^ut refection, like
our modern desert, consisting of cakes, sweetmeats, and fruit.
= 7:) — fears his widow.] 'io fear, as has been already ob-
served, meant iu our author's time both to dread, and to
intimidate. Tlie widow understands the word in the latter
sense; and Petruchio tells her^ he used it in the former.
Malone. = 8:) "Vou are very sensible," ic. Malone. = 9:)
— that gird,] A gird is a sarcasm, a gibe. = 10:) Mr. Ma-
lone omits the word come. = 11:) "As frosts do bite," Slc.
Malone. = 12:) — oitr .soft conditions,] The gentle qualities
of our minds. := 13:) "we indeed least are." Malone. = 14:)
I'hcn vail your stomachs,] i.e. abate your pride, your spiril.
= 15:) — you two are sped.] i. e. the fate of you both is
decided; for you have wives to exhibit early proofs of dis-
obedience. = 16:) — though you hit the white;] To hit the
white is a phrase borrov\ed from archery: the mark was
commonly white. Here it alludes to the name, Bianca, or
white. =

XIII. winter's tale.

ACT I. =1:) — our entertainment, &c.] Though we can-
not give you equal eutertainmeiit, yet the consciousness of
onr giiod-will shall justify us. Johnson, r^ 'i:) — royally at-
tornied,] Kobly supplied by substilution of embassies, iVr.
Johnson. =3:) — «Aoo/i hands, as over a vast; and embraced,
as it were, from the ends of opposed winds.] Shakspeare
has, more than once, taken his imagery from the prints,
with which the books of his time were ornamented. If my
memory do not deceive me, he had his eye on a wood-cut
in Holinshed, while writing the incanlatioa of the weird
sisters in Macbeth. There is also au allusion to a print of

Til. S. [Pl: 13.]

NOTES.

975

one of the Henries holding a sword adorned with crowns.
In this passage he refers lo a device common in the title-
paee of old books, of two hand « extended from opposite clouds,
and joined as in token of friendship over a uide waste of
country. Hemej. = 4:) — physics tAe »u6/ecf.] Atfordsacor-
dial to the state; has the power of assuaging the sense of
misery. Joh>sox. = 5:) — —That may blow , \o sneaping
trinils — ] i.e. Oh.' that. Sneaping, nipping \»inds. = b:) Thia
i.- put forth too truly.'] i. e. to make me say, / had too
„ nd reason for myfeart. = 7:)— thin satUfaction—] \\ ctbad
;i!sfactory accounts yesterday of the state of Bohemia.
'on\so>. ^= %:)— behind the pest—] Gest signifies a stage,
1- journey. In the time of royal progresses the kiug's stases,
- we may see by the journals of ihim in the herald's^of
lice, were called his gcsts; from the old French word ^i«re,
ditersorium. = 9:) — yet, good deed,] signifies, indeed, in
very rfeerf. = 10:) — a jar othe clock—] A jar is, I believe,
a single repetition of the noise made by the pendulum of a
clock: what children call the ticking of it. Stkkvkss.^11:)

"no, nor dreamd" — Mr. .Malone omits no. = 12:) the

imposition^ cleared, : Hereditary ours.] i. c. setting aside
original sin; bating the imposition from the offence of our
lirst parents, we might have boldly protested our innocence
to Heaven. Warbir'ton. = 13:) Grace to boot!] Grace, or
Heaven help me! ^= 14:) And clap thyself my love;] She
opened her hand, to clap the palm of it into his, as people
do when they conlirm a bargain. Hence the phrase — to clap
up a bargain, i. e. make one with no other ceremony than
the junction of hands.= 15:) The mart o'the deer;] A lesson
upon the horn at the death of the deer =ltJ:) r fecks f] A
supposed corruption of— in faith. Our present vulgar pro-
nounce it— /c^». = 17:) W Ay, that's my baucock.] Ptrhaps
from beau and cog. It is still said in vulgar language that
such a one is a jolly cock, a coci- of the game. ^ 18:) —
Still rirgi nailing— ] Still playing with her lingers, a^ a
girl pl;iying on the virginals. A virginal is a very small
kind of spiunet. Queen blizabeth's virginal-book is yet in
being, and many of the lessons in it have proved so difli-
rult, as to baffle our most expert playtrs on ttae harpsichord.
STKEVB!«is.= If:) Thou tranVit a rough pash,-ari</ the shoots
tfiat_ I have,] 1 have lately learned mat vash in Scotland
signilics a head. The meaiiiug, therefore, 1 suppose, is this:
i oa tell me, (says Leontes to his son,) that you are like
nic; that you are my calf. lam the horned bull: thou
trantett the rough head and the horns of that animal, com-
pletely to resemble your father. .^l.ALo^E. = 20:) As o'er-
died blacks.] Sir T. Hanmer uiidersiands blacks died too
much, and therefore rotten. Johnson. = 21:) No bourn-]
Bourn is boundary. = 22:) — ureUin eye:] Blue eye; an
eye of the same colour with the trelkin, or sky. = 23:) —
my collop!] So, in TAe First Fart of King Henry f I. "God
knows, tUou art a collop of my flesh." = 24:) 4^ection.' thy
intention stabs the center:] Affection means here imagin-
ation, or perhaps more accurately "the disposition of the
mind when strongly affected or possessed by a particular
idea." =25:)— credent,] i. e. crerftWe.=2(5:) TAt's squash,]
A squash is a jpea-pod, in that state when the young peas
begin to swell in it. =27:) Will you take eggs for money f]
The meaning of this is, will you put up affronts f The
French have a proverbial saying, A qui vendez^vouz. co-
quillesf i. e. whom do you design lo affront 'J Mamillius's
answer plainly proves it. Mam. iVo, my Lord, I'll fight.
Smith. = 28:) — happy man be his dole!] May his dole or
share in life be to be a happy man. The expression is pro-
verbial. Dole was the term for the allowance of provision
given to the poor, in great families. The alms immemori-
allv given to the poor by the Archbishops of Canterbury, is
still called the dole. See TAe History of Lambeth Palace,
p. 31, in Bibl. Top. Brit. 'SiCHni,%.z='2^;) Apparent— ] that
IS, Aeir apparent, or the next claimant. = aO:) — tAe neb,]
The word is commonly pronounced and written nib. It signi-
fies here the moj/tA.= 31:) To her allowing Aif<6anr/.'] Al-
lowing in old language is approving. Malose. = 32:) — o
fork d one.] That is, a homed one; a cuckold. = 33:) — ft
still came home.] This is a seafaring expression, meaning,
the anchor would not take hold.^=3i:) — — made I His busi-
"^^ "i!""^ material.] i. e. the more you requested him to
"'?' 'i. more urgent he represented that husiuess to be
w^ich summoned him away. =35:) — irAt»;)em»^, rounding,]
IV^ round m tAe car is to whisper, or fo tell secretly. :=
»«) — f"/f «»— ] i. e. taste it. Stbkvens. = 37:) — lower
messes,} Lower messes is perhaps used as an expression to
signily the /oirc«t degree about the court. =38:) — boxes
honesty behind,] To hox, is to ham-string. The proper

^?\ I'A *" *,""€*' '• *• *" *="' '*»« /'""^A. or hamstring. =
i^:)tr hereof the execution did cry out \ Against the non-
perjormance,] Ihis is one of the expressions by whichShak-
speare too frequently clouds his meaning. This souuding
Phrase means, 1 think, no more than a thing necessary tZ I
.K. f • •'""^«?'«• =f..*^J - '** Vi« and web,] Disorders in
iSti!^ Ti'\r '«*«,•>,«,«■ "Cdo/,] i. e. her portrait. Mr. I
51"lT;'if*^%r:*".!?5i»i:3A2=):W°^^'^ tA^Suestion, and I

foundation '] is piCd upon his faith,] This folly which is
erected on the foundation of settled belief. =

fa

». •; .C^ '^^" '^''^^P •" *•"»' Camillo has just said, re-
-r^ uJ^Al V'^V ^'"»«"}=43:) Could man so blench;]
lo blench IS to start off, to shrink. = 44:) In whose sue
.TA?:f.:!ru^*""*' -? ««"'.'•'•", »»"e means succession Gentle
l!..™ .!?„"' .'".*""^'^' »""Jing to the distinction
mm r„ J*'^^''""^\''?*' j;;omanry. = 45:) / am appointed
Him to murder you.] jlc.I am the person appointed by him

ir„i;!lh^V''"T^*'=^ '^ V^'^-l *-^ todrawVpersnade^ou;
probably for adcise. = 47:) i. c. Judas. = »8:) trio«e

ACT 111. = 1:) TAe time i« vortA fAe use on't.] The
time is worth the use on't, means, the time which we have
spent in visiting Uelos, has recompensed us for the trouble
of so spending it. = 2:) Even to the guilt, or the purgation.]
The word eren is not to be understood here as an adverb,
but as an adjective, signifying equal or indifferent. ^=3:) —
pretence — ] is, in this place, taken for a scheme laid, a
design formed. ^=i:) — mine integrity, ke.] that is, my vir-
tue being accounted wickedness, my assertion of it wi.l pass
but for a lie. Falsehood means both treachery and lie. John-
son. = 6:) — For life, I prize it—] Life is now to me only
gr(>/, and as such only is considered by me: 1 would there-
fore willingly dismiss' it. Johnson. ='p:) 'Tis a derivative
from me to mine,] This sentiment, which is probably bor-
rowed from Ecclesiasticus, iii. II, cannot be too often im-
pressed on the female mind : "The glory of a man is from
the honour of his father; and a mother in dishonour is a
reproach unto her children." Stkevens. ^7:) / ne'er Acord
i^et, : TAat any of these bolder vices wanted j Less impud-
ence to gainsay what they did, ]', Than to perform it first."]
It is apparent that according to the proper, or at least, ac-
cording to the present, ose of words, test should be mart,

ACrn. =1:) "my lord?" M.4LOT!e.=2:) "sir."— Mr.
Malone reads, "good sir." = 3:) In my just censure? ta my
true opinion'^] Censure, in the time of our author, was ge-
nerally used (as in this instance) for judgment, opinion. =
i:) Alack, for lesser knowledge!] That is, O that my know-
ledge were less. = 5:) A spider steep'd—] Spiders were es-
teemed venomous. = 6:) — hefts:] Hefts are heavings, what
is heaved up. ^7:) He has disiover'd my design, and I ", Re-
main a pinch'd thing;] The sense, I think, is. He hath now
discovered my design, and I am treated as a mere child's
baby, a thing pinched out of clouts, a puppet for them to
move and actuate as they please. Heath. = 8:) — iriW sear— ]
i. e. will stigmatise or brand as infamous ^ P:) A feder-
ary— ] i.e. con/crferafe. = 1 0:) But with her most vile prin-
cipal,] One that knows what we should be ashamed of, even
if the knowledge of it rested only in her own breast and
that of her paramour, without the participation of any con-
iidant. — But, which is here used for only, renders this pas-
sage somewhat obscure. = 11:) "bold'st titles ." — Malone.
=1 2:) He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, \ But
that he speaks.] Far off guilty, siguities, guilty in a remote i
degree. But that he speaks —means, in merely speaking. = 1

13:) I'll keep my stables where _ I lodge my wife;] If

Uermione prove unfaithful, I'll never trust my wife out of
my sight; Til always go in couples with her; and, in that
respect, my house shall resemble a stable, where dogs are
kept in pairs. = 14:) "Then when," i:c. Malone. =15:) —
putter-on,] i. e. one who insticates.=r 16:) —/ami-damn him-]
.Mr. Steevtns, after giving various opinions on this expres-
sion, says, After all these awkward struggles to obuin a
meaning, we mi^ht, I think, not uiisafily read — "I'd lau-
danum him, —"i.e. poison him wilj laudanum. ^= I'll)

I see't, and feel't, '| As you feel doing thus ; and see withal
i TAe instruments that feel.] Some stage direction seems
necessary in this place; but what that direction should be,
it is not easy to decide. Sir T. Hanmer gixes — Laying hold
of his arm: Dr. Johnson— atriiltng Ai» 6roif». Mr. Henley
thinks that Leontes, perhaps, touches the forehead of An-
tigonus with his fore and middle fingers forked in imita-
tion of a Snail's Horns; for these, or imaginary horns of
his own like them, are fAe instruments that fed, to which
he alluded. Mr. .Malone reads "but 1 do see't," iiC.= 18:)
"Relish a truth," — .Malone. = IS:)- nou^At /or approba-
tion,] Approbation is put for proof. = 20:) — stuff d suffi-
ciency:] i. e. of abilities more than enough. ^ 21:) These
dangerous unsafe lunes o' tAe king!] I have uo where, but
iu our author, observed this word adopted in our tongue, to
signify frenzy, lunacy. But it is a mode of expression with
the French — 11 y a de la lane: (i. e. he has got the moon
in his head; he is frantic.) Cotgrave. '■'■Lune, folie. Let
femmes ont des lunes dans la tete. llichelet." Theobald.
= 22:) — Zeare me solely:] That is, leave me alone. = 23:)
"who professes." — Malone. = 24:) — in comforting your
evils,] Comforting is here used in the legal sense of com-
forting and abetting in a criminal action. =2 5:) — tAe worst
about you.] Were 1 the weakest of your servants, I would
yet claim the combat against any accuser. =: 26:) ^ mankind
iTffcA.'] i.e. masculine. r= 2 7:) — fAou art woman-tir''d,] Wo-
man-tir^d, is pecked by a woman; Aen-peci-ed. = 28:) — thy
crone.] i. e. thy old worn-out woman. A croan is an old
toothless sheep: thence an old woman. = 29:) Unvenerahle
be thy hands, if thou ]i Tak'st up the princess, by that forced
baseness—] Leontes had ordered Antigouus to toite up, the
bastard; Paulina forbids him to touch the princess under
that appellation. Forced is false, uttered with nolence to
truth. Johnson. ^30:) Xo yellow in't;] "yellow is the colour
of jealousy. ^ 31:) ^nd, lozel,] A term of contempt, mean-
ing worthless, dishonest. =: 32:) — Sipear by this sword,] It
was anciently the custom to swear by the cross on the handle
of a sword. = 33:) — commend it strangely to some place,']
Commit it to some place, as a stranger, w iUioul more pro-
visiou. =

976

NOTES.

[Pl: 13.] T//.S.

er wanted should be had. But Siiakspcare is very uncertain
iu iiis use of negatives. It may be uecessary once to ob-
serve, that ill our language, two negatives did not originally
aflirm, but slrnigthen the negation. This mode of speecli
was_ in time changed, but, as the change wiis made in op-
position to long custom, it proceeded gradually, and uni-
formity was not obtained but through an intermediate con-
fusion. JoaNsois. = 8:) My life stands in the level—] To be
trt the level is, to be within the reach. =^:) {Thuse of your
fact are so,)'] i. e. guilt. = 10:) "Kor as" — ,Vir. Malone
adds tliese words to the prtcediiig line. =:1 1:) Sfarr'f/ 7nost
unluckily,] i.e. born under an inauspicious plani't. = 12:) —
strength of limit.] Strength to pass the liiiiLts of the child-
bed chamber. t= 13:) 27je llatness of my misery;] that is,
hoHT low, how fiat 1 am laid by my calamity. JoJ^^L■,o^. =
14:) Of the queen's speed,] Of tiie event of tUe queen's trial :
so we still say, he sped well or ill. Johnson. = 15:) "to tlie
hazard" — Mai,o>k. = lb:) — commended,] i. e. committed.
= 17:)_i>oea my deeds make the blacker!] This vehement
retraction of Leontes, accompanied with the confession of
more crimes than he was suspected of, is agreeable to our
daily experience of the vicissitudes of violent tempers, and
the eruptions of minds oppressed with guilt. Johnson. = 18:)
Thou woutd'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour,] How
should Paulina know this* ^o one had charged the king
with this crime except himself, while Paulina was absent,
attending on Hcrmione. 'J'Jie poet seems to have forgotten
this. = 1^:) — ^ though a devil ]\ Would have shed water out
of fire, ere dont:] i. e. a devil would have shed tears of
pit^ o'er the damned, ere he would Jiave committed such an
action. = 20:) / am sorry for't ;] Tliis is another instance of
the sudden changes incident to vehement and ungovernable
minds. = 21:) Thou art perfect then,] Ferfect is often used
for certain, toell assured, or well informed, by almost all
our ancient writers. =2ii.':)— thy character:] thy descrip-
tion; i. e. the writing afterwards discovered with Perdita.
= 23:) — ^ boy, or a child,] I am told, that in some of our
inland counties, a female infant, in contradistinction to a
mate one, is still termed, among the peasantry — a child.
Steevens.=24:) — llap-dragoiied it:] i. e. swallowed it, as
our ancient topers swallowed flap-dragons, ^ib:) — a bear-
ing-cloth—] A bearing-cloth is the line mantle or cloth with
which a child is usually covered, when it is carried to the
church to be baptized. PEncv. = 2d:) — some changeling:]
i.e. some child left behind by the fairies in the room of one
which they had stolen. =2'):) YuuWe a made old man;] i.e.
your fortune's inade. = 28:) — rAe next way.] i. e. the nearest
way. =29:) — never curst,] Curst, signilies mischievous. =^

ACT IV. =1:)— and leave the growth untried \\ Of that
wide gap-,] Our author attends more to his ideas than to his
words. The growth of the wide gap, is somewhat irregular;
but he means, the growth, or progression of the time which
iilled up the gap of the story between Perdita's birth and
her sixteenth year. To leave this growth untried, is, to
leave the passages of the intermediate years unnoted and
unexamined. Untried is not, perhaps, the word which he
would have chosen, but whicii his rhyme required. Johnjion.
= 2:)/s the argument of time:] ylrgument is the same with
subject. = 3:) — Of this allow,] 'I'o allow iu our author's
time signilied to approve. = 4:) if is lifteen years,] We should
read — Sixteen, according to several preceding passages. =
6:) — and my profit therein, the heaping friendships.] P'riend-
ships is, 1 believe, here used, w ith snl'ticient licence merely
for friendly offices. Malone. = {;:) — missingly,] Missingly,
i. e. at intervals, not constantly. =: 7:) — some question-]
i. e. some talk. = 8) jyhen dafiodils begin to peer, — And
Jog on, jog on, the foot path tvay,] "Two nonsensical
songs, by tne rogue Autolycis," say's Dr. liuruey: wlio sub-
sequently observes, that "This Autolycus is the true ancient
Minstrel, as described in the old Fabliaux." I believe, that
many of our readers will push the compel rison a little fur-
ther, and concur with me in thinking that our modern min-
strels of the opera, like their predecessor Autolycu.i, are
pickpockets O-S well as singers of nonsensical ballads. Stee-
VKNs. = 9:) For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.]
The meaning is, the red, the spring blood now reigns o'er
the parts lately under the dominion of winter. The English
pale, the Irish pale, were frequent expressions in !>nak-
speare's time; and the words red and pale were chosen for
the sake of the antithesis. F.^rmek. = 1 0:) —pugging tooth - ]
perhaps progging, i. e. thievish. =11:) — j/iy aunts,] Aunt
appears to have been at this time a cant word for a bawd.
= 12:)— wore three-pile;] i. e. rich velvet. =: 13:)— With
die, and drab,] i. e. with gaming and whoring. = 14:) — tAe
silly cAeof;] Cant term for picking pockets. = 15:) — torfs—]
"Every eleven wether tods; i. e. ivill produce a tod or
twenty - eight pounus of wool : every tod yields a i)ound and
some odd shillings; what (hen will the wool of lifteen hun-
dred yield T' Mr. Malone considers tods as a verb. = Id:)
— three-man song men all,] i.e. singers of catches in three
parts. = 17:) — means—] Means are tenors. -=18:) — warden
pies;] Wardens are a species of large pears. = 19:) — with
troliny dames:] Trou-madame, French. The old English
title of this game was pigeon-holes; as the arches in the
machine through which the balls are rolled, re-semble the
cavities made for pigeons in a dove house = 20:) — motion
of the prodigal son,] i.e. the puppet-show, then called tno-
tiona. A term frequently occurring in our author. = 21:) —
Prig, for my life, prig:] To prig is to filch. = 22:) — hent

the stile -a:] To hent the stile, is to take hold of it.= 23:)
— your extremes,] That is, the extravagance of his con-
duct, in obscuring himself "iu a swain's wearing," while
he "pranked her upmost goddess-like." =24:) The gracious
mark — ] The object of all men's notice. = 25:) — prauk'd
up:] _Tu prank is to dress with ostentation, = 26:) To me,

the dilfereuce — ] i.e. between his rank and hers. = 27:)

his work, so noble, \\ Vilely bound up'^] It is impossible for
aiiy inau to rid his mind of his proiession. The authorship
of Shakspeure has supplied him with a metaphor, whicli,
rather than lie would lose it, he has put with no great pro-
priety into the mouth of a country ^laid. Tiiinking of his
own works, his mind passed naturally to the binder. I am
glad that he has no hint at an editor. Johnson. = 28:) "O
but, sir," — Malone. ^=2'j:) For I have — ] For,ii\ this place,
signilies — because that. = 30:) — dibble — ] An instrument
Used by gardeners to make holes iu the earth for the re-
ception of young plants. = 31:) violets, dim, || But sweeter

than the lids of Juno's eyes,] 1 suspect that our author
mistakes Juno for Pallas, who was the goddess of blue eyes.
Sweeter than an eye-lid is an odd image, but perhaps he
uses sweet in the general sense for delightful. Johnson. =
32:) — Each your doing, &c.J That is, your manner in each
act crowns tne act. = 3 3:) — we stand, Aic] Tnat is, we are
now on our behaviour. =34:) — a worthy feeding:] 1 con-
ceive feeding to be a pasture, and a worthy feeding to be
a tract of pa.Uurage not inconsiderable, not unworthy of my
daughter's fortune. Johnson. = 35:) We looks like iootii:]
Soolh is truth. Obsolete. = 36':) — fadings:] An Irish dance
of this ua/iie is mentioned by Ben Jonson, ia The Irish
Masque at Court. It is called llinca fada, and is still prac-
tised III some parts of Ireland: but here fading means the
burthen of a soag. = 37:) — unbraided wares .'] By unbraided
wares, the clown means, has he any thing besides laces
which are braided, and are the principal commodity sold by
ballad-singing piid\ers'( = 'i8:) — caddisses,] Caddis is, i be-
lieve, a narrow worsted galloon, i reiniinber when very
young to have heard it enumerated by a pedler among the
ailieles of his pack. There is a very narrow slight serge
of liii.^ name, now made in France. Inkle is a kind of tape
also. Malone. = 39:) — the sleeve-hAiiii, and the work about
the square on't.] Perhaps the sleeves and bosom part of a
shift. = 40:) — kiln-7jo/e,] Kiln-hole is the place into which
coals are put under a stove, a copper, or a kiln in which
lime, kc. are to be dried or burned. To « alch the kiln-hole,
or stoking-hole, is part of the ofiice of female servants iu
farm-houses. = 41:) — Clamour your tongues,] Perhaps the
meauing is, give one grand peal, and then have done. "A
good clam" (as 1 learn from Mr. Nichols,) in some villages
is used iu this sense, signifying a grand peal of all the bells
at one. Malone. = 42:) — you promised tne a tawdry lace,]
Tawdries were a kind of necklaces worn by country w enches.
= 43:) — «arf — ] For serious. = 44:) That doth utter— J To
utter; to vend by retail. = 45:) — a// men of hair;] Men of
hair, are hairy men, or satyrs. A dance of satyrs was no
unusual entertainment in the middle ages. = 4ti:) — tAfi/ call
themselves saltiers :] He means satyrs. = il:) — gallimau-
fry— J A confused heap of things together. = 4 8:) — by the
squire.] i. e. by the foot rule. Esquierre, Fr. = 4 9:) Pol.
0, father, you'll kjiow more of that hereafter.] This is an
answer to something which the shepiierd is supposed to
have said to Polixenes during the dance. = 50:) — straited — ]

i. e. put to difficulties. = 5 1:) or the faiin'd snow, !| That's

bolted, iVc] 'I'he line sieve used by millers to separate llower
from bran is called a. bolting clotn. ^.0 2:) — dispute his own
estate'^] Perhaps for dispute we might read compute: but
dispute his estate hiay be the same with talk over his af-
fairs. Johnson. =5 3:) Mr. Malone reads, "shalt never see."
r=54:) / was not much afeard: kc] The character is here
liiiely sustained. To have ma<le her quite astonished at the
king's discovery of himself had not become her birth; and
to have given her presence of mind to have made this reply
to the king, had not become her education. Wakbukton.^
55:) — and by my fancy:] It must be remembered that /anei/
iu our author very often, as in this place, means love. =
56:) Your discontenting father strive to qualify,] JJiscon-
tentingis in our author's language the same as discontented.
= 57:) But as the unthought-on accident is guilty i| To what
we ivildly do ;] Guilty to, though it sounds harsh to our ears,
was the phraseology of the time, or at least of Shakspearc ;
and this is one of those passages that'should caution lus not
to disturb his text merely because the language appears
dirt'erent from that now in use. Malone. ==58:) But not take
in the mind.] 'I'o take in anciently meant to conquer, to get
the better of. = 69:) "—She is i'the rear our birth." Ma-
lone. = 60:) — pomander,] A. pomander was a little ball
made of perfumes and worn in the pocket, or about the neck,
to prevent infection in times of plague. = 61:) — boot.] that
is, something over and above; or, as we now say, some-
thing to boot. = 62:) — is half Hayed already.] i. e. half
stripped already. = b3:) — t/'/jat havewe twain forgot'^] This
is one of our author's dramatic expedients to introduce a
conversation apart, account for a sudden exit, \;c. So, iu
The Merry Wives of Windsor, Dr. Caius suddenly exclaims
— "Q«' ay-foublie'r'— and Mrs. Quickly— "Out npon't ! tohat
have I forgot f" Steevens. =64:) "If I thought it were a
piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, 1 would not
do't." Malonk.=: 65:)— of what having,] i. e. estate, pro
perty.=: 6 6:)— therefore they do not give us the lie.] The
meaning is, they are paid for lying, therefore they ilo not
give us the lie, they sell it us. = 67:) — with the manner.]

Th. S. [Pi.: 14.]

NOTES

977

III the fact. ^=68:) — insinuafe, or toze— ] To insinuate, and
to teaze, or toaze, are opposite. The former sigiiiiiea to
introduce itself obliquely into a thing, and the latter to get
80invthing out that «as knotted up in it. — b9:) — the hot-
test day prognostication proclaims,^ that i.s, the hottest day
foretold in the almanac. r= 7 0:) — being something gently
considered,"] Meantf, 1 having a gentlemanlike consideration
given me, i.e. a bribe, will bring you, &c.=

ACT V. =rl:) Or, from the all that are, took something
good,] This is a favourite thought; it is bestowed on Mi-
randa and Ho.-alind. Johnson. = 2:) — incense nie— ] i. e.
instigate lui', set ine on. = 3:) Shoud rift- ] i. e. split. ■=
4:) "Stars, stars," — 1V1ai,onk. = 6:) AHVont his eye.] To af-
front,\* to meet. ^=6:) Is colder than that ihenie,)] i.e. than
the lifi'less body of H<'rmione, the theme or subject of your
writing.— Mai.oM';.^='/:) "(hiceinore to look on him." M alone.
= 8:)— that a king, at friend,] At friend, perhaps means,
at friendship. ■=:'i>:) — in question.] i.e. conversation. = 10:)
The odds for high and low's alike.] A quibble upon the false
dice so cni\td.^= 11:) Heme mber since you oivd no more to
time, kc] Uncollect tlie period wiien you were of uiy age.
T=12:) — t/ f/je importance u'ere joj, or sorroi/);] Importance
here means, the thing i/nporterf. := 13:) — fAe alfection of
nobleness,] Jffertiun iiert: perhaps means rf/sposition or </uat-
ity. ^= 1*:) — favour.] i. e. countenance, features.^ 15:) —
with clipping her;] i.e. embracing her. = lt):) — most marble
there,] i. e. those who had the hardest hearts. = 17:) /FAo
would be thence, that has the benefit of access'^] It was,!
suppose, only to spare his own labour that the poet put this
whole scene into narrative, for though part of the trans-
action was already known to the audience, and_ therefore
could not properly be shown again, yet the two kings might
have met upon the stage, and, after the examination of the
old shepherd, the young lady might have been recognised
in sight of the spectators. Johnson. := 18:) — franklins say
it,] Franklin is a freeholder, or yeoman, a man above a
villain, but nota^enf/eman. ^=19:) — wrought — ] i.e. worked,
agitated. -=20:) The linure of her eye has motion tn't,] The
meaning is, though the eye be iixi d, [as the eye of a statue
always is,] yet it seems to have motion in it: that tremul-
ous motion, which is perceptible in the eye of a living per-
son, how much soever one endeavour to lix it. ^=21:) \s we
are mock'd with art.] As, is used by our author here as in
some other places, for "as if." IVith has the force of by.
t=22:) You precious winners all;] You who by this disco-
very have gained \ihat you desired, may join in festivity,
in which 1, who have lo.st what never can be recovered, can

have no part. = 23:) your e^uitatjon || Partake to every

one] Partake hyre means participate. =

XIV. C03IEDY OF ERRORS.

ACT I. = 1:) "Syracusians," uniformly in Mr. Malone's
edit. = 2:) l^as wrought by nature, not by vile offence,]
All his hearers understood that the punishment he was about
to undergo was in consequence of no private crime, but of
ihe public enmity between two states, to one of which he
belonged : but it was a general superstition among the an-
cients, that every great and sudden misfortune was the
vengeance of heaven pursuing men for their secret ofl'ences.
Hence the sentiment put into the mouth of the speaker was
proper. Uy my past life (says he,) which I am going to re-
late, the world may understand, that my present death is
according to the ordinary course of Providence, [u>roug:At_6i/
nature,] and not the effects of divine vengeance overtaking
me for my crimes, [not by vile offence.] Warburton. The
real meaning of this passage is much less abstruse than that
which Warburton attributes to it. By nature is meant na-
tural affection, jligeon came to Ephesus in search of his
son and tells his story, in order to show that his death was
in consequence of natural affection for his child, not of any
criminal intention. M. Mason. = 3:) ','And the great care of
goods at random left" — Mai.one. =^ 4:) "wished light," —
Malone. Next line, "discover'd." We have not thought it
always necessary to notice these trifling variations. Many
of them seem accidental, and arc not to be found in Mr.
Malone's iirst edition. =: 5:) My youngest boy, and yet my
eldest care,] Shakspeare has here been guilty of a little
forgetfulness. Pigeon had said, page 282, that the youngest
son was that which his wife had taken care of: — "My wife,
more careful for the latter-born, \\ "Had fasten'd him unto
a small spare mast." He himself did the same by the other;
and then each fixing their eyes on whom their care was
fixed, fastened themselves at either end of the mast. M.
Mason. =6:) "so his case was like," — Malone. =7:) "far-
thest—" Malone. =8:) Roaming clean through the bounds
of Asia,"] In the northern parts of England this word is
still used instead of quite, fully, perfectly, completely. =
9:) "if no,"- Malone. = 10:) — tcend,] i.e. go. An obsolete
word. = 11:) A trusty villain,] i. e. servant. = 12:)— con-

faunds himself:] i. e. destroys himself. Malonb.:=1 3:)

I shall be post indeed ; JJ For she will score your fault upon
my pate.] Perhaps,_ before writing was a general aecoin-
phshment, a kind of rough reckoning, concerning wares is-
sued out of a shop, was kept by chalk or notches on a post,
till it could be entered on the books of a trader. = 14:) —

be»tou>''d —] i. e. stowed or lodged it. = 15:) — that merry
sconce of yours,] Sconce is head. = 16:) — o''er-raught --^
That is, over-reached. = 1'^:) They say, this town is full of
cozenage ;] This was the character the ancients give of it.
Hence 'Jiftuia ('df^trfaijfiaxa was proverbial amongst them.
Thus Menaiider uses 'it, and 'Erpiuta yea/ifitnu, in the same
sense. Warburton. =18:) — liberties of sin:] Uy liberties
of sin, Shakspeare perhaps means licensed offenders, such
as mountebanks, fortune-tellers, Lc. who cheat with impun-
ity ; or it may mean sinful liberties. =

ACT II. = 1:) Adr. There's none, but asses, will be
bridled so. \\ Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with
woe.] Should it not rather be leasWd, i. e. coujjled like a
headstrong hound "f Or perhaps tiie meaning of this passage
may be, that those who refuse the bridle must bear tne
lash, and that woe is the punishment of headstrong liberty.
Mr. M. Mason inclines to leashed. =2:) "subject" — Mr. Ma-
lone reads subjects. = 3:) — start some other where "f] Pro-
bably where has here the power of a noun. The sense is,
How if your husband fly off in pursuit of some other wo-
man'i^=^'k:) — though she pause;] To pause is to rest, to he
in quiet. =5:) They can be meek, that have no other cause.]
That is, w ho have no cause to be otherwise. ■== 6:) With
urging helpless patience — ] By exhorting me to patience
which affords no help. = 7:) — fool-begg'iT— ] She seems to.
mean, by fool begg'd patience, that patience which is so
near to idiotical simplicity, that your next relation would
take advantage from it to represent you as a fool, and beg
the guardiansnip of your fortune. =8:) — that I could scarce
understand them.] i. e. that 1 could scarce starid under them.
This quibble, poor as it is, seems to have been a favourite
with Shakspeare. ==9:) Am I so round with you, as you with
me,] He plays upon the word round, which signilies spheri-
cal, applied to himself, and unrestrained, or free in speech
or action spoken of his mistress. = 10:) — case me in lea-
ther.] Still alluding to a football, the bladder of which is
always covered with leather. = ll:) Of my defeatures:] By
defeatures is here meant alteration of features for the worse.
At the end of this play the same word is used with a some-
what different siguilication. = 12:) — ilij/ decayed fair -^]
Fair (or fairness. ^=13:) — poor I am but his stale.] i. e. hia
j»retence. = 14:) "and no man," — Malone. =15:) 1 see, the
jewel, best enamelled, \\ Will lose his beauty; and though
gold 'bides still, \\ That others touch, yet often touching
will II Wear gold; and so no man, that hath a name, || But
falsehood and corruption doth it shame.] The sense is this :
"Gold, indeed, will long bear the handling; however, often
touching will wear even gold ; just so the greatest character,
though as pure as gold itself, may, in time, be iiijur>ed, by
the repeated attacks of falsehood and corruption." Warbur-
ton. =16:) And make a common of my serious hours.] i.e.
intrude on them when you please. The allusion is to those
tracts of ground destined to common use, which are thence
called commons. = 17:)— know my aspect,] i. e. study my coun-
tenance. ^18:) — and insconce it too ;] A sconce was a petty
fortification. = 19:) — by fine and recovery'*] This attempt
at pleasantry must have originated from our author's clerk-
ship to an attorney. He has other jokes of the same school.
Stkevens. = 20:) — falsing.] This word i.s now obsolete.
Spenser and Chaucer often use the verb to false. Mr. Heath
would read falling. Steevens. =21:) "e'en no time." Ma-
lone.= 22;) — waits us— ] i.e. beckons U8.=23:) "or look'd,
or touch'd," — Malone. =24:) -maj/'st thou fall — ] To fall
is here a verb active. = 25:) — you are from me exempt,!
Johnson says that exempt means separated, parted ; yet I
think that Adriana does not use the word exempt in that
sense, but means to say, that as he was her husband she
had no power over him, and that he was privileged to do
her wrong. M. Mason. =: 26:) — idle moss;] That is moss
that produces no fruit, but being unfertile is useless. =27:)
And shrive you—] 'I hat is I will call you to confession,
and make you tell your tricks. =

ACT III. r=U) — carkanet,'] Seems to have been a neck-
lace, or rather chain, perhaps hanging down double from
the neck. = 2:) Mome,] A dull stupid blockhead, a stock, a
post; from one of those similar words in many languages,
signifying something foolish. It may also owe its original
to the French word momon, which signifies the gaming at
dice in masquerade, the custom and rule of which is, that a
strict silence is to be observed ; whatever sum one stakes,
another covers, but not a word is to be spoken. From hence
also comes our word mum! for silence. Hawkins, and Douce.

— 3:) — patch!] i. e. fool. Alluding to the party-coloured
coats worn by tlie licensed fools or jesters' of the agc. = 4:)

— / owe*] i. e. I own, am owner of. = 6:) — we shall part
with neither.] Mr. Tyrwhitt says, that in our old language,
to part, signified to have part. But part does not signify
to share or divide, but to depart or go away; and Baltha-
zar means to say, that whilst debating which is best, they
should go away without either. = 6:) Once this,] Once this,
may mean, once for all, at once. =T.) — the doors are made
against you.] To make the door is the expression used to
tms day in some counties of England, instead of, to bar the
door. = 8:) "of it;" Malone. = 9.) "where it gets uossea-
sion." Malone. = 10:) And, in despight of mirth,] Though
mirth has withdrawn heraelf from me, and seems determined

V.

62

9^78

NOTES

[Pl: 14.] Th. S.

to avoid ine, jet in despiglit of licr, and wJiether chc will

or not, 1 am resolved to be merry. = 11:) "Mhall, Anli-

pliolii!', II Even in the spring of luvc, thy love- springs rot? ||
Sliall love, in biiiiding, grow so ruinous?" Mai-oivk. = 12:)
Beiiig compact of credit,'] Means, being made altogether
of credulity. = 16:) — vain,'] Is light of totigue, not. vera-
cious. Johnson. = 14:) — sweet mermaid,] Mermaid is only
auotlicr name for «j/ren. = 16:) Not mad, but mated:] 1 sus-
pect there is a play upon words intended here. Mated sig-
uities not only confounded, hut matched with a wife:^ and
Autipholus, Mho had been challenged as a husband by Adriana,
which he cannot account for, uses the \vord mated in both
these senses, M.MAsoN. = lb:) M« sole earth's heaven, and
my heaven's claim.] When be calls the girl his only heaven
OH the earth, he utters the common cant of lovers. When
he calls her his heaven's claim, I cannot understand him.
I'erhaps he means that which he asks of heaven. Johnson.
Mr. Malonc thinks he means "all that 1 claim from iienvcu
hereafter." = 17:) — sir-reverence:] a corruption of eat'C- re-
verence, salva-reverentia. = 18:) Swart.] i.e. black, or ra-
ther of a dark browu.= 19:) "her heir.'* — Malone. = 20:)
— assured to fter;]_i. e. affianced to her. = 21:) "If every
one know us," — Mai.one.=:22:)— at the Porcupine:'] It is
remarkable, that throughout the old editions of Shakspeare's
plays, the ^^ovAPorpentine is used instead ni Porcupine. I
have since observed the same spelling in the plays of other
ancient authors. Steevens. =

ACT IV. 1:) — jcant gilders—] A. gilder \9 a coin valued
from one shilling and six-pence, to two shillings. = 2:) _J«
growing to me—] i.e. accruing to mc.^=3:)"And then, sir,
she bears away" — Mai.oke. = 4:) — thou peevish sheep,]
Peevish is silly. = 6:) "You sent me for a rope's end as
soon." Mai.one. =*6:) "list me" — Mai.onk. = 7:) -mt'cor*
tilting in his fare'/] Alluding to those meteors in the sky,
which have the appearance of lines of armies meeting in the
shook. =8:) Mr. Malone, in this play, constantly reads spight,
a word not to be found in our dictionaries. = 8:) — sere,]
That is, rfrj/, withered. JoHnaoK. = 10:) Stigmatical in mak-
ing,] That IS, marAed or stigmatized by nature with deform-
ity, as a token of his vicious disposition. = 11:) Far from
her nest the lapwing, &c.] This expression seems to be pro-
verbial— 1 have met witn it in many of the old comic wri-
ters. Stebvens. = 12:) — an everlasting garment — ] 'J'he
sergeants, in those days, were clad in bujjf, as Dromio tells
us ibe man was who arrested Antipholus. Buff is also a
cant expression for a man's skin, a covering which lasts
liim as long as his life. Uromio therefore calls buff an ever-
lasting garment: and in pursuance of this quibble ou the
word buff, he calls the sergeant, in the next scene, the
"Picture of old Adam;" that is, of Adam before his fall,
whilst he remained unclad. " — What, "have you got the pic-
ture of old Adam new apparelled/" = 13:) — and narrow
lands;] Lands in the present instance may mean, what we
now call /ondi7»g--placc9 at the water-side. = 14:) A hound
that runs counter, and yet draws dry foot well;] To run
counter is to run backward, by mistaking the course of the
animal pursued ; to draiv dry-foot is, 1 believe, to pursue
by the track or prick of the foot ; to run counter and draw
dry-foot well are, therefore, inconsistent. The jest consists
in the ambiguity of the word counter, which means the
wrong way in the chace, and a prison in London. The of-
iicer that arrested him was a sergeant of the counter. For
the congruity of this jest with the scene of action, let our
author answer. Johnson. A hound that draws dry foot,
means wjiat is usually called a blood-hound, trained to fol-
low men by the scent. = 15:) —jioor souls to hell.] Hell was
the cant term for an obscure dungeon in any of our prisons.
There was likewise a place of this name under the Exche-
quer Chamber, where the king's debtors were confined till
they had "paid the uttermost larthing." Steevkns. An ac-
count of the local situation of IIrlIj may Le found in the
Journals of the House of Commons, Vol. X. p. 83. as the
Commons passed through it to King tf'illiani and. Queen
Mary's Coronation, and gave directions concerning it. In
Queen Elizabeth's time the oflice of Clerk of the Treasury
was situated there, as I lindin Sir James Dyer's Reports,
fol. 245. A, where mention is made of "one Christopher
Hole Secondary del 'I'reasuric, et un auncient attorney and
nractiser in le office del Clerke del Treasurie al Hem,."
This I take to be the Treasury of the Court of Common
Pleas, of which Sir James Dyer was Chief Justice, and
which is now kept immediately under the Court of Exche-
tjuer. The office of the Tally-Court of the Chamberlain of
the Exchequer is still there, and tallies for many centuries
back are piled up and preserved in this oflice. Two or three
adjacent apartments have within a few years been converted
to hold the Vouchers of the public Accounts, which had
become so numerous as to overstock the place in which they
were kept at Lincoln's Inn. These, therefore, belong to
the Auditors of public Accounts. Otiier rooms are turned
into coal-rellnrs. — There is a pump still standing of excel-
lent water, called IIeli, Pump : — And the place is to this dav
well known by thenameof We//. Vaillant. ^=16:) "Jhitisin,*^'
kc. — Mai.one, = 17:) — was he arrested on a b-tiiid'(] A bond,
i. e, an obligatory writing to pay a sum of money, was an-
ciently spelt band. A ba7id is likewise a neckcloth. On this
circumstance the humour of the passage turns. -^ 18:) "bank-
rout," — Mai.one. =19:)— concert;] i.e. fanciful conception.
=20:) H'liat^ have you got the picture of Old Adam new

apparelled'/] 'I'he allusion is to Adam, in his state of inno-
cence, going naked; and immediately after the fall, being
clothed in a frock of skins. 'J'hus he was new apparelled :
and, in like manner, the sergeants of the counter were for-
merly clad in biitf, or calf's skin, as the author humorously
a little lower calls it. These jests on Adam's dress are
common among our old writers. Mr. Malone reads thus,
"What have you got rid of the picture of old Adam new
^pparell'dV" =^ 21:) — he that sets up his rest to do more
crploits with his marc, than a morris-7)/Ae.] The rest of a
pike was a common term, and .>>ignilied, 1 believe, the man-
ner in which it was lixed to receive the rush of the enemy,
A morrispike^ was a pike usetl in a morris or a military
dance, and with w hich great exploits w ere done, that is,
great feats of dexterity were shown. Johnson. There is, 1
believe, no authority for Dr. Johnson's assertion, that the
morris-pike was used in the Morris-dance. Swords were
sometinies used upon that occasion. It certainly means the
iUoom/t-pike, which was Aery common in the luth century.
See (irose's History of the English Army. \o\. 1. p. loO.
UoucK. Thephrase — he that sets up his rest, in this in-
stance, signifies only, 1 believe, "jie mat trusts is confi-
dent in his expectation. 'J'hus, Dacon : "Sea-lights have
been linal to the war, but this is, when princes set up their
uest upon the battle." Again Clarendon: "they therefore
resolved to set up their rest upon that stake, and to go
through with it, or perish." This figure of speech is cer-
tainly derived from the military exercise, as that was the
only kind of rest which was ever set up. Hem.ev. = 22:) —
ffe'll mend our dinner here.] i.e. by purchasing something
additional in the adjoining market. Mai.one. = 2.5:) — »J' you
do expect spoon-meat, or betpeak a long-spoon.] i. e. "if
you do expect spoon-meat, either stay away, or bespeak a
long spoon." Mr. Malone reads, "Master, it you do expect
spoon-meat or bespeak a long sjioon." = 24:) "parings —
Malone. ^:= 2 5:) — will pay them all.] i. e. serve to hit, strike,
correct them all. Stekvens. =26:) — by my long ears.] He
means, that his master had lengthened his ears by fre-
quently pulling them. Steevens. = 27:) — c«m;)anion—] A
w ord of contempt, anciently used as we now use • — fellow.
Steevens. = 28:) "Din'd at home!" — Malone. = 29:)i-'errfj/,]
A corruption of the common French oath — Pardieu. Chau-
cer's personages are frequent in their use of it. = 30:) Cer-
fes,] i. e. certainly. =31:) — kitchen-vestal—] Her charge
being like that of the vestal virgins, to keei) the lire burn-
ing. Johnson. =32:)— unhappy strumpet!] Ijnhappy is here
used in one of the senses of unlucky i i. e. mischievous.
Stekvens, = 33:) — our stutf— ] i. e. our baggage. In the
orders that were issued for the Koyal Progres.>>es in the last
century, the king's baggage was always tlius denominated.
Malone. =

ACT V. = 1:) — get within him,] i. e. close w ith him,
grapple with him. =2:) — take a house] i. e. go into a house.
So, we say — a dog takes the water. = 3:) "And much dll-
ferent," kc. — Malone. = 4:) — f Ac copy — J i. e. the theme.
We still talk of setting copies for boys. Stekvens. = 5:)
(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ;)] Kinsman means
near relation Many words are used by Shakspeare with
much greater latitude. = 6:) "their heels," — Malone. =: 7:)
— a formal man again:] i. e. to bring him back to his senses,
and the forms of ^ober behaviour. -= 8:) — sorry execution,]
So, iu Macbeth: "Of sorriest fancies your companions inak
ing." Sorry had anciently a stronger meaning than at pre-
sent, and seems to have meant sorrowful: here perhaps it
means dismal. ^=9:) At your important letters,] For impor-
tunate. = 10:) — to take order — ] i. e. to take measures. t=:
11:) Beaten the maids a-row,] i. e. successively, one after
another. = 12:) "My master preaches patience to him, and
the while" — Malone. =: 13:) His man with srissars nicks
him like a fool:] The force of this allusion 1 am unable to
explain witn certainty. I'erhaps it was once the ciistoni to
cut the hair of idiots close to their heads. There is a pro-
verbial simile — "liike c/-o;) the conjurer;" which might ha\ e
been ironically applied to these unfortunate beings. Stee-
vkns. There is a penally of ten shillings in one of King
Alfred's ecclesiastical laws, if one opprobriously shave a
common manlike a /uo/. Tullet. Fools, undoubtedly, were
shaved and riirked in a particular manner, in our author's
time, as is ascertained by tlie following passage in The
Choice of Change, containing the Triplirilie of Diviuitie,
Philosophie, and Poetrie, b^ S. U. (Jenl, 4to, 1598: "Tliree
things used by monks, w hicli provoke other«meu to laugh at
their follies: 1. They are shaven and notched on the head
like footes." Malone. = 14:) To bestride one in battle is
an act of friendship, or assistance, frequently mentioned in
the.-c plays. = 15:) — with harlots — ] Harlot was a term of
reproach applied to cheats among men, as well as to wan-
tons among women. = Iti:) — J am advised — ] i.e. 1 am not
going to speak precipitately or rashly, but ou reflection and
consideration. ^= 17:) "disturbed" —Malone, who considers
the effect a» making only two syllables. •=18:) — deform'd—]
For dejorming. = 19:) — strange defeatures — ] Defeatures
are certainly Selther more nor less than features; as de
merits are neither more nor less than merits. Time, says
J'igeun, hath placed netv and strange features iu my face;
i.e. given it quite a different appearance: no wonder there-
fore thou dost not know me. Uitson. = 20:) — my feeble key
of untun'd cares'/] i, c. the weak and discordant tone of
luy voice, that is changed by grief. DoucB. = 21:) — this

J

Tn.S. [Pi.: 15.]

NOTES

979

rraioed face—] i. e. furrowed, like the grain of wood. ^=
22:) f ny, hert begins his morniii^ story right;'] "The
morning story" is wbat .4-:gpon tellM the iiuke in the tirxt
scene of this' play. = 23:) Mr. Maloiie reads — "until this
present hour, j "My '•^^^'J' hurthen not delivered." = 24:)
jfter to long grief, such nativity F] She has just said, that
tu her, her sons Mere not born till now, Steetbms. =

XV. MACBETH.

ACT I. =l:)i. e. when the storm is over.— 2:) "ere the
set of sun." M.»lonk.= S:) — Graymaikin !] To under^itaud
this pa>^sa«e, we should suppo!>e one familiar calling with
the voice of a cat, and another w ith the croaking of a toad,
which in the north is called paddock. = i:) Fair it foul, and
foul it fair:'] 1 believe the meaning is, that to us, perverse
and malignant as we are, fair it foul, and foul it fair.
JoH>so>. = 6:) "DoubtfuP' — >lAl.o?iK. =6:) — to that, i:c.]
i. c. in addition to that, or, to that end. = 7:) Uf Kernes
and CJallowglasses is supplied;] kernes and Gallowglasses
are light and heavy armed foot, "Hinc coujectiirae vigorem
etiam adjiciuul arma quxdam Hiberuica, Gallicis antiquis
similia,}aculanimirum pediium Icvis armaturae, quosXcmo*

vocani, nee nou secures A: lories ferreae pedilum illorum |: commendation, contend in his mind for pre- eminence,
gravioris armature, quos (ialloglassios appellant." IVarcei jj —There is a contest in his mind whether he should indulge
Antiq. Hiber. cap. vi. = 8:) And fortune, on his damned I; his desire of publishing to the world the commendations
quarrel — ] Quarrel was formerly used for cause, or lor tAe ji due to your heroism, or whether he should remain in silent

Srogula, Hilda, Gondula, and Geiroscogula. Bartholinus
adds, that their number is yet greater, according to other
writers who speak of them. They were the cupbearers of
Odin, and conductors of the dead. They were distinguished
by the elegance of their forms ; and it would be as just to
compare youth and beaury with age and deformity, as the
f'alkyrice of the North with the IVitchet of Shakspeare.
Stkkvkns. = 19:) — thane of Glaminf] The thaiieship of
Glainis was the ancient inheritance of Macbeth's family.
The cdstle where they lived is still standing. and was lately
the magnificent residence of the earl of Strathmore. =^20:)
— thane of Cawdor!] Dr. Johnson observes, in his Journey
to the Western Islands of Scotland, that part of Colder
Castle, from which Macbeth drew his second title, is still
remaining. =21:) .<^re ye fantastical,'] By fantastical, he
means creatures o( fantasy or imagination: the question is,
Are these real beings before us, or are we deceived by il-
lusions of fancy'*] Joh>so>. =22:) O/noWc having,] Having.,
is estate, possession, fortune. =23:) That he teems wrapt
withal;] Rapt is rapturously affected, extra se raptui. =
24:) By Sinel's death,] The father of Macbeth. = 25:) —
eaten of the insane root,] The insane root is the root which
makes insane, and which the commentators have not dis-
covered. = 2d:) His tcondert and hispraiaet do contend, l|
tf'hich thould be thine, or his: tk.c.] i.e. private admiration
of >our deeds, and a desire to do them public justice by

_^^_ . .-.: . . .. ._. . ^^^

occasion of a quarrel, and is to bu found in that sense in
HolinsheJ's account of the story of Macbeth, who, upon
the creation of the Prince of Cumberland, thought, says the
historian, that he had a just quarrel to endeavour after
the crown. The sense therefore is. Fortune smiling on hit
execrable cause, Kc. Johsson. = S:) At whence the «un 'gins
his reflexion — ] The thought is expressed with some ob-
scurity, but the plain meaning is this: As the tame quarter,
whence the blessing of day-light arises, tometimet sends
ut, by a dreadful reverse, the calamities of storms and
tempests ; so the glorious event of Macbeth't victory, which
promited ut the comfortt of peace, wot immediately tuc-
ceeded by the alarming newt of the Norweyan inra«»on. =
10:) — flout the sky,] The banners may be poetically de-
scribed as wa\ing in mockery or defiance of the sky. The
sense of the passage, however, collectively taken, is this:
Where the triumphant flutter of the Norwcyan standards
ventilatet orcooltthe toldiers who had been heated through
their effortt to tecure such numerout trophies of victory.

admiration of what no words could celebrate in proportion
to its desert. = 27:) — /*» thick at tale,] .Meaning, that the
news came as thick as a tale can travel with the pott. ■=
28:) "Only to herald," i:c. — Malo>e. = 2!V:) .Mr. Malone
reads, '- "Whetlier he was combin'd |, "With those of Nor-
way," &.c. = 30:) — frtwterf home,] \. e. entirely, thoroughly
relied on, or perhaps we should read thrusted Aowi«'. = 31:)
Might yet enkindle you — ] Enkindle, for to stimulate you
to seek. ^32:) Two truths are told, ic] How the former
of these truths has been fulfilled, wc are yet to learn. .Mac-
beth could not become thane of Glamis, 'till after his fa-
ther's decease, of which there is no mention throughout th^
play. If the hag only announced what Macbeth already un-
derstood to have happened, her words could scarcely claim
rank as a prediction. = 3 3:) Thit supernatural soliciting — ]
Soliciting for information. Warburton. Soliciting is ra-
ther, in my opinion, incitement, than information. Joun'so?!.
^34:) — teated — ] i.e. tixcd, lirmly placed. =35:) — tingle
ttate of man,] Dr. Johnson says, that the single state of

z= 11:) Till that Bellonas bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,] ;! man seems to be used by Shakspeare for an individual, in
Lapt in proof , \», defended by armour of proof. By Bel- \\ opposition to a commonwealth, or conjunct body. But Mr.
loua's bnilegroom we may understand .Macbeth, but why, ; Steevens thinks that the tingle state of Macbeth may sig-

the critics have not told us. = 12:) — Saint Colmes' iucli,] ;] nify his treat and debile state of mind. = 36:) function

Colmes' inch, now called Inchcomb, is a small island lying \\ \\ Is tmother'd in surmise; and nothing is,]lBut what it
in the Firth of Edinburgh, with an abbey upon it, dedicated ;i not.] \\l powers of action arc op[>ressed and crushed by
to St. Columb; called by Camden, Inch Colm, or The Isle one overwhelming image in the mind, and nothing is pre-
of Columba.^:^ 13:) "his present death," — .M.4Losk.= 1*:) : sent to me but that which is really future. t)f things now
Aroint thee, witch!] Aroint, or avauut, be gone. I'ofe. = j about me 1 have uo perception, being intent wholly on that
15:) — the rump-fed ronyon — ] The chief cooks in noble- ' which has yet no existence. Johnson. = 37:) Time and the

men's families, colleges, religious liouses, hospitals, \c. an-
ciently claimed the emoluments or kitchen fees of kidneys,
fat, trotters, rumps, iic, which they sold to the poor. 'Ihe
weird sister in this scene, as an insult on the poverty of
the woman who had called her witch, reproaches her poor

hour run* through the roughest day] i.e. lime and occasion
Mill carry the thing through, and bring it to some deter-
mined point and end, let its nature bu what it will. Mrs.
.MoNTAiiUK. = 38:) — favour:] i. e. indulgence, pardon. =
39:) — my dull brain was wrought — ] My head was worked.

abject slate, as not being able to procure better provision / agitated, put into commotion. ==: 40:) to find the mind's
than offals. Ronyon means scabby or maugy-woaian. Fr. {: coustriictiou t'n the face:] Dr. Johnson seems to have uii-
rogneujr. = 1 b:) — the shipman't card.] The card is the pa- |' der^tood the word construction in this place in the sense
per on which the winds are marked under the pilot's needle; : of frame or structure; but the school-term was, i l-elieve,
or perliaps the sea-chart, so called in our author's age. = : intended by Shakspeare. The meaning is — We cannot con-
17:) He shall live a man forbid:] i. e. as one under a curse, i; strue or discover the dispotition of the mind by the linea-
an interdiction. To bid is originally to pray. As to forbid j| mentt of the face. MALO^E. = 41:) — full of growing.] is,
therelore implies to prohibit, in opposition to the word bid j' exuberant, perfect, complete in thy growth. = 42:) — hence
in its present sense, it signilies by the same kind of oppo- || to Inverness,] Dr. Johnson observes, in his Journey to the

Wettem Itlandt of Scotland, that ihe walls of the castle

sition to curse, when it is derived from the same word in
its primitive meaning. = 18:) The weird sistert, hand in
hand,] These weird sisters, were the Fates of the northern
nations; the three haud-maids of Odin. Hce nominantur
/ alkijriiF, quas quodvis ad prtelium Odinut mittit. Ha:
viros morti destinant, et victoriam gubernant. Gunna, et
Rota, ct Farcarum minima Skullda: per aera et maria
equitant temper ad morituros cligendot; et casdet in po-
testate habent Bartholiiius de Causis coutemplx a Danis
adhuc Genlilibus mortis. It is for this reason that Shak-
speare makes ibem three; and calls them, Fosters of the
tea and land ; and intent only upon death and mischief.
However, to give this part of his work the more dignity,
be intermixes, with this Northern, the Greek and Homan
superstitions; and puts Hecate at the head of their elichaut-
meuts. And to make it still more familiar to the common
audience, (which was always his point) he adds, for another
ingredient, a sufticienl quantity of our own country super-
stitious concerning witches; tneir beards, their cats, and
their broomsticks. So that his ir»tcA-«cene« are like the
charm they prepare in one of them ; where the ingredients

of Macbeth, at Inverness, are yet standing. Stkkvkss. =
43:) The prince of Cumberland!] The crown of Scotland
was originally not hereditary. When a successor was de-
clared in the life-time of a king (as was often the case.) the
title of Prince of Cumberland was immediately bestowed
on him as the mark of his designation. Cumberland Mas at
that time held by Scotland of the crown of England, as a
lief. = 44:) — missives from the king,] i. e. me.-sengers. =

45:) the golden round, ;i Which fate and metaphysical

aid — ] The croMn to Mhirb fate destines thee, and which
preternatural agents endeavour to bestow up«n thee. The
golden round is the diadem. Metaphysical, which Dr. War-
burtou has justly observed, means something supernatural,
seems, in our author's time, to have had uo other meaning,
in thu English Dictionary, by H. C. 1655, Metaphmics are
thus explained; "Supernatural arts." = 46:) — The raven
himself it hoarte,] The following is, in my opinion, the
sense of this passage : — Give him tending ; the new s he

' brings are worth the speed that made him lose his breath.

I [^Exit Attendant.] 'Tis certain now — the raven himtelf is

are gathered from every thing thocking in the natural world, ]i spent, is hoarte by croaking this very message, the Jatal
as here, from every thing absurd in \bK moral. But as es- |; entrance of Duncan under .my battlemcntt. Lady .Macbeth
travagaut as all this is, the play has had the power to (. (for she was not yel unscred) was likelier to be deterred
charm and bewitch every audience, from that time to this. !■ from her design t'han encouraged in it by the supposed
WARBtBTOji. The f alkyriie, or f alkyriur, were not barely j thought that the message and the prophecy (though equally
three in number. The learned critic mignt have found in, ' secrets to the messenger and the raven) had deprived ihe
BarthoUnut, not only Cruiina, Rota, et Sk-utlda, but also ji one of speech, and added harshness to the other's note.

62*

980

NOTES.

[Pl:15.] Th.S.

Unless we absurdly suppose the messenger acquainted with
the hidden import of his message, speed alone had inter-
cepted his breath, as repetition the raven's voice; thougii
the lady considered both as organs of that destiny which
hurried Duncan into her meshes. Fuseli. =47:) — mortal
thoughts,'] This expression signities not the thoughts of
mortals, but murderous, deadly, or destructive designs. =
48:) — remorse;] Remorse, in ancient language, eigniiies
nity. = 49:) And pall thee — ] i. e. wrap thyself in a pall.
To pall, however, in the present instance, (as Mr. Douce
observes,) may simply mean — to wrap, to invest. = 50:)
That my keen knife — ] The word knife, which at present
has a familiar undignilied meaning, Mas anciently used to
express a sword or dagger. ^=H:) — Great Glamis! worthy
Cawdor.'] Shakspeare has supported the character of Lady
Macbeth by repeated efforts, and never omits any opport-
unity of adding a trait of ferocity, or a mark of the want
of human feelings to this monster of his own creation. The
softer passions are more obliterated in her than in her hus-
band, in proportion as her ambition is greater. She meets
him nere on his arrival from an expedition of danger, with
such a salutation as would have become one of his friends
or vassals ; a salutation apparently titled rather to raise his
thoughts to a level with her own purposes, than to testify
her joy at his return, or manifest an attachment to his per-
son : nor does any sentiment expressive of love or softness
fall from her throughout the play. While Macbeth himself,
amidst^ the horrors of his guilt, still retains a character less
liend-like than that of his queen, talks to her with a degree
of tenderness, and pours his complaints and fears into her
bosom, accompanied with terms of endearment. Steevbns.
= 5 2:) Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men || May
read, Lc] that is, thy looks are such as will awaken men's
curiosity, excite their attention, and make room for suspi-
cion. = 53:) To alter favour ever is to fear:] Favour is —
look, countenance. = 54:) This castle hath a pleasant seat;]
This short dialogue between Duncan andBanquo, whilst they
are approaching the gates of Macbcth's castle, has always
appeared to me a striking instance of what in painting is
termed repose. Their conversation very naturally turns upon
the beauty of its situation, and the pleasantness of the air ;
and Banquo observing the martlets' nests in every recess
bf the cornice, remarks, that where those birds most breed
and haunt, the air is delicate. The subject of this quiet
and easy conversation gives that repose so necessary to the
mind attcr the tumultuous bustle of the preceding scenes,
and perfectly contrasts the scene of horror that immediately
succeeds. It seems as if Shakspeare asked himself. What
is a prince likely to say to his attendants on such an occa-
sion'? Whereas the modern writers seem, on the contrary,
to be always searching for new thoughts, such as would
never occur to men in the situation which is represented. —
This also is frequently the practice of Homer, who, from
the midst of battles and horrors, relieves and refreshes the
mind of the reader, by introducing some quiet rural image,
or picture of familiar domestic fife. Sir J. REVNOiiDS. =
55:) — coigne of vantage,] Convenient corner. Mr. Malonc

reads this passage thus: "no jutty, frieze, [["Buttress,

nor coin of vantage, but this bird || "mth made his pendant
bed, and procreant cradle: J| "Where they most breed and
hauut, 1 have observ'd, || "The air is delicate." = 56:) The
love that follows us, sometime is our trouble, \\ Which still
we thank as love. Herein I teach ijou, || How you shall bid
God yield us for your paius, |[ And (thank us for your trou-
ble.] This passage is iinduubtedly obscure, and the following
is the best explication of it 1 am able to offer: — Marks of
respect, importunately shown, are sometimes troublesome,
though we are still bound to be grateful for them, as in-
dications of sincere attachm.ent. If you pray for us on ac-
count of the trouble we create in your house, and thank
us for the molestations we bring with us, it must be on
such a principle. Herein I teach you that the inconvenience
you suffer, is the result of our affection; and that you
are therefore to pray for us, or thank us, only as far as
prayers or thanks can be deserved for kindnesses that fa-
tigue, and honours that oppress. You are, in short, to
make your acknowledgments for intended respect and love,
however irksome our present mode of expressing them may
have proved. — To bid is here used in the Saxon sense — to
pray. Steevens. = 67:) IVe rest your hermits.] Hermits,
for beadsmen. = 6&) Your servants ever,tii.c.] The sense is:
— We, and all who belong to us, look upon our lives and
fortunes not as our own properties, but as things we have
received merely for your use, and for which we must be
accountable, whenever you please to call us to our audit;
when, like faithful stewards, tve shall be ready to answer
your summons, by returning you what is your own.= 69:)
Enter — a Sewer,] A sewer was an officer so called from
his placing the dishes upon the table. Jsseour, French;
from asseoir, to place. =60:) — // the assassination, kc]
Of this soliloquy the meaning is not very clear; 1 have ne-
ver found the readers of Shakspeare agreeing about it. I
understand it thus: — "If that which 1 am about to do, when
it is once done and executed, were done and ended without
any following effects, it would then be best to do it quickly :
if the murder could terminate in itself, and restrain the re-_
gular course of consequences, if its success would secure'
its surcease, if, being once done successfully, without de-
tection, it conld Jix a period to all vengeance and enquiry,
so that this blow might be all that I have to do, and this
anxiety «11 that 1 have to suffer; if this could be my con-

dition, even here in this world, in this contracted period of
temporal existence, on this narrow bank in the ocean of
eternity, / would jump the life to come, I would venture
upou tne deed without care of any future state. But this
is one of those cases in which judgment is prouounccd and
vengeance inflicted upou us here in our present life. VVe
teacli others to do as we have done, and arc punished by
our own example." Johnson. = 61:) Hath borne his facul-
ties so meek,] Faculties, for office, exercise of power, kc.
^62:) Enter Lady — ] The arguments by which lady Mac-
beth persuades her husband to commit the murder, afford a
proofs of Shakspeare's knowledge of human nature. She
urges the excellence and dignity of courage, a gliitiri, g
idea which has dazzled mankind from age to age, and anim-
ated sometimes the housebreaker, and sometimes the con-
queror; but this sophism Macbeth has for ever destroyed,
by distinguishing true from false fortitude in a line and a
half; of which it may almost be said, that they ought to
bestow immortality on the author, though all his other pro-
ductions had been lost: 1 dare do all that may become a
man, \\ IFho dares do more, is none. This topic, which has
been always employed with too much succes:<, is used in
this scene, with peculiar propriety, to a soldier by a woman,
("ourage is the distinguishing virtue of a soldier; and the
reproach of cowardice cannot be borne by any man from a
woman, without great impatience. She then urges the oaths
by which he had bound himself to murder Duncan; another
art of sophistry by which men have sometimes deluded their
consciences, and persuaded themselves what would be cri-
minal in others is virtuous iu them ; this argument Shak-
speare, whose plan obliged him to make Macbeth yield, has
not confuted, though he might easily have shown that a
former obligation could not be vacated by a latter; that
obligations laid on us by a higher power, could not be over-
ruled by obligations which we lay upou ourselves. Johnson.

= 63:) yyouUVst thou have that || Which thou esteenist

the ornament of life, \\ And live a coward in thine own
esteem;] Do you wish to obtain the crown, and yet would
you remain such a coward in your own eyes all your life,
as to suffer your paltry fears, which whisper, "1 dare not,"
to controul your noble ambition, which cries out, "1 would "*"
Steevens. = 64:) Like the poor cat Vthe adage'^] The
adage alluded to is, The cat loves fish, but dares not wet
her feet: "Catus amat pisces, sed non vult tingere plantas."
= 66:) — But screw your courage to the slicking -place,]
This is a metaphor from an engine funned by mechanical
complication. 'I'he sticking-place is the stop wnich suspeuds
its powers, till they are discharged on their proper object;
as in driving piles, &c. = 66:) ff'ill 1 with wine and wassel
so convince, ic] To convince is, iu Shakspeare, to over-
power, 01 subdue. What was anciently called was-haile, (as
appears from Selden's notes on the ninth Sung of Drayton's
J^olyolbion) was an annual custom observed in the country
on the vigil of the new year; and had its beginning, as
some say, from the words which llonix, daughter of Uengist,
used, when she drank to Vortigern, loverd king was-heil ;
he ans« ering her, by direction ol an interpreter, drinc-heile.
Afterwards it appears that was-haile, and drinc-heil, were
the usual phrases of quafling among the English ; but wassel
is sometimes used for general riot, intemiierance, or fes-
tivity. On the present occasion 1 believe it means intem-
perance._ Steevens. = 67:) — the warder of the brain — ] A
warder is a guard, a sentinel. = 68:) — the receipt of rea-
son— ] i.e. the receptacle. =^ 69:) A limbeck only:] The lim-
beck is_ the vessel through which distilled liquors pass into
the recipient. So shall it be with memory ; through which

every thing shall pass, and nothing remaiu.=70:) who

shall bear the guilt || Of our great quell '(] Quell is murder,
manquellers being, in the old language, tne term for which
murderers is now used. = 71:) Till this instant the mind of
Macbeth has been in a state of uncertainty and fluctuation.
He has hitherto proved neither resolutely good, nor obsti-
nately wicked. Though a bloody idea had arisen in his
mind, after he had heard the prophecy in his favour, yet
he contentedly leaves the completion of fiis hopes to chance.
At the conclusion, however, of his interview with Duncan,
he inclines to hasten the decree of fate, and quits the stage
with an apparent resolution to murder his sovereign. But
no sooner is the king under his roof, than, reflecting on the
peculiarities of his own relative situation, he di;lermines
not to offend against the laws of hospitality, or the ties of
subjection, kindred, and gratitude. His wife then assails
his constancy afresh. He yields to her suggestions, and,
with his integrity, his happiness is destroyed. I have enu-
merated these particulars, because the waverings of Mac-
beth have, by some critics, been regarded as unnatural and
contradictory circumstances in his character; not remem-
bering that nemo repente fuit turpissimus, or that (as Au-

gelo observes " when once our grace we have forgot. ||

"\othing goes right; we would, and we would not — '^ a
passage which contains no unapt justification of the changes
that happen in the conduct of Macbeth. Steevens. =

ACT II. =1:) Scene L] The place is not marked in the
old edition, nor is it easy to say where this encounter can
be. It is not in the hall, as the editors have all supposed
it, for Banquo sees the sky ; it is not far from the bed-
chamber, as the conversation shows: it must be in the inner
court of the castle, which Banquo might properly cross iu
his way to bed. Johnson. = 2:) — There's husbandry in hea-

V.

Th. S. [Pl: 15.]

NOTES.

981

!try can produce, has becu adopted by Drvden, in
uest of Mexico : — "All things are hush'd as Nature's
dead, [] "The mountains seem to nod their drowsy

vcii,l Hutbandry here means, thrift, frugality. ■= 3:) — Mer-
ciful poipers! &c.] It is apparent from what Banquo says
afterwards, that he had been solicited in a dream to at-
tempt something in consequence of the prophecy of the
witches, that his waking senses were shocked at; and Shak-
gpeare has here most exquisitely contrasted his character
with that of Slacbeth. Banquo is praying against being
tempted to encourage thoughts of guilt even in his sleep ;
while Macbeth is hurrying into temptation, and revolving
in his mind every scheme, however flagitious, that may as-
sist him to complete his purpose. The one is unwillingto
sleep, lest the same phantoms should assail his resolution
again, while the other is depriving himself of rest through
impatience to commit the murder. = 4:) Sent forth great
largest to your offices :] Office* are the rooms appropriated
to servants and culinary purposes. Duncan was pleased with
his entertainment, and dispensed his bounty to those who
had prepared it. All the modern editors have transferred
this Idrgess to the officers of Macbeth, who would more
properly have been rewarded in the field, or at their return
to court. Stbkvbks. Mr. Malone reads, officers. ^= 5:) —
shut up — ] To shut up, is to conclude. = t:) Being unpre-
pared, cVc] This is obscurely expressed. The meaning seems
to be : — Being unprepared, our entertainment was neces-
sarily defective, and we only had it in our power to show
the king our willingness to serve him. Had we received
sufficient notice of his coming, our zeal should have been
more clearly manifested by our acts. = 7:) // you shall
cleave to my consent, — irAen 'tw,] Consent for will. So
that the sense of the line is. If you shall go into my mea-
sures when I have determined of them, or when the time
comes that I want your assistance. Warbirton. Mr. Ma-
lone thinks we should read content, and strengthens his
opinion by various quotations. = 8:) Jnd on thy blade, and
dudgeon, gouts of blood,'\ Though dudgeon sometimes signi-
fies a dagger, it more properly means the haft, or handle
of a dagger, and is used for that particular sort of handle
which has some ornament carved on the top of it. ^=9:) — —
iv'oir o'er the one half uorld | Nature seems dead,"] That is,
oi'cr our hemisphere all action and motion seem to bare
ceased. This image, which is, perhajis, the most striking
that poetry . . . ^ .

his Conq

self lay , „

head ; !i "The little birds in dreams their songs repeat, il "And
sleeping tlow'rs beneath the night-dews sweat. !| "Even lust
and envy sleep !" These lines, though so well known, I have
transcribed, that the contrast between them and this pas-
sage of Shakspeare may be more accurately observed. Night
19 described by t»o great poets, but one "describes a night
of quiet, the other ot perturbation. In the night of Dryden,
all the disturbers of the xorld are laid asleep, in that of
^ihakspeare, nothing but sorcery, lust, and murder, is awake-
He that reads Drjden, finds himself lulled with serenity,
and disposed to solitude and contemplation. He that peruses
Shakspeare, looks round alarmed, and starts to find himself
alone. One is the night of a lover ; the other, of a mur-
derer. Johnson. = 10:) And take the present horror from
the time, '\ Which now suits with it.] i. e. lest the noise
from ihe stones take away from this midnight season that
present horror which suits so well with what is going to be
acted in it. What was the horror he means '' Silence, than
which nothing can be more horrid to the perpetrator of an
atrocious design. This shows a great knowledge of human

nature. Warburton. ^11:) kf'hiles 1 threat, he lives;

II Hoards to the heat of deeds too <;old breath gives.] Here
is evidently a faUe concord; but it must not be corrected,
for it is necessary to the rhyme. Nor is this the only place
in which Shakspeare has sacrificed grammar to rhyme. =

12:) Had he not resembled \\ My father as he slept, I

had done't.^ This is very artful. For, as the poet has drawn
the lady and her husband, it would be thought the act should
have been done by her. It is likewise highly just; for
though ambition had subdued in her all the sentiments of
nainire towards present objects, yet the likeness of one past,
which she had been accui^tomed to regard with reverence,
made her unnatural passions, for a moment, give way to
the sentiments of instinct and humanity. Warburton. =
IS:) As they had seen me,} i. e. as if.^= li:) — the ravelVd
sleave of care — ] Sleave signifies the ravell'd knotty part
of the silk, which gives great trouble and embarrassment
to the knitter or weaver. = 15:) Glamis hath murder' d
sleep ; and therefore Caw dor i Shall sleep no more, Mac-
beth shall sleep no more.'] This triple menace, accommo-
dated to the dilTerent titles of Macbeth, is too quaint to be
received as the natural ebullition of a guilty mind. Litro-
duce the adjuncts ot a moderu nobleman in the same man-
ner, and the fault of the passage will become yet more
conspicuous ; as for instance — Norfolk hath murder' d sleep ;
and therefore Surrey | Shall sleep no more, Howard shall
sleep no more.'^16:) The multitutiinoiis seas incarnardine,]
To incarnardine is to stain any thing of a flesh colour, or
red. Camardine is the old terra for carnation. By multi-
tudinous, the poet is supposed to mean seas of every dcno-
miuatiun: or, the seas which swarm with inhabitants; or,
perhaps alludes te the multitude of waves. The comment-
ators are not agreed on this point. = 17:) "Making the
green one red." — Mai.osk.= 18:) "I would thou conld'st!"
— Malone. = 19:) — Ac should have old turning the key.']
L e. frequent, more than enough. =r 20:) — till ihe second
cock:] Cockcrowing, i. e. as Mr. Malone thinks, till three

o'clock. = 21:) For 'tis my limited service.] Limited, for
appointed. = 2 2:) "Goes the king hence to-day ?" — Malonk.
= 23:) He does: — Ae did appoint so.] The words — Ac doea

— are omitted by Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, and Warburtou.
But perhaps Shakspeare designed Macbeth to shelter him-
°self under an immediate falsehood, till a sudden recollectioa

of guilt restrained his confidence, and unguardedly disposed
him to qualify his assertion ; as he well knew the king's jour-
ney was effectually prevented by his death. = 2 4:) Here

lay Duncan, '\ His silver skin lac'd irtfA his golden blood;]
It is not improbable that Shak.^pcare nut these forc'd and
unnatural metaphors into the month of Macbeth, as a mark
of artifice and dissimulation, to show the difference betweea
the studied language of hypocrisy, and the natural outcries
of sudden passion. This whole speech, so considered, is a
remarkable instance of judgment, as it consists entirely of
antithesis and metaphor. Yet some of these metaphors are
to be found in old plays. JoHyaoy.^25:) Unmannerly brecch'd
with gore:] According to Mr. Steevens, the expression may
mean, that the daggers were covered with blood quite to
their breeches, i. e. their hilts, or handles. The lower end
of a cannon is called the breech of it; and it is known that
both to breech and to unbreech a gun are common terms;
but Dr. Farmer says that the sense is, in plain language,
Vaggers filthily — in a foul manner, — sheath d with blood,

— and has given an example where sheaths are called
breeches. = Zti:) "Here, where our fate, hid in an augre

hole," — M.ALONE. = 2 7:) "Nor are strong sorrow :\ "I'poa

the foot of motion." Malonk. =28:) And when we have
our naked frailties bid, j| That suffer in exposure,] i. e.
irAen we have clothed our half-drest bodies, which may take
cold from being exposed to the air. It is possible that, in
such a cloud of words, the meaning might escape the reader.
Stkevkns. =29:) In the great band of God I stand; and,
thence, J Against the uHilivulg'd prettiicc I fight ;, Of trea-
sonous malice.] Pretence is intention, design, a sense ia
which the word is often used by Shakspeare. Uanquo's
meaning is, — in our present state of doubt and nncertaiuty
about this murder, 1 have nothing to do but to put myself
under the direction of God ; and relying on his support, I
here declare myself an eternal enemy to this treason, and
to all its further designs that hare not yet come to light,

Steevens. = 30:) the near in blood, || The nearer bloody.]

Meaning, that he suspected Macbeth to be the murderer;
for he was the nearest in blood to the two princes, being
the cousin-germaa of Duncan. Steevens. = 3 1:) This mur-
derous shaft that's shot, \\ Hath not yet lighted;] The de-
sign to fix the murder upon some innocent person has not
yet taken effect; or, the end for which the murder was com-
mitted is not yet attained. =32:) — they pretendl] i. e. in-
tend, or de»ig^n. = 33:) — Co/nie«-ii7/,] Or Colm-kill, is the
famous lona, one of the western isles, which Dr. Johnson
visited, and describes in his Tour. It is now called Icolm-
kill. Kill, in the Erse language, signifies a burying place. ■=^

ACT m. = 1:) "Sirrah, a word with you : Attend those
men ;[ Our pleasure^" — Malonk. = 2:) — royally o/ nature — ]
Royalty, in the present instance, signifies nobleness, supreme
excellence.^ S:) —to — ] i. e. in addition to. = 4:) For Ban-
quo' s issue have I til'd— ] i. e. defiled. = 5:) — the common
enemy of man,] It is always an entertainment to an inqui-
sitive reader, to trace a sentiment to its original source;
and therefore, though the term enemy of man, applied to
the devil, is in itself natural and obvious, yet some may be
pleased with being informed, that Shakspeare probably bor-
rowed it from the first lines of The destruction of Troy;
a book which he is known to have read. This expression,
however, he might have had in many other places. The

word fiend signifies enemy. = 6":) come, fate, into the

list, '^And champion jne to the utterance !] This passage
will be best explained by translating it into the language
from whence the only word of difficulty in it is borrowed.
Que la destine'e se rende en lice, et qu'elle me donne un
deft a I'outrauce. .\ challenge or a combat a Voutrance, to
extremity, was a fixed term in the law of arms, used when
the combatants engaged with an odium internecinum, an
intention to destroy each other, in opposition to trials of
skill at festivals, or on other occasions, where the contest
was only for reputation or a prize. The sense therefore is :
Let fate, that has foredoomed the exaltation of the sons
of Banquo, enter the lists against me with the utmost
animosity, in defence of its own decrees, which I will en-
deavour to invalidate, whatever be the danger. Johnson.

= 7:) "Now go to the door," — .Malonk. = b:) pass'd

in probation with you, \\How you were borne in hand; Kc]
Fass'd in probation is, perhaps, only a bulky phrase, em-
ployed to signify —proi'cd. — To bear in hand is, to delude
by encouraging hope and holding out fair prospects, without
any intention of performance. ^9:) — ^re you so gospell'd,]
Are you of that degree of precise virtue"^ Gospeller was a
name of contempt given by the Papists to the Lollards, the
puritans of early times, and the precursors of protestan-
tism. Johnson. = 10:) Shoughs,] Shoughs are probably what
we now call shocks, demiwolves, lyciscee ; dogs bred be-
tween wolves and dogs.= 11:)— tAe valued file—] In this
speech the word file occurs twice. The valued file is the
tile or list where the value and peculiar qualities of every
thing is set down, in contradistinction to what he imme-
diately mentions, the bill that writes them all alike. File,
in the second instance, is used ia the same sen;e as in this.

982

NOTES

[Pl:15.] Tii.S.

and with a reference to it: Now if you belong to any class
that deserves a place in the valuea file of tnan, and are
not of the lowest rank, the common herd of mankind, that
are not worth distinguishing from each other. = 12:)— in
such blotidy di;4tanc«,] l)y bloody distance is here meant,
such a distance aa mortal enemies uould stand at from each
other, wiien their quarrel must be determined by tlie sword.
Tliis sense seems evident from the continuation of the me-
taphor, where every minute of his being is represented as
thrusting at the nearest part where life resides. = 13:) For
certain friends — ] For, in the present instance, signiiics
because of.= 14:) Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'tlie
time, \\ The moment on't;] i. e. in ancient language, "ac-
quaint yourselves'" witli the exact time most favourable to
your purposes ; for such a moment must be spied out by
you, lie selected by your own attention and scrupulous ob _
servation. — You is ungrammatically employed, inslead of

yourselves. = 16:) always thought, || That I require a

clearness;] i.e. you must manage matters so, that through-
out the wliole transaction 1 may stand ckar of suspicion.
= 16:) — sorriest /ttncie» — "J i.e. worthless, ignoble, vile. =
17:) "without all remedy," — Mai.onb. = 18:) — scotched — ]
i. e. cut slightly. =: 1 9:) "But let the frame of things dis-
joint, ||"Both the worlds suffer," — Malo>k. = 20:) In rest-
less ecstacy.J Ecstacy, for madness, or agony. ^21:) Jf re-
sent him eminence,] i. c. do him the highest honours. = 22:)

"unsafe the while, that we || Must lave." Ate. — Ma-

I.OKR. = 23:) — nature^ copifs not eterne.] The copy, the
lease by which they hold their lives from nature, has its
lime of termination limited. Johnsok. -= 24:) 3'/>e shard -
borne beetle,] The shard-borne b*-'et'«5 is the beetle borne
along the air by its shards or scaly wings. = 25:) — Come,
seeling nighty Seeling, i. c. blinding. It is a term in fal-
conry. = 26:) "to their preys," \.c. — Mai.OiSE. = 27:) —
lated—] i. e. belated, benighted. = 2 8:) — the note of ex-
pectation,] i. e. they who are set down in the list of guests,
and expected to sup[)er. =:29:)Fleance, iVc. escape.] Fkauce,
after the assassination of his father, fled into Wales, where,
by the daughter of the prince of that country, he had a sou
named Walter, who afterwards became Lord High Steward
of Scotland, and from thence assumed the name of Walter
Steward. From hiuij in a direct line. King James I. was
descended; in compliment to whom our author has chosen
to describe Banquo, who was equally concerned with iVIac-
bclh in the murder of Duncan, as innocent of that crime.
= 30:) Jf^'as't not the way'f] i. e. the best means we could
take to evade discovery ; or, perhaps, to effect our purpose.
^31:) Our hostess keeps her state, ^c] i. e. continues in
her chair of state at the head of the table. = 32:) — trenched
gashes—] Trencher, to cut. Fr. = 33:) — the feast is sold,
cVc] The meaning is, — That which is not given cheerfully,
cannot be called a gift, it is something tlial must be paid
for. ^^ 34:) "Here, my good lord." — Mai.o^k. = 36:) — upon
a thought—] i. e. as speedily as thought can be exerted. =

86:) 0, these flaws, and starts, !] (Impostors to true fear)

would well become, iVc] Flaws are sudden gusts. Impostors
to true fear, mean impostors when compared with true fear.
Such is the force of the preposition to in this place. = 3';:)
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ;] 'I'he gentle
weal, is, the peaceable community, the state made quiet
and safe by human statutes: or rather that state of inno-
cence w'hicn did not require the aid of human lavvs to ren-
der it quiet and secure. =38:) — to all, and him, we thirst,]
We f/jtr«t, perhaps, means we desire to drink. = 3P:) yJnd
all to all.] i. e. all good wishes to all ; such as he had named
above, love, health, and joy. -=40:) If trembling 1 inhibit — ]
i. e. forbid. ■= 41:) Can such things be, \\ And overcome us
like a summer's cloud, || If^'ithout our special wonder if] The
meaning is, can such wonders as these pass over us with-
out wonder, as a casual summer cloud passes over us"* =

42:) You make me strange \\ Even to the disposition

that I owe,] Mr. Steeveiis explains these words thus: — You
prove to me that I am a stranger even to my own disposi-
tion, when J perceive that the very object which steals the
colour from my cheek, permits it to remain in yours, in
other words — You prove to me how false an opinion 1 have
hitherto maintained of my own courage, when yours, on the
trial, is found to exceed it. ^=45:) Augurs, and understood
relations, Kc] I'erhaps we should read, auguries, i.e. prog-
nostications by means of oiniMis and prodigies. These, to-
gether with tlic conneetion of effects with causes, being un-
derstood, (says he,) have been instrumental in divulging the
most_ secret murders. Magot pie is the original name of
the bird ; magot being the familiar appellation given to pies,
of which the modern mag is the abbreviation. =: 44:) Hotv
say'st thou, kc] i. e. Jf- hat do you think of this circum-
stance, that Macduff denies to come at our great bidding'f
If' hat do you infer from thence* tFhat is your opinion of
the matter'f 'J'he circumstance on which this question is
lounded, took its rise from the old history. Macbeth sent
to Martlutr to assist in building the castle of Dunsinaue.
Macdiitr sent workmen, \;c. but ilid not choose to trust his
person in the tyrant's power. From that time he resolved
uu his death. Stkkvk>8. =^ 45:) — be scanu'd.] To scan is
to examine nicely. = 4ti:) Y'ou lack the season of all na-
tures, sleep.] i. e. you stand in Ui:ed of the time or season
of sleep, which all natures require. = 47:) "Unto a dismal
and a fatal end." — Mai<okk. •=: 48:) — vaporous drop pro-
found;] This vaporous drop seems to have been meant for
the_ same as the virus lunare of the ancients, being a foam
which the moon was supposed to have shed ou particular

herbs, or other objects when strongly solicited by enchant-
ment._=4r:) — slights,] Arts; subtle practices. ^=50:) "upon
his aid" — Malone. = 51:) Free from our feasts and ban-
quets bloody knives;] The coustructiou is — Free our feasts
and banquets from bloody knives. =62:) — and receive free
honours,] Free may be either honours freely bestowed, not
purchased by crimes; or honours without slavery, without
dread of a tyrant. Johnson. =;= 53:) —the king,] i. c. Mac-
beth. =54:) "I'll send my prayers with him." Mai.oise.=:

ACT IV. — 1:) Harper cries;] Harper may he a mis-
spelling, or misprint for harpy. The word cric« likewise
seems to countenance this supposition. Crying is one of
the technical terms appropriated to the noise made by birds
of prey. = 2:) — maw, and gulf,] The gulf is the swallow.
the throat. = 3:) — ravin'd salt sea-shark ;] Ravin" d is glutted
with prey. = 4:) Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse;] Sliver is a
common word in the North, where it means to cut a piece
or a slice. = 5:) Aose of Turk, and Tartar's lips:] These
ingredients, in all probability, owed their introduction to
the detestation in which the Turks were held, on account
of the holy wars. So solicitous, indeed, were our neigh-
bours, the French, (from whom most of _our prejudices, as
well as customs, are derived,) to keep this idea awake, that
even in their military-sport of the quintain, their soldiers
were accustomed to poiut their lances at the figure of a
Saracen. Steevkns. =^ 6:) Add thereto a tiger s chaudron,]
Chaudron, i. e. entrails. = 1:) — yesty waves — ] that is, foam-
ing, or frothy waves. ^=8:) Though bladed corn be lodg'd — ]
Corn, prostrated by the wind, iii uiodern language, is said
to be layd; but lodg'd had anciently the same meaning. =
9:) Though castles topple — ] Topple is used for tumble. =
10:) Of nature's germins — ] Germins are seeds which have
begun to germinate or sprout. Germen, Lat. Germe, Fr.
= 11:) — deftly—] i. e. with adroitness, dexterously. Deft
isalNorth country \s orii. = I 2:) An yJpparition of an armed
Head rises.] Tiie armed head represents symbolically Mac-
beth's head cut off and brought to Malcolm by Macduff.
The- bloody child is Macduff untimely ripped from his mo-
ther's womb. 'I'he child with u croitn ou his head, and a
bough ill his hand, is the royal Malcolm, who ordered his
soldiers to hew them down a bough, and bear it before them
to Dunsinaue. = 13:) Thou hast liarp'd — ] To harp, is to
touch on a passion as a harpt r londies a string. = 14:)
"speak not to't." Malone. ^ 15:) IFho can impress the
forest;] i.e. who can command the forest to serve him like
a soldier impressed. = i (>:) — what noise — ] Noise, in our
ancient poets, is often literally synonymous for music. =
17:) "And thy air," — Malone. = 18:) — to the crack of
doomY] i. e. 'the dissolution of nature. Crack has now a
mean signification. It was anciently employed in a more
exalted sense. = IP:) That two-fold balls and treble scepter
carry:] This was intended as a compliment to King James
the First, who first united the two islands and tlie three
kingdoms under one head; whose house too was said to be
descended trom Banquo. = 20:) Mr. Malone_ omits yly.-=21:)
— the blood-bolter'd Banquo — ] To bolter, in Warwickshire,
signifies to daub, dirty, o.r begrime. =22:) — cheer U'c up
his sprighls,] i. e. spirits. =:^ 23:) That trace his line.] i. e.
follow, succeed in it. Mr. Malone reads "trace him in his
line." = 2 4:) -nafura/ toacA :] \atural sensibility. He is
not touch(Ml with natural affection. Johnson. = 25:) The fits
o'the season.] What is most fitting to be done in every con-
juncture. = 26:) when we are traitors, \\ And do not

know ourselves;] When weare considered by the slate as
traitors, while at the same time we are unconscious of guilt;
when we appear to others so different from what we really
are, that we seem not to know ourselves. r=z 27:) — when we
hold rumour — ] i. e. believe rumour. = 28:)— in your state
of honour 1 am perfect.] i. e. I am perfectly acquainted
with your rank of honour. = 29:) Bestride our down-fall'ii
birthdom:] Tt»e allusion is to a man from whom sometliing
valuable is about to be taken by violence, and who, that he
miiy defend it w ilhout incumbrance, lays it on the ground,
and stands over it with his weajion in bis hand. Uur birth-
dom or birthright, says he, lies on the ground; let us, like
men' who are to light for what is dearest to them, not aban-
don it, but stand over it and defend it. This is a strong
picture of obstinate resolution. = 30:) — to friend,] i. e. to
hefriend.^=31:) — and wisdom — ] That is, and 'tis wisdom.
^= i^:) yl good and virtuous nature may recoil, \\ In an im-
perial charge.] A good mind may recede from goodness in
the execution of a royal commission. Johnson. = 33:) "But
I shall crave your pardon;" — Mai.one. = 34:) Though all
things foul, iic] This is not very clear. The meaning, per-
haps, is this: My suspicions cannot injure you, if you be
virtuous, by supposing that a traitor may put on your vir-
tuous appearance. I do not say that your virtuous appear-
ance proves you a traitor ; for virtue must wear its proper
form, though that form be counterfeited by villainy. John-
son.^=36:) IFhy in that rawness—] >Vithout previous pro-
vision, without due preparation, without maturity of counsel.
=: 36:) Thy title is affeer'd !] Affeer'd, a law term for con-

lirm'd. = 37:) grows with more pernicious root || Than

su/H/ner-seeding lust:\ The allusion is to plants; and the
sense is, — "Avarice is a perennial weed: it has a deeper
and more pernicious root than lust, which is a mere annual,
and lasts but for a summer, when it sheds its seed and de-
cays." Bi.ACKSTONE. But Mr. Malone reads, "summer-seem-
ing." = Z%:) — foysons, plenty— = 39:) All these are por-^

V.

Tif.S.[PL:16.]

NOTES.

983

table,] Portable, i.e. bearable. =r 40:) From over- credulous
htute:] From over hasly credulilj. = 41:) — cojjrinpc*— }
i. e. overpoirem, tubduen. =^ 42:) The mere despair of sur-
gery, he rures;] Dr. I'ercy, in his notes on The Aorthurn-
berland Hoiishold Book, say.", "lliat our ancient kinj^s even
in tiinse ilark times ot' superstilinn, tlo not seem to liavc
affeclcd the cur<; of the kinf^'s evil. — This miraculous gift
was left to bu claimed by the Stuarts: our ancient Planta-
genets were humbly rnntcnt to cure the cramp." In this
as.sertion, however, the learned editor of the above curious
volume has been betrayed into a mistake, by relying too
implicitly on the authority of Mr. Anstis. 'I'he power of
curing the king's evil w as claimed by many of the Planta-
gcnets. = 43:) — a g'j/rfen stamp, kc] This was the coin
called an angel, of the value of ten shillings. t= 44:) lUy
countryman ; but yet I know him^ not.] Malcolm discovers
Hoste to be his countryman, while he is yet at some dis-
tance from him, by his dress. This circumstance loses its
propriety on our stage, as all the characters are uniformly
represented in English habits. Stkkvk>s. =45:) — should
not latch them.] To latch any thing, is to lay hold of it. =
46:) —fee-grief,] A peculiar sorrow; a grief that bath a
single ow ner. The expression is, at least to our ears, very
harsh. It must be allowed that, in both the foregoing in-
stances, the attorney has been guilty of a flat trespass on
the poet. =; 47:) If ere, on the quarry of these murdered
deer,] (Quarry is a term used both in hunting and falconry.
In both sports it means the game after it is killed. = 48:)
At one fell sMOop'f] Swoop is the descent of a bird of prey
on his quarry. =4!-:) Cut short al' intermission;] i. e. all
pause, all intervening time. = 50:) if he 'scape, ]\ Hea-
ven forgive him too!] That is, if he escape my veugeance,
let him escape that of Heaven also. =

ACT V. ^= 1:) Since his majesty went into the field,]
This is one of Shakspeare's oversights. He forgot that he
had shut up Macbeth in Dunsinane, and surrounded him
w ith besiegers. ^ 2:) "are shut." .Mai.one. = 3:) — Hell is
murky!] Murky is dark. Lady Macbeth is acting over, in
a dream, the business of the murder of Duncan, and en-
couragiiig her husband as when awake. She, therefore,
would not have even hinted the terrors of hell to one whose
conscience she saw was too much alarmed already for her
purpose. She certainly imagines he^^elf here talking to
Slacbeth, who, (she supposes,) had just said, Hell is murky,
(i.e. hell is a dismal place to' go to in consequence of such
a deed,) and repeats his words in contempt of his cowar-
dice. = 4:) — you mar all with this starting.] .Alluding to
the terrors at .Macbeth, when the ^host broke in on the
festivity of the banquet. = 5:) My mind she has mated,] i.e.
amated, dismayed. = 6:) Excite the mortified man.] i. e. a
religious, an ascetic. = 7:) — unrougli youths] i.e. smooth-
faced, unbearded. = 8:) If^hen all that is within him does
condemn ,^ Itself, for being there*] That is, when all the fa-
culties of the mind are employed in self-condemnation. =
9:) — the uiedecin— ] i. e. phtisician.^= 10:) "All mortal con-
sequences have pronounced, ' Ate. — Mai.onk.= 11:) "upon
thee." — Mai.oae. == 12:) Shall never sagg with doubt,] To
sag, or swag, is to sink down by its o\<n weight, or by an
overload. = 13:) —/oon .'] At present this word is only used
in Scotland, and signifies a base fellow. ^14:) / have liv'd
long enough: my way of life, kc] As there is no relation
between the way of life, and fallen into the sear, I am in-
clined to think tuat the /F is only an ill inverted, and that

it was originally written: my May of life \\ I am now

passed from the spring to the autumn of my days: but I
am without those comforts that should succeed the spright-
iiness of bloom, and support me in this melancholy season.
The author has May in the same sense elsewhere. JouK-
soN. This opinion, however, has been ably controverted by
some of the commentators. = 15:) — the sear,] Sear is dry.
= 16:) — skirr the country round;] To skirr, sigoilics to

scour, to ride hastily. = 17:) cast ;] The water of my

land,] To cast the water was the phrase in use for tinding
out disorders by the inspection of urine. = 18:) — or6/trate;J
i. e. determine. = 19:) — fell of hair — ] My hairy part, my
capillitium. Fell is *At;i.= 20:) "tlo't."— Mai,o>k.= 21:)
Till famine cling thee:] Clung, in the Northern counties,
signilics any thing that is shrivelled or shrunk up. ^= 22:)
Seems bruited.] From bruit, Fr. To bruit is to report with
clamour; to noise.=23:) Aseasy may'st tAou tAc intrenchant
air — ] That is, air which canuoi be cut. =24:) —palter icttA
us in a double sense;] That shuffle with ambiguous expres-
sions. = 25:) "And so," ic. — Malo>k. =26:)— thy king-
dom's pearl,] Thy kingdom's pearl means thy kingdonCs
wealth, or rather ornament. = 27:) "Hail, king of Scot-
land !'•' — Mai.o>k. =

XVI. KING JOHN.

ACrr I. — 1:) — Salisbury] Son to King Henry II. by
Rosamond Clifford. ^=2:) In my behaviour,] In my behaviour
means, I think, in the words and action that 1 am now going
to use. Malosk. = 3:) — tAe manage — ] i.e. conduct, admi-
nistration. =:«:) But whe'r— j Whe'r for jfAetAer. = 5:) He
bath a trick of Cceur-de-Uon's face,] By a trick, iu this

' place, is meant some peculiarity of look or motion. r=: 6:)
IFith that half face—] The poet sneers at the meagre sharp
visage of the elJir brother, by comparing him to a silver
groat, that bore the king's face in prolile, so showed but
; half the face: the groats of all our kings of England, and
i indeed all their other coins of silver, one or tv»o only ex-
cepted, had a full face crowned; till Henry VII. at the time
above-nientioiicd, coined groats, and halt-groats, as also
! some shillings, with half-faces, i. e. faces in prolile, as all
: our coin has now. = 7:) — took it 'on his death,] i. e. en-
. tertained it as his tixed opinion, when he was dying = 8:)
: Lord of thy presence ^ and no land besidesy] Lord of his
^re»ence_ apparently sigiiilies, great in his oirn person, and
IS used in this sense by king John in one of the following
scenes. = 9: )y7nrf / had his, sir Robert his, like him;] This
is obscure and ill-expressed. The meaning is — Jf 1 had

\ his shape, sir Robert's — as he has. = 10:) my face so

\ thin, :| That in mine ear / durst not stick a rose, !| Lest
• men should say. Look, where three-farthings goes'f] In this
I very obscure passage our poet is anticipating the date of
j another silver coin ; humorously to rally a thin face, ec-
lipsed, as it were, by a full-blown rose. We must observe,
to explain this allusion, that queen Elizabeth was the first,
I and indeed the only prince, who coined in England three-
half-pencc, and three farthing pieces. = 11:) And, to hit
i shape, were Aetr to all this land,] "To his shape," means,
in addition to the shape he had been just describing. = 12:)

I would not be sir iVob— ] Sir ?fob is used contemptuously
for sir Robert. = 13:) "but rise more great;" — Malonf:.=
14:) Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet.] It is a common
opinion, that Flantagenet was the surname of the royal
house of England, from the time of King Henry II., but it
isj as Camdi-n observes, in his Remaines, 1614, a popular
mistake. Plantagenet was not a family name, but a nick-
name, by which a grand.soa of Geffrey, the lirst Earl of
Anjoii, was distinguished, from his wearing a broom stalk
in his bonnet. But this name was never borne either by the
lirst Earl of Anjou, or by King Henry II., the sou of that
earl by the Empress Maude; he being always called Henry
Fitz-Empress ; his son, Richard Caeur-delion ; and the
prince who is exhibited in the play before us, John sans-
terre, or lack-land. Mai.omj. = 16:) Something about, a
little from the right, kc] This speech, composed of allusive
and proverbial sentences, is obscure. I am, says the sprightly
knight, your grandson, a little irregularly, but every man
cannot get what he wishes the legal way. He that dares
not go about his designs by day, must make his motions in
the flight; he, to whom the door is shut, mu.-<t climb the
window, or leap the hatch. This, however, shall not de-
press me ; for the world never inquires how any man got
what he is known to possess, but allows that to have is to
have, however it was caught, and that he irAo wins, shot
well, whatever was his skill, whether the arrow fell near
the mark, or far off it. Joii>son. = 16:) Good den,] i. e. a
good evening. = 17:) 'Tis too respective, and too sociable,

Ij For your conversion.] Respective, is respectful, formal.
Conversion seems to mean, his late change of condition
from a private gentleman to a knight. Stkkvkss. = 18:) Mj;
picked man of countries :] i. e. my travell'd fop. ^= It:) —
like an ABC-book:] An ABC-book, or, as they spoke and
wrote it, an absey book, is a catechism. = 20:) For he is
but a bastard to the time, kc] He is accounted but a mean
man iu the present age. = 21:) Colbrand— ] Volbrand was a
Banish giant, whom Guy of Warwick discomfited iu the
presence of King Athelstan. = 22:) Good leave, iV.c.] Good
leave means a ready assent. ^=23:) Fhilip'f — sparrow!] A
sparrow is called Philip. = 24:) There's toys abroad; kc.']
i. e. rumours, idle reports. = 25:) Knight, knight, good mo-
ther, — Basilisco-like:] Faulconbridge's words here carry a
concealed piece of satire on a stupid drama of that age,
printed in 1699, and called Soliman and Ferseda. Inthis
piece there is a character of a bragging cowardly Luight,
called Basilisco. =

ACT II. T=l:) ,4t our importance — ] At our importunity.
= 2:) To cull the plots of best advantages:] i. e. to mark
such stations as might over-awe the town. = 3:) — expe-
dient—] Immediate, expeditious. = 4:) "the king's de-
ceased:"—Maloxk. = o:) — «ratA— ] Destruction, harm.=
6:) — underwrought — ] i.e. underworked, undermined ^^7:)
— tAi» brief—] .A brief is a short writing, abstract, or de-
scription. = 8:) — an if thou ircrt Ai« HiotAer.] Constance
alludes to Elinor's infidelity to her husband, Lewis the Se-
venth, w'hcu they were in the Holy Land; on account of
which he was divorced from her. She afterwards (1151)
married our king Henry II. = 9:) One that will play the de-
vil, sir, with you, \\ An 'a may catch your hide and you
alone.] The story is, that Austria, who killed king liichard
Caeur-de-lion, wore, as the spoil of that prince, a lion's Aide,
which had belonged to him. = 10:) 1 have but this to say,—

II That he's not only plagued for her sin, l\ But God hath
made her sin and her the plague, kc] The commentators
have laboured hard to make out a meaning in this passage.
The following by Mr. Henlev seems as satisfactory as any.
Young Arthur is here represented as not only suffering from
the guilt of his grandmother; but also, by Aer, in person,
she being made the very instrument of his sufferings. As he
w as not her immediate, but hkmovkd t»»ue — the second

feneration from her sin-conceiving womb — it might have
ceu expected, that the evils tu which, upou her account,

984

NOTES

[Pl: 16.] Tir. S.

he wa8 obnoxious, would have incidentally befallen him;
instead of his being punished for them all, by her imme-
diate infliction. — He is not only plagued on account of her
gin according to the threatening of the commandment, but
she' is preserved alive to her second generation, to be the
iustrumeiit of inflicting on her grand child the penalty an-
nexed to her sin ; so that he is plagued on her account, and
with her plague, which is, her sin, that is [taking, by a com-
mon figure, the cause for the consequence] thej>enalty en-
tailed upon it. His injury, or the evil he suffers, her sin
brings upon hint, and her injury, or, the evil she inflicts,
he suffers from her, as the beadle to her sin, or executioner
of the punishment annexed to it. = 11:) It ill beseems this
presence, to cry aim—] To cry aim is borrowed probably
from archery, and means to incite notice, or raise attention.
= 12:) — your winking gates ;~i i.e. gates hastily closed from
an apprehension of danger. = 13:) Forwearied—] i.e. worn
out Sax. = 14:) To him that owes it;'] i. e. owns it. ^=15:)
' Tis not the roundure, &c.] Roundure means the same as
the French rondure, i.e. the circle. = 16:) — cannot be cen-
sur'd:] i. e. cannot be estimated. Our author ought rather
to have written — whose superiority, or whose inequality,
cannot be censured. = 17:) "roam on'*"— M alone. = 18:)
"mousing the flesh," &c. — MAiiONE. = 19:) You equal po
tents,] Potents, for potentates. =: 20:) Xing'd of our /ears,]
1. e. ruled by our fears. = 21:) — these scroy les of Anglers — ]
Escroulles, Fr. i. e. scabby, scrophulous fellows. =: 22:) Do
like the mutines of Jerusalem,'] The mutines are the mu-
tineers, the seditious. =2 3:) Till their soul-fearing cla-
mours —] i. e. soul-appalling. ^=2i:) - the lady UUiich,] The
lady Blanch was daughter to Alphonso the ^'inth, king of
Castile, and was niece to king John by his sister Eleanor.

= 25:) at this match, \\ frith swifter spleen, ^c] Our

author uses spleen for any violent hurry, or tumultuous speed.
= 26:) Here^s a stay,] Some of the commentators think that
stay means a ftinrferer, and others, a supporter, or parti-
zan. = 27:) Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.] Ta-
ble is picture, or rather, the board or canvas on which any
object is painted. Tableau, Fr. = 28:) — Volquessen,] This
is the ancient name for the country now called the Fexin;
in Latin, Fagus Telocassinus. That part of it called the
Norman Vexin, was in dispute between Philip and John.

^=29:) / am well assur'd, || TAat / did so, when I was

first assur'd.] Assured is here used both in its common sense,
and in an uncommon one, where it signifies affianced, con-
tracted. =30:) She is sad and passionate — ] Fassionate, in
this instance, docs not signify disposed to anger, but a prey
to mournful sensations. = 31:) — departed tvith a part:] To
part ami to depart were formerly synonymous. = 32:) —
rounded in the ear—] i.e. whispered in the ear. = 33:)
Commodity, tAe bias of the world;] Commodity is interest.
= 34:) But for—] i. e. because. =

ACT III- = 1:) For I am sick, and capable of fears;]
i. e. I have a strong sensibility ; 1 am tremblingly alive to
apprehension. = 2:) — sightless — ] The poet uses sightless
for that which we now express by unsightly, disagreeable
to the eyes. = 3:) — swart,] Swart is brown, inclining to
black. = 4:) — prodigious,] That is, portentous, so deformed
as to be taken for a foretoken of evil. = 5:) "and makes
its owner stoop." — M alone. = 6:) To me, and to the state
of my great grief, !| Let kings assemble ;] In Much Ado
about Nothing, the father of Hero, depressed by her dis-
grace, declares himself so subdued by grief, that a thread
may lead him. How is it that grief, in Leonato and lady
Constance, produces effects directly opposite, and yet botii
agreeable to nature'? Sorrow softens the mind while it is
yet warmed by hope, but hardens it when it is congealed
by despair. Distress, while there remains any prospect of
relief, is weak and flexible, but when no succour remains,
is fearless and stubborn; angry alike at those that injure,
and at those that do not help ; careless to please where
nothing can be gained, and fearless to offend when there is
notliing further to be dreaded. Such was this writer's know-
ledge of the passions. Johnson. ^= 7:) "here 1 and sorrows
git, — Malone.^8:) — high tides,] i. e. solemn seasons. =:::
9:) — prodigiously be cross^l:] i. e. be di»<appuiute<l by the
production of a prodigy, a monster. ^^ 10:) But on this day,]
that is, except on this day. = 11:) 0 Lymoges ! 0 Austria!]
The propriety or impropriety of these titles, which every
editor has suff'ered to pass unnoted, deserves a little con-
gideration. Shakspcare has, on this occasion, followed the
old play, which at once furnished him with the character of
Faufconbridge, and ascribed the death of Richard I. to the
duke of Austria. In the person of Austria he has conjoined
the two well-known enemies of (^oeur-de-lion. Leopold, duke
of Austria, threw him into prison, in a former expedition
[in 1193]; out the castle of Chaluz, before which he fell [in
1199] belonged to Vidomar, viscount of Limoges; and the
archer who pierced his shoulder with an arrow (of which
wound he died) was Bertrand de Gourdon. The editors
Beem hitherto to have understood Lymoges as being an ap-

Fendage to the title of Austria, and therefore enquired no
urther about it. Steevens. ^= 12:) What earthly name to
interrogatories, || Can task the free breath, kc] i. e. What
earthly name subjoined to interrogatories, can force a king
to speak and answer them 'J ^=13:) — anew untrimmed bridei]
i.e. undressed. -=1^:) — this kind rcgreef*] A rcgrcet is an
exchange of salutation. = 15:) Is not amiss when it is truly
done;] i. e. thatf which you have sworn to do amiss, is not

amiss, (i. e. becomes right) when it is done truly (that is,
as he explains it, not done at all) ; and being not done, where
it would be a sin to do it ; the truth is most done when you
do it not: Other parts of this speech have puzzled the com-
mentators, who have, in turn, puzzled their readers. ^ 16:)

— be measures—] The measures, it has already been more
than once observed, were a species of solemn dance in our
author's time. = 17:) I muse,] i. e. 1 wonder. = 18:) Bell,
book, and candle—] In an account of the Romish curse
given by Dr. Grey, it appears that three candles were ex-
tinguished, one by one, in different parts of the execration.
= 19:) — /ui/ of gawds,] Gawds are any showy oruaments.
= 20:) "Sound one into," &c. — Mai.one. = sil:) — using
conceit alone,] Conceit here, as in many other places, signi-
fies conception, thought. = 22:) Remember.] This is one of
the scenes to which may be promised a lasting commend-
ation. Art could add little to its perfection; no change in
dramatic taste can injure it; and time itself can subtract
nothing from its beauties. Steevens. = 23:) "For England,
cousin, go." — Malone. = 24:)— 0/ convicted sail—] Over-
powered, baffled, destroyed. = 25:) No, I defy, &c.] To defy
anciently signified to refuse. = 26:) Misery's love, kc]
Thou, death, who art courted by misery, to come to his re-
lief, O come to me. =27:) — modern invocation.] i. e. trite,
common. = 28:) Bind up those tresses;] h was necessary
that Constance should be interrupted, because a passion so
violent cannot be borne long. I wish the following speeches
had been equally happy; but they only serve to show how
difficult it is to maintain the pathetic long. Johnson. = 29:)

— but yesterday suspire^] i. e. breathe.^ 30:) — a gracious

creature born.] Gracious, i.e. graceful. = 31:) had you

such a loss as I, [| / couid give better comfort—] This is a
sentiment which great sorrow always dictates. Whoever
cannot help himself casts his eyes on others for assistance,
and often mistakes their inability for coldness. Johnson. ;=
32:) There's nothing in this, kc] The young prince feels
his defeat with more sensibility than his father. Shame
operates most strongly in the earlier years; and when can
disgrace be less welcome than when a man is going to his
bride'? Johnson. = 33:) "sweet word's taste," — \fAi,oNE:
who says that the sweet word is life. = 34:) "strange ac-
tions:"— Malone. =

ACT IV. =1:) iVbrtAam;)to7i.] The fact is, that Arthur
was first coniined at Falaise, and afterwards at Rouen, in
INormandy, where he was put to death. — Our author has
deviated, in this particular, from the history, and brought
king John's nephew to England ; but there is no circum-
stance, either in the original play, or in this of Shak-
speare, to point out the particular castle in which he is sup-
posed to be confined. The castle of Northampton has been
mentioned, in some modern editions, as the place, merely
because, in the first Act, King John seems to have been in
that town. In the old copy there is no where any notice of
place. = 2:)"I would not have believ'd him; no tongue, but
Hubert's." Malone. = 3:) — tarre him on.] i. e. stimulate,
set him on. Supposed to be derived from ranutioj, excito.
= 40 — Go closely in with me.] i. e. secretly, privately. =
5:) To guard—] i. e. to fringe, or lace.^= 6:) They do con-
found their skill in covetousness :] i. e. not by their avarice,
but in an eager emulation, an intense desire of excelling.
= 7:) To sound the purposes —] To declare, to publish the
desires of all those. = 8:) — good exercise'^] In the middle
ages, the whole education of princes and noble youths con-
sisted in martial exercises, kc. These could not be easily
had in a prison, where mental improvements might have
been afforded as well as any where else; but this sort of
education never entered into the thoughts of our active,
warlike, but illiterate nobility. Percy. = 9:) How wildly
then walks my estate in France.'] i. e. how ill my afl'airs
go in France ! — The verb, to walk, is used with great li-
cense by old writers. = 10:) I was ainaz'd— ] i.e. stunned,
confounded. = 1 1:) And here's a prophet,] This man was a
hermit in great repute with the common people. Notwith-
standing the event is said to have fallen out as he had
prophesied, the poor fellow was inhumanly dragged at
horses' tails through the streets of Warham, and, together
with his son, who appears to have been even more innocent
than his father, hanged afterwards upon a gibbet. See Ho-
linshed's Chronicle, under the year 1213. = 12:) Deliver him
to safety,] That is. Give him into safe custody. =13:) —
five moons were seen to-night: kc] rhis incident is men
tioned by few of our historians. 1 have met with it no where
but in .Viatthcw of Westminster and Polydore Virgil, with
a small alteration. These kind of appearances were more
common about that time than either before or since. Grev.

= 14:) slippers, {which his nimble haste || Had falsely

thrust upon contrary jfeet,)] Dr. Johnson says, "I know not
bow the commentators understand this important passage,
which, in l)r. Warburton's edition^ is marked as eminently
beautiful, and, on the whole, not without justice. But Shak-
sneare seems to have confounded the man's shoes with his
gloves. He that is frighted or hurried may put his hand
into the wrong glove, but either shoe will equally admit
either foot. 'Ihe author seems to be disturbed by the dis-
order which he describes." The commentators have pro-
duced many passages to prove the shoe, boot, kc. were right
and left legged, as they are now. = 15:) It is the curse of
kings, \.r. \ This plainly hints at Davison's case, in the af-
i'uir Of Mary queeu of Scots, = It':) — advis'd respect.] i.e.

deliberate consideration. r= 17:) Quoferf— ] i e. observed,
distinf^uixhcd. = 18:) Hadst thou but shook thy head, kc]
There are many touches of nature in this conference of
John with Hubert. A man engaged in wickedness would keep
the profit to himself, and transfer the guilt to his accom-
plice. These reproaches, venteil against Hubert, are not
the words of art or policy, but the eruptions of a mind
SMclling with a consciousness of a crime, and desirous nf
discharging its misery on another. This account of the ti-
midity of guilt is drawn ab ipsis recessibus mentis, from the
intimate knowledge of mankind, particularly that line in
which he says, that to have bid him tell his tale in express
words, would nave struck him dumb; nothing is more cer-
tain than that bad men use all the arts of fallacy upon them-
selves, palliate their actions to their own minds by gentle
terms, and hide themselves from their own detection in am-
biguities and subterfuges. Johnson. = 1?:) "And bid," Acc. ^
M ALONE. =20:) The dreadful motion of amuTiVrousthought,']
Nothing can be falser than what Hubert here says in his
own vindication; for we find, from a preceding scene, the
motion of a murderous thought had entered iuto him, and
that very deeply; and it was with difliculty that the tears,
the entreaties, and the innocence of Arthur had diverted
and suppressed it. VVarburtos.=21:) IF hose private, Aic]
i.e. whose private account of the Dauphin's affection to our
cause is much more ample than the letters. =22:) — dis-
tempered— ] i. e. ruffled, out of humour. = 23:) — reason
noir.] To reason, in Shakspeare, is not so often to argue,

as to talk. =24:) o holy vow; \\ Never to taste the

pleasures of the world,'] This is a copy of the vows made in
the ages of superstition and chivalry. = 25:) — true de-
fence;] Honest defence; defence in a good cause. ^=26:) Do
not prove me so ; 'j Yet, I am none;'] Do not make me a mur-
derer, by compelling me to kill you; 1 am hitherto not a
murderer. ^= 27:) Like rivers of remorse—] Remorse here,
as almost every where in these plays, and the conteinporarv
books, signifies 7)ift/. = 28:) I am amaz'd,] i. e. confounded.
= 29:) To tug and scamble,] Scamble and scramble have
the same meaning. = 30:) The unowed interest — ] i. e. the
interest which has no proper owner to claim it. = 31:) The
imminent decay of wrested pomp.] i. c. greatness obtained
by violence; or rather, greatness wrested from its pos-
sessor. =

ACT v. =1:) — a gentle convertite,] A convcrtite is a
convert. = 2:) — the precede it, kc] i. e. the rough draught
of the original treaty between the Dauphin and the English
lords. = 3:) — the spot of this enforced couse,)] Spot pro-
bably means, stain or disgrace, ^i:) — clippeth thee about,^
i. e. embraceth. ■= 5:) Between compulsion, and a brave re-
spect r] This compulsion was the necessity of a reformation
in the state; which, according to Salisbury's opinion, (who,
in his speech preceding, calls it an enforced cause,) could
only be procured by foreign arms : and the brave respect
was the love of his country. = 6:) — as I have bank'd ttieir
towns"?] i.e. sailed along the banks of the river. =7:) "Xo,
no, on my soul, &c." — Malone. = 8:)— drew this gallant
head of war,] i. e. assembled it, drew it out into the field.
= 9:) — outlook — ] i.e. face down, bear down by a show of
magnanimity. = 10:) — take the hatch;] To take the hatch,
is to leap the hatch. To take a hedge or a ditih is the
hunter's phrase. = 11:) — in concealed wells;] Concealed
teells are wells in concealed or obscure situations ; viz. in
places secured from public notice. = 12:) — of your nation's
crow,] i. e. at the crowing of a cock; gallus meaning both
a cock and a Frenchman. ^= 13:) — his aiery towers,'] An
aieryxs the nest of an eagle. = l4:J Their neelds to lances,]
i. e. need/e/i. = 13:) — Swinstead,] i.e. Swineshead.^X&:) —
Richard—'] Sir Richard Faulconbridge ; — and yet the king,
a little before, (Act HI. so. ii.) calls him by his original
MumK oi Philip. Steevens. = 17:)Hemeon» — ] The French-
man, i. e. Lewis, means, &c. = 18:) even as a form of

wax I Ilesolvcth, kc] This is said in allusion to the images
made by witches. Holinshed observes, that it was alledged
against dame Eleanor Cobham and her confederates, "tnat
they had devised an image of wax, representing the king,
which, by their sorcerie, by little and little consumed, in
tendingi thereby, in conclusion, to waste and destroy the
king's person." =19:) — rated treachery.^ i.e. The Dauphin
has rated your treachery, and set upon it a/ine, which your
lives must pay. = 20:) — Aappj/ newness, kc] Happy inno-
vation, that purposed the restoration of the ancient right-
ful government. = 21:) "tattering" — Malone. = 22:) —
keep good quarter,] i. e. keep in your allotted posts. ^=2 3:)
The king, 1 fear, is poison' d by a monk:] Not one of the
historians who wrote within sixty years after the death of
king John, mentions this very improbable story. The tale
is, that a monk, to revenge himself ou the king for a say-
ing at which he took offence, poisoned a cup of ale, and
having brought it to his majesty, drank some of it him-
selfj to induce the king to taste it, and soon afterwards
expired. Thomas Wykes is the first, who relates it in his
Chronicle as a report, but a more particular account may
be seen in Fox's "Acts and Monuments," vol. i. According
to the best accounts, John died at Newark, of a fever. =
24:)"Leave8 them invisible," — Malone. =25:) — «o strait,]
i. e. narrow, avaricious ; an unusual sense of the word. =
26:) ^nd module of confounded royalty.'] i.e. model, ^il:)
Were in the washes, all unwarily, Ace] This untoward ac-
cident really happened to king John himself. As he passed

from Lynn to Lincolnshire, he lost by an inundation all his
treasure, carriages, baggage, and regalia. = 28:) yit Worces-
ter must his body be interred;] A stone coffin, containing
the body of king John, was discovered in the cathedral
church of Worcester, July 17, 1797. Steevens. =:

XVII. KING RICHARD II.

ACT I. =1:) Duke of Aumerle,] Aumcrle, or Jumale,
is the French for what we now call Albemarle, which is a
town in Normandy. The old historians generally use the
French title. Steevens. = 2:) Earl Berkley.'] It ought to be
Lord Berkley. There was no Earl Berkley till some ages
after. Steevens. =3:) Lord Ross.] Now '.»;te\t Roos, one of
the duke of Rutland's titles. Steevens. =4:) Our ancestors
appear to have considered men as old, whom we should
esteem middle-aged. John of Gaunt was at this time only
58 years old. = 5:) — thy oath and band,] i.e. 6ond. = 6:) —
right-drawn — ] Drawn in a ri^ht or just cause. = 7:) — in-
habitable— ] That is, not habitable, uninhabitable. = 8:) —
that can inherit us, ike] To inherit is no more than to pos-
sess, though such a use of the word may be peculiar to
Shakspeare. ^=P:) — for lew'd — ]_l<etrrf, in our author, some-
times signifies fricfcerf, and sometimes irf/e. =10:) Suggest^]
i. e. prompt. = 11:) — this slander of his blood,'] i. e. reproach
to the king's ancestry. = 12:) — mu scepter''s awe,] 'Ihe re-
verence due to my scepter. =r 13:J "no month to bleed." —
Malone. = 14:) — no boot] That is, no use in delay, or re-
fusal. = 15:) — Lions make leopards tame.'] There is a pe-
culiar allusion here which has not been noticed. The Nor-
folk crest was a golden leopard. Malone.. In the next line
Mr. Malone reads "Ajg spots." = it::) — atone you,] i. e. re-
concile you. = 17:) Justice design — ] i. e. mark out.r=: 18:)
"Lord Marshal," — Malone. -^19:)— Duchess of Gloster.]
The Duchess of Gloster was Eleanor Bohun, widow of duke
'rhomas, son of Edward IH. = 20:) — the part—'] That is,
my relation of consanguinity to Gloster. =21:) — thou dost
consent, &c.] i. e. assent. ^22:) ^caitiff —] Cat7//f originally
signified a prisoner ; next o slave, from the condition of
prisoners ; then a scoundrel, from the qualities of a slave.
= 23:) — Lord Marshal,] Shakspeare has here committed a
slight mistake. The office of lord marshal was executed on
this occasion by Thomas Holland, duke of Surrey. Our
author has inadvertently introduced that nobleman as a
distinct person from the marshal, in the present drama.
Mowbray duke of Norfolk was the earl marshal of England;
but being himself one of the combatants, the duke of Sur-
rey officiated as earl marshal for the day. = 24:) — Aumerle.]
Edwanl duke of Aumerle, so created by his cousin german.
King Richard IL, in 1397. He was the e'idest son of Edward
of Langley duke of Norfolk, fifth son of Edward the Third,
and was killed in 1415, at the battle of Agincourt. He offi-
ciated at the lists of Coventrv, as high constable of England.
= 25:) "As so," i.e. as vou nope that heaven and your va-
lour may defend you. Malone. = 26:) — waxen coaf,] The
object of Bolingbroke's request is, that the temjjer of his
lance's point might as much exceed the mail of his advers-
ary, as the iron of that mail was harder than wax. ^= 27:)
Fall lik-e amazing thunder on the casque—] To amaze, in
ancient language, signifies to stun, to confound. = 28:) As
gentle and as jocund, as to jest,] To jc«t sometimes signi-
fies in old language to play a part in a mask. ■=29:) — hath
thrown his warder—] A warder appears to have been a
kind of truncheon carried by the person who presided at
these single combats. = 30:) [And for we think the eagle-
winged pride, kc] These five verses are omitted in some
editions, and restored from the first of 1598. Pope. = 31:)
"The sly-slow hours" -Malone. = 3 2:) — compassionate ;]
for plaintive. = 33:) {Out part, kc] It is a question much
debated amongst the writers of the law of nations, whether
a banished man may be still tied in his allegiance to the
state which sent him into exile. TuUy and lord chancellor
Clarendon declare for the affirmative: Hobbes and Puffen-
dorf hold the negative. Our author, by this line, seems to
be of the same opinion. VVarblrton. ^= 34:) — advised—]
i.e. concerted, deliberated. = 35:) I^orfolk, so far, kc] Per-
haps the author intended that Hereford, in speaking this
line, should show some courtesj to Mowbray; — and the
meaning may be: So much civility as an enemy has a right
to, I am willing to offer to thee. =36:) And pluck nights
from me, but not lend a morrow:] It is matter of very me-
lancholy consideration, that all human advantages confer
more power of doing evil than good. Johnson. = 3 7:) — Upon
good advice,] Upon great consideration. = 38:) A partial
slander—] That is, the reproach of partiality. This is a
just picture of the struggle between principle and affection.
=: S9:) — the presence strew'd;] An allusion to the ancient
practice of strewing rushes over the floor of the presence
rfcam6er. = 40:) — measure,] A measure was a formal court
dance. ^41:) — yet a trueborn Englishman] Here the nrst
Act ought to end, that between the first and second Acts
there may be time for John of Gaunt to accompany his son.
return, and fall sick. Then the first scene of the second
Act begins with a natural conversation, interrupted by a
message from John of Gaunt, by which the king is called
to visit him, which visit is paid in the following scene. As
the play is now divided, more time passes between the two
last scenes of the first Act, than between the first Act and

986

NOTES.

[Pl: 17] Th. S.

the second. Johnson. =42:) "Faith, none for me," i.e. none
on my part. Maloke. = 43:) — the tribute of his supple
knee,i To illustrate this phrase, it should be remembered
that vourtesying, (the actof reverence now confined to wo-
men,) was anciently practised by men. = 4 4:) Ejrpedient —']
i.e. expeditious. = id:) — for our coffers—^ i.e. because, =

ACT II. = U) — the JJuke of lorA,] was Edmund, son
of Kdward 111. = 2:) Report of fashions in proud Jtaltj ;]
Our author, who gives to all nations the customs of Eng-
land, and to all ages the manners of his own, has charged
the times of iliriiard with a folly not perhaps known then,
but very frequent in Shakspeare's time, and much lamented
by the wisest and best of our ancestors. = 3:) Where will
dothmutiny withwiVs regard.^ Where the will rebels against
the notices of the understanding. = 4:) "Against iiifeslion,"

— Mai.onk. = 5:) Fear''d by their breed,'] i. e. by means of
tlicir breed. ^= 6:) With inky blots,] Inky blots are written
restrictions. ^= 1:) ■— rotten parchment bonds;] Alluding to
the circumstances of Richard having actually farmed out
his royal realm. And it aftervtards appears that the person
who larmed tlie realm was the earl of VVilti^hire, one of
his own favourites. =8:) — Queen ;] !<hakspcare, as Mr. AVal-
polc suggests, has deviated from iiisiorical truth in the in-
troductioii of Richard's queen as a woman in the present
piece; for Anne, his lirst wife, was dead before the play
commences^ and Isabella, his second wife, was a child at
the time of his death. =:^j:) — Aurnerle,'] was Edward, eldest
sun of Edmund duke of \ork, whom he succeeded iu the
title. He was killed at Agincourt. = 10:j — itoss,] was Wil-
liam lord Roos, (and so should be printed,) of Hamlake,
afterwards lord trca-urer to Henry l\.= 11:)— Willuugh-
by,] was William lord Willoughby of Eresby, who after-
wards married Joan, widow of Eduiund duke of York. ^12:)
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.} I'ossess'd, iu
this second instance, was probably designed to mean — af-
flicted wiih madness, occasioned by the internal operation
of a dasmoii. = 13:) Love they — ] That is, let them love.
= 14:) "I do beseech" — ]VIAl.o^K. = 15:) — Northumber-
land.] Henry Percy, carl of i\ortliuinberlaud. = l tj:) "What
says ReV — iViALOME. = 17:) — where no venom else,] This
alludes to a tradition that 8t. i'atrick freed the kingdom
of Ireland from venomous reptiles of every kind. = 18:) A^or
the prevention of poor Bolingbroke ]| About his marriage,]
VVlien the duke ot Hereford, after iiis banishment, went
into France, he was _ hoiiourauly entertained at that court,
and would have obtained in marriage the only daughter of
the duke of Berry, uncle to the French king, had not Ri-
chard preventetl the match. = 19:) Accomplished with the
number of thy hours;] i.e. when he was of thy age. = 20:)

— deny his offered homage,] that is, refuse to admit the
homage, by which he is to hold his lands. ^21:) "And quite
lost tlieir hearts :"—JV1ai.okk. =22:) Y^wd yet we strike not,]
To strike the sails, is, to contract them when there is too
much wind. = 23:) — but securely perish.] We perish with
too great confidence in our security. -=24:) And uiiavoided — ]
for unavoidable. z=2 5:) [The son of Richard earl of Arun-
del,] II That late broke from the duke of Exeter,] 1 suspect
that some of these lines are transposed, as well as that the
poet has made a blunder in his eiiumerution of persons. i\o
copy that 1 have seen, will authorize me to make an alter-
ation, though according to Holinshed, whom 8hakspeare fol-
lowed in great measure, more than one is necessary. a>TEE-
VKiss. For the insertion of the line included within crot-
chets, Mr. Malonc is answerable; it not being found in the
old copies. = 26:) — archbishop late of Canterbury,] Thomas
Arundel, archbishop of Oanterbury, brotuer to the earl of
Arundel who was beheaded in this reigiij had been banished
by the parliament, and afterwards deprived by the pope of
his see, at the request of the king; whence he is here called,
late of (Canterbury. = 27:) Imp out—] As this expression
frequently occurs in our author, it may not be aiitiss to ex-
plain the original meaning of it. When the wing feathers
of a hawk were dropped, or forced out by any accident, it
was usual to supply as many as were deticient. 'J'his oper-
ation was called, to imp a hawk. = 28:) — gilt,] i. e. gild-
ing; superlicial display of gold. = 29:) Like perspectives,
^c] The perspectives, here mentioned, were not pictures,
but round crystal glasses, the convex surface of wliicli was
cut into faces, like those of the rose-diamond; the concave
left uniformly smooth. These crystals — which «ere somc-
times_ mounted on tortoise-shell box-lids, and sometimes
fixed into ivory cases — if placed as here renresented, would
exhibit the ditferent appearances described by the poet. The
word shaduips is here used in opposition to substance, for
reflected images, and not as the (lark forms of bodies, oc-
casioned by their interception of the light that falls upon
them. HEM.KV. = 30:) — might have retir'd hispuwer,] Might
have drawn it back. A French sense. = 31:) "And all the
rest of tlie revolted faction, traitor^;'*" Mai.okk. =32:) "the
commons they are cold," — Mai.one. = 33:) Oct thee to
IMashy,] The lordship of Flashy, was a town of the duchess
of Gloster's in Essex. Its history and antiquities were pub-
lished some years ago by Mr. Gough; but this work does
not appear to have been consulted by the commentators.-^
34:) — untruth—] that is, disloyalty, treachery.^ 36:) TVtc
king had cut off my head with my brother's.] None of
York's brothers had liis hi.'ad cut ofl'j either by the king or
any one else. 'I'he duke of Cluster, to whose death he pro-
bably alludes, Mas secretly murdered at Calai.<), being smo-

thered between two beds. =36:) "What, arc there no posts,"
&c. — Mai.osk. ^=37:) Come, sister, — cousin, I would say:]
This is one of Shakspeare s touches of nature. York is
talking to the queen his cousin, but the recent death of his
sister is uppermost in his mind. = 38:) "Thus disorderly
thrust" — Mai.onr. =39:) "Gentlemen, go," iVc. — Mai.one.
= 40:)"VVill the hateful commons" — Malone. = 41:) "gra-
cious regent" — Mai.one. = 42:) — the absent time,] i. e.
time of the king''s absence. ^= i 5:) But then more why;]
But, to add more questions. =: 4 4:) >4^nrf ostentation of des-
pised arms/] The meaning of this probably — a boastful
display of arms which we despise. r= ^ 5;) — indilTerent eye;]
i. e. with an impartial eye. = 46:) To rouse his wrongs,]
i. e. the persons tvho wrong him. = il:) — to sue my livery
here,] A law phrase belonging to the feudal tenures. =48:)
It stands^ your grace upon, to do him right.] i.e. it is jour
interest, it is matter ot consequence to jou. =49:) Mr. Ma-
lone adds "In thee" to the preceding line. = 50:) The bay-
trees, iiC.] This enumeration of prodigies is iu the highest
degree poetical and striking. Johnson. =

ACT III. ^= 1:) Dispark'd my parks,] To dispark is to
throw down the hedges of an enclosure, or to divest a park
of its name and character by destroying the inclosures, and
laying it open. = 2:) From my otrn windows torn my house-
hold coat,] It was the practice when coloured glass was iu
use, of which there are .still some remains in old seats and
churches, to anneal the arms of the family iu the windows
of the house. = 3:) Raz'd out my impress, cVc] The impress
was a device or motto. ^= i:) "call they," — Mai.one. = 6:)
"After your late tossing" — Mai.one. = 6:) "rebellion's
arms." — Mai.one. = 7:) He fires the proud tops of the
eastern pines,] It is not easy to j)oint out an image more
striking and beautiful than this, in any poet whether an-
cient or modern. Steevens. =^ 8:) Mine ear is open, kc]
It seems to be the design of the poet to raise Richard to
esteem in his fall, and consequently to interest the reader
in his favour. He gives him only passive fortitude, the
virtue of a confessor, rather than of a king. In his_ pros-
perity we saw him imperious and oppressive; but in his
distress he is wise, patient, and pious. Johnson. = 9:) Of
double-fatal yew — ] From some of the ancient statutes it
appears that every Knglishmau, while archery was practised,
was obliged to keep in his liouse either a bow of yew or
some other wood, it should seem therefore that yews were
not only planted in church-yards to defend the churches
from the wind, but on account of their use in making bows;
while by the benelit of being secured in enclosed places,
their poisonous quality was kept from doing mischief to
cattle. Steevens.= 10:) — there the antic sits,] Here is an
allusion to the antic or fool of old farces, whose chief part
is to deride and disturb the graver and mure splendid per-
sonages. Johnson. = 1 1:) Tradition,] This worri seems here
used lor traditional practices : that is, established, or cus-
tomary homage. = 12:) "wise men ne'er sit and wail their

woes,' — Mai.one. = 13:) Fll hate him everlastingly, \\

That bids me be of comfort — ] This sentiment is drawn
from nature. INolhing is more ofl'ensive to a mind convinced
that its distress is without a remedy, and preparing to sub-
mit quiet!y to irresistible calamity, than those petty and
conjectured comforts which unskiltnl ufliciousness thinks it
virtue to administer. = 14:) To ear—] i. e. to plough \t.=
16:) For taking so the head,] To take the head is, to act

without restraint, to take undue liberties. = 16:) "and

oppose not myself !| "Against their will." — Mai.one. = 17:)
— the flower of England's face;] Dr. Warburton says, by
the flower of England's face is meant the cnoicest youths
of England, who shall be slaughtered in this quarrel, or
have bloody crowns. The flower of England's facCj to ile-
sign her choicsst youth, is a line and noble expression, but
Mr. Stecvens is of opinion that the flower of England's
face, means England's flowery face, the flowery surface of
England's «oe7. = 18:) With words o/ sooth!] Sooth in sweet
as well as true. In this place sooth means sweetness or
softness, a siguiflcation yet retained in the verb to sooth.
Johnson. = 19:) — on their sovereign's head:] Shakspeare
is very apt to deviate from the pathetic to the ridiculouii.
Had the speech of Richaril ended at this line, it had exhi-
bited the natural language of submissive misery, ronforin-
ing its intention to the present fortune, and calmly ending
its purposes in death. Johnson. = 20:) — base court—] lias
cour, Fr. = 21:) Against a change: Woe is forerun with
woe] The poet, according to the common doctrine of prog-
nostication, supposes detection to forerun calamity, and a
kingdom to be lilled with rumours of sorrow when any great
disaster is impending. The sense is, that public evils are
always presignilied by public pensiveness, and plaintive
conversation. Johnson. = 22:) fler knots disorder'd,] Knots
arc figures planted in box, the lines of which frequently
intersect each oilier. = 2 3:) "O, 1 am press'd to death,
through want of siuaking! H Thou, old Adam's likeness, set
to dress this garden, || Ilow dares thy harsh rude," &c. —
Mai.one. = 24:) "Here did she fall a tear;" — M alone. =;

ACT I"V. = 1:1 — Surrey,] Thomas Holland, earl of
Kent. He was brother to John Holland duke of Exeter,
and was created duke of Surrey iu the 21st year ol king
Richard the Second, ISW. = 2:) Thus pointed by Mr. Ma-
lonc. "If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest:' =3:)

Th. S. [Pi.: 18.]

NOTES

987

"I task the earth," ic. — Maioke. tztt4:) '"Tis very true:"

— M»i.o>K.= 5:) — in this new world,'\ In this world where
1 have .just begun to be an actor. Surrey, a few lines above,
called him boy. -= &.) — noblest — ] i.e. noblenets ; a word
DOW obsolete, but used both by Spenser and Ben Jonson.
= 7:)"0, forfend it, God," — Mai.oive. =r8:) "If you raise"

— Mai.o>e. = 9:) — hi* conduct.] i. e. conductor. = 10:J
"And little look for"— Mti.owK. = 11:) "bend my limbs:

— Mai.o'sk. = 12:) The fai-our*, \:c.] The countenances,
the features. = 1 3:) "on this siile, my hand : and on that
nide, thine." — M u.osK. •== 1 4:) The emptier ever dancing—}
This is a comparii^nn not easily arcomniodati'd to the sub-
ject, n"J»r very naturally intrniTuced. The best part is this
line, in which he makes the usurper the empty bucket.
JoHNsoK. -= 15:) My care is — loss of care, by old care
done;'] Shakspeare often obscures his meaning' by playing
with sounds. Richard seems to say here, that his 'cares' are
not made less by the increase of liolin^broke^s cares ; for
this reason, that his care is the loss of care, — his grief is,
that his regal carrs are at an end, by the cessation of the
care to which he had been accustomed. JoH«iso>.=: 16:) —
my halm,] The oil of consecration. He has uientioneu it
before. JoH^su^. r= IT:) "all duty's rites:" — Mai.oxk. =
lH:)"unbroke, that swear to theel'' — A!ai.o>k. = 1!-:) "look
upon" — Maloisk. =: 20:) — a sort—] \ pack, a company.
>Vak BURTON. = 21:) — haught,] i. c. haughty. ^= 22:) Mr.
Malone_ omits why. = 2 3:) — Conveyers arc you all,] To
convey is a term often used in an ill sense, and so Richard
understands it here. Pistol says of stealing, convey the
wise it call; and to convey is the Mord for sleight of 'hand,
which sei-ms to be alluded to here. Ye are all, sa\s the
deposed prince, jugglers, who rise with this nimble dexter-
ity by the fall of a good king. Joukson. = 24:) To bury — ]
'I'o conceal, to itcep secret. = 25:) "but also to etfect —
Mai.onk. =

ACT v. = 1:) To Julius Carsars ill-erected tower,]
The Tower of L<Midou is traditionally said to have been the
work of Julius Csesar. Hy — ill-erected, perhaps, is meant

— erected for bad purjioses.^^ 2:) Join not with grief,] Do
not thou unite with grief against me; do not, by thy addi-
tional sorrows, enable grief to strike me down at once. My
own part of sorrow I can bear, but thy aftlictinn will imme-
diately destroy me. Johnson. -=3:) "and the kingof beasts'?"

— Mai.one. —4:)— to quit their grief,] To retaliate their
mournful stories. =^ 5:) — Hallowmas,] All-hallows, or tUl-
haUow-tide; the first of >ovember. = 6:) jBcffer far off,
than — near, be neVr the near\] The meaning is, it is bet-
ter to be at a great distance, tlian being near each other,
to find that we yet ar<t not likely to be peaceably and hap-
pily united. =; ■/:) /Ft'fA painted imag'ry, had said at onre,]
Our author probably was thinking ot the painted clothes
that were hung in the streets, in the pageants that were
exhibited in his own time; in which the ligures sometimes
had labels issuing from their mouths, containing sentences
of gratiilation. = 8:) As in a theatre, kc] "The painting of
this description (says Dryden, in his preface to Troilus and
Cressida,)\s so lively, and the words so moving, that 1 have
scarce read any thing comparable to it, in any other lan-
guage." = P:) Auinerle that was ;] The dukes of Jumerle,
Surrey, and Exeter, were, by an act of Henry's first par-
liament, deprived of their dukedoms, but were allowed to
retain their earldoms o( Rutland, Kent, and Huntingdon. =
10:) "thou wouldist" — 1\1ai,o>e. = 11:) "If on the lirst,"
i. e. if your lirst stand only on intention. Malone. = 12:)
Thou sheer, immaculate, Kc] Sheer i» pellucid, transparent.
:= 1 3:) — digressing son.] deviating from what is right. =
1 4:) — The Beggar and the King.] The King and the Beg-
^ar seems to have been an interlude or soiig, well known
in the time of our author, who has alluded to it more than
once.T=:15:) — pardonnezmoy.] That is, cj-CM«e me, a phrase
used when anj tiling is civilly denied. The yvholc passage
is such as I could well wish away. Johnson. = 16:) But for
our trusty brother-in-law,] 'I'lie brother-in-law was John
duke of Kxeter and earl of Huntingdon (own brother to king
Richard 11.) and who had married with the lady Elizabeth,
sister of Henry Bolingbroke. = 1 7:)— people this little world ;]
i. e. his own frame; — "the state of man;" which in our
author's Julius Caesar is said to be "like to a little king-
dom." = 18:) the word itself \ Against the word:] By

the jrorrf, probably, is meant, the holy word. r-= 19:) For
now hath time made me his numbering clock; || My thoughts
are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar Ij TAeir watches on
to mine eyes, the outward watch, Xc] It should be recol-
lected, thai there are three ways in which a clock notices
the progress of time; viz. by the libration of the pendulum,
the index on the dial, and the striking of the hour. To
these, the king, in his comparison, severally alludes; his
sighs corresponding to the jarring of the pendulum, which,
at the same time that it watches or numbers the seconds,
marks also their progress in minutes on the dial or out-
ward-w^atch, to which the king compares his eves ; and their
want ot hgures is supplied by a succession of tears, or, (to
use an expression of Milton,) minute drops: his linger, by
as regularly wiping these away, performs the office of the
dial s point:- his clamorous groans are the sounds that tell
the hour. = 20:) — his Jack oUhe clock] That is, I strike
D^ I. J* T "^ "' '"""^ automatons is alluded to in King
Michard III. = 2 1:) Is a strange brooch in this all-hating
world.} I.e. is as strange and uncommon as a brooch which

is now no longer worn. = 22:) — sometimes master's face.]
Sometimes was used for formerly, as well as sometime,
which the modern editors have substituted. Mr. M alone
reads, "sometimes royal master's face." = 23:) —' Ay jaunc-
ing Bolingbroke.] Jounce and jaunt were synonymous
words. =

XVIII. KING HENRY IV.

PART I.

ACT I. = 1:) Prince John of Lancaster.] The persons
of the drama were originally collected by Mr. Rowe, who
has given the title of Uuke of Lancaster to Prince John,
a mistake which Shakspeare has been no where guilty of in
the first part of this play, though in the second he has
fallen into the same error. King Henry I f .■was himself the
last person that ever bore the title ol Duke of Lancaster,
But all his sons, (till they had pi-erages, as Clarence, Bed-
ford, Gloucester,) were distinguished by the name of the
royal house, as John of Lancaster, Humphrey of Lancaster,
cVc. and in that nroper style, the (iresenl John "(who became
afterwards so illustrious by the title of Uuke of Bedford,)
is always mentioned in the play before us. Stekve>s. = 2:)
Find we a time for frighted peace to punt, j And breathe
short-winded accents of new broils—] That is, let us soften
peace to rest awhile without disturbance, that she may re-
cover breath to propose new wars. Johnson. = 3:) No more
the thirsty Erinnys— ] The fury of discord; but Mr. .Ma-
lone prefers "the thirsty c/itrancc," a reading which is ar-
gued with insutferuble tediousness by the commentators. =
»:) Therefore we meet not now:] i, e. not on that account
do wenow meet; — we arc not now assembled, to acquaint
you with our intended expedition. = 5:) — this dear expe-
dience.] For expedition. = 6:) And many limits—] Limita
for estimates ; or perhaps, outlines, rough sketches, or cal-
culations. = 7:) "A thousand," &:c. — Mai.one. = 8:) — Ar-
chibald,] Archibald Douglas, earl Douglas. = 9:) Stained
with the variation of each soil — ] i\o circumstance could
have been better chosen to mark the expedition of sir Wal-
ter. It is used by Falstaff in a similar manner: "As it were
to ride day and night, and not to deliberate, not to remem-
ber, not to have patience to shift me, but to stand stained
with travel." = 10:) Balk'd in their own blood,] Either
bath'd, or piled together in a heap. = 11:) ".Mordake earl
of Fife," — Mai.one. = 12:) "to so blest a son :" — Malone.
^= 13:) — the prisoners,] Percy had an exclusive right to
these prisoners, except the earl of Fife. By the \aw mS
arms, every man who had taken any captive, whose re-
demption aid not exceed ten thousand crowns, had him
clearly for himself, either to acquit or ransom, ai his plea-
sure. =14:) Malevolent to you in all aspects;] An astroln-
gical allusion. Worcester is represented as a malignant star
that influenced the conduct of Hotspur. = 15:) IFhich maket
him prune himself,] The metaphor is taken from a cock,
who in his pride prunes himself; that is, picks otf the Ioom;
feathers to smooth the rest. 'I'o prune and to plume, spo-
ken of a bird, is the same. = 16:) Titan out of anger can
be uttered.] 'I'hat is, "more is to be said than aneer will
suffer me to say: mure than can issue from a mind disturbed
like mine." = 1 ;:) — got trjtA swearing — lay by;] i. e. swear-
ing at the passengers they robbed, lay by your arms; or
rather, lay by was a phrase that then signilied stand stilt,
addressed to tho>e who were preparing to rush forward.
To lay by, is, a phrase adopted from navigation, and signi-
fies, by slackening sail to become stationary =r 18:) — and
spent with crying — bring in:] i.e. more wine. = 1^:) — And
is not a butf jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?] To un-
derstand the propriety of the prince's answer, it must be
remarked thai the slieritf's officers were formerly clad ia
buff. So that when Falslaff asks, whether his hostess is not
a sweet wench, the prince asks in return whether it will not
be a sweet thing to go to prison by running in debt to thia
sweet wench. = 20:) For obtaining of suits'?] Suit, spoken
of one that attends at court, means a petition; useil with
respect to the hangman, means the clothes of the offender.
= 21:)— a gib cat,] A ^j'A cat means, old cat, or perhaps
an he-cat,^r= i'Z:) — Lincolnshire bagpipe.] By the drone of
a Lincolnshire bagpipe^ is meant the dull croak of a frog.,
one of the native musicians of that waterish county. In the
neighbourhood of Boston, in Lincolnshire, the nolt-y frogs
are still humourously denominated "the B(H>tnn waits." =
23:) — a hare—] The Egyptians in their hieroglyphics ex-
pressed a melancholy man by a Aarc sitting in her form.
= 24:) — the melancholy of Moor-ditch'?] It appears from
Stowe's Surrej/, that a broad ditch, called Deep ditch, form-
erly parted the hospital from Moor-lields; and what has a
more melancholy appearance than stagnant water'? = 25:)
— damnable iteration:] i. e. a wicked trick of citation or re-
cj'tof ion. = 26:) — have set a match.] i. e. made an appoint-
ment. = 27:) — if thou darest not stand, ^c] Falstaff is
quibbling on the word royal. The real or royal was of the
value of fen shillings. Almost the same jest occurs in a
subsequent scene. =:'28:) — All-hallown summer.] All-hat-
lows in All hallown-tide, or All-saints'' Any, which is the lirst
of Xoveniber. Shakspeare's allusion is designed te ridiaile
an old man with youthful passions. =29:) -/or the nwice,3
For the nonce is an expression in daily use amongst the

V.

988

NOTES.

[Pt:18.] Th.S.

common people in Suffolk, to signify on piirpone; for the
turn. = 30:) — reproof — ] Reproof is confutation. ^:= 31:) ~
fhall I falsify merCg hopes :] To falsify hope is to exceed
hope, to give mucli wliere men liopeii for little. This speech
is very artfully introduced to keep the prince from appear-
ing vile in the opinion of the audience; it prepares them
for his future reformation; and, what is yet more valuable,
exhjbits a natural picture of a great mind offering excuses
to itself, and palliating those follies which it can neither
justify nor forsake. = 32:) I wilt from henceforth rather he
myself, || Mighty, and to be fear\l, than my condition ;]
i.e. I will from henceforth rather put on the character that
becomes inc, and exert the resentment of an injured king,
than still continue in the inactivity and mildness of my na-
tural disposition. =33:) "I do see" — Mai.one. = 34:) The
moody frontier—] Frontier was anciently used for f ore-
head. ^=3b:) You have good leave — ] i. e. our ready assent.
= 3b:) A pounect box,"] A small box for musk or other per-
fumes then in fashion : the lid of which, being cut with
openwork, gave it its name; from poinsoner, to prick, pierce,
or engrcive. = 37:) Took it in snuff:] Snuff is equivocally
used Tor anger, and a powder taken up the nose. = 38:)
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,] i. e. a ;)orrot. = 39:) —
grief—] I. e. pain. = 40;) — and indent jrith fears,] i. e.
bargain and article with fears. = 41:)— hardiment — ] An
obsolete word, signifying hardiness, bravery, stoutness.
Spenser is frequent in his use of it. = 42:) — three times
did they drink,] It is the property of m oiinds to excite the
most impatient thirst. The poet therefore hath with ex-
quisite propriety introduced this circumstance, which may
serve to place in its proper light the dying kindness of sir
Philip Sydney ; who, though suffering the extremity of thirst
from the agony of his own wounds, yet, notwithstanding,
gave up his own draught of water to a wounded soldier.
Hem,ey.= 43:) — Ais crisp head—] Crisp is cur/erf. = 44:)
"Art thou not ashamed T' — Malonk. = 45:) — an eye of
death,] that is, an eye menacing death. =46:)— this can-
ker, Bolingbroke'f] The canker-rose is the (log-rose, the
flower of the cynosbaton. = 47:) — rf/nrfa/n'rf- ] for rffV
dainful. := iS:) But out upon this half fac'd fellowship!)
A coat is said to be faced when part of it, as the sleeves
or bosom, is covered with something liner or more splendid
than the main .substance. The mantua makers still use the
word. Half-fac'd fellowship is then "partnership but half-
adorned, partnership which yet wants half the show of dig-
nities and honours." Johivson. =: 49:) —a world of figures
here,] Figures mean shapes created by Hotspur's imagin-
ation. = 6 0:) And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of
Wales,] A roystrr or turbulent fellow, that fought in ta-
verns, or raised disorders in the streets, was called a swash-
buckler. In this sense sword-and-buckler Is here used. =
51:) "Why, what a wasp-tongue" — Malone. r= 52:) "be
granted you— My lord," — Mai,one. ^5 3:) / speak not this
in estimation,] Estimation for conjecture. = 54:) — let'st
slip.] To let slip, is to loose the greyhound. = 55:) — by
raising of a head:] A head is a body of forces. = 5tj:) The
king will always, Aic] This is a natural description of the
state ot mind between those that have conferred, and those
that have received obligations too great to be satislied. =
5_7:) Cousin,] This was a common address in our author's
time to nephews, nieces, and grandchildren. =

ACT II. =:1:) — Charles'" wain — ] Charles'' s wain is the
vulgar name given to the constellation called the Bear. It
is a corruption of the Chorles or Churls wain. (Sax. ceorl,
a countryman.) ^= 2:) —Cut's saddle,] Cut is the name of a
horse in The Witches of Lancashire, 1634, and, probably, a
common one. =3:)— out of all cess.] i. e. out of all mea-
sure: the phrase being taken from a cess, tax, or subsidy.
= 4:) — as dank—] i. e. wet, rotten. =5:) — ftots;] are worms
in the stomach of a horse. =b:) —breeds fleas like a loach.]
i. e. as a loach breeds. The loach is a very small lish, but
so exceedingly prolilic, that it is seldom found without
spawn in it. ^=7:) — Gadshill.] This thief receives his title
from a place on the Kentish road, where many robberies
have been committed. = 8:) ^tAand, ouotA pick-purse.] This
is a proverbial expression often used by Green, IVashe, and
other writers of the time, in whose works the cant of low
conversation is preserved. = 9:) — franklin — ] is a little
gentleman, perhaps an opulent freeholder. Fortescue, says
the editor of The Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 202. (de L.
L. Aug. c. xxix.) describes a franklain to be pater familias
— niagnis ditatus possessionibus. He is classed with (but
after) the miles and armiger ; and is distinguished from the
Libere tenentes and valccti; though, as it should seem, the
only real distinction between him and other freeholders,
consisted in the largeness of his estate. Spelman, in voce
Franklein, quotes the following passage from Trivet's French
Chronicle. (MSS. Bibl. 11. S. n. 66.) "Thomas de Brother-
ton filius Edward! I. marescallus Angliae, apres la mort de
son pere esposa la fille de un Franchelyn apelee Alice."
The llistorian did not think it worth his while even to men-
tion the name of the Fraukleian. 11eeb.= 10:)— saint Ni-
cholas' clerks.] St. Nicholas was the patron saint of scho-
lars; and Nicholas, or old Nick, is a cant name for the de-
vil. Hence he equivocally calls robbers, St. Nicholas'' clerks.
= 11:) — other Trojans—] Trojan had a cant signification,
and perhaps was only a more creditable term for a thief.
= 12:) I am joined with no foot land-rakers, &c.] that is,
with no paddcrs, uo wanderers on foot. No long staff six-

penny strikers, — uo fellows that infest the road with long
staffs, and knock men down for sixpence. None of these mad
mustachio purple-hued malt-worms, — none of those whose
faces are red' with drinking ale. Johnson. = 13:) — burgo-
masters, and great oneyers;] I'erhaps public accountants.
Sonie_ read monyers, or bankers. = 14:) — sucA as can
hold in; such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak
sooner than drink, and drink, iic ] I'erhaps the meaning
may be,— Men who will knock the traveller down sooner
than speak to him; who yet will speak to him and bid
him stand, sooner than drink; (to which they are suffi-
ciently well inclined;) and lastly, who will drink sooner
than pray. =: 15:) She will, she will; justice hath li-
quored her.] A satire on chicane in courts of justice; which
supports ill men in their violations of the law, under the
very cover of it. = 16:) — as in a castle,] Perhaps Shak-
speare means, we steal with as much security as the an-
cient inhabitants of castles, who had those strung holds to
lly to for protection and defence against the laws. = 17:) —
wehave the receipt of fern-seed,] The ancients, who often
paid more attention to received opinions than to the evi-
dence of their senses, believed that fern bore no seed. Our
ancestors imagined that this plant produced seed which was
invisible. Hence, from an extraordinary mode of reasoning,
founded on the fantastic doctrine of signatures, they con-
cluded that they who possessed the secret of wearing this
seed about them would become invisible. = 1 8:) — purcAase,]
anciently the cant term for stolen goods. = l^:) —/our /oot
by the squire—] Dr. VVarburton extracts hunraur out of this
expression ; but Ur. Johnson and the other commentators
think that by the squire means no more than by a rule. =
20:) — to colt—] is to fool, to trick; but the prince taking
it in another sense, opposes it by uncolt, that is, unhorse.
= 21:) — dole,] The portion of alms (distributed at Lambeth
palace gate is at this day called the dole. = 22:) — gorbel-
lied—]i.c. fat and corpulent. =23:) — j/e /at chuffs;] This
term of contempt is always applied to rich and avaricious
people. = 24:) — tAe true men:] In the old plays a true man
IS always set in opposition to a thief. = 25:) — argument
for a week,] Argument is subject matter for conversation
or a drama. = 26:) Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.] This
letter was from George Dunbar, earl of March, in Scotland.
= 27:) Of basilisks,] A basilisk is a cannon of a particular
kind. = 2B:) ^nrf aW tAe 'currents— ] i. e. the occurrences. In
old language occurrent was used instead of occurrenco. =
29:) — esperance!] This was the motto of the Percy family.
= 30:) "What say'st thou, my lady'f" — Malone. = 31:)
"Why, my horse, my love, my horse." — Malone. ^32:)—
mammetsy] Puppei8. = 33:J — C'orintAtan,], A wencher. A cant
expression, common in old plays. = 34:) — under- skinker ;]
A tapster; an under-drawer. Skink is drink, and a. skinker
is one that serves drink at table. = 35:) Enter Francis.]
This scene, helped by the distraction of the (Irawer, and
grimaces of the prince, may entertain upon the stage, but
affords not much delight to the reader. The author has
judiciously made itshort. Johnson. ^=36:) liooA: down into tA«
pomegranate,] To have windows or loop-holes looking into
the rooms beneath them, was anciently a general custom.
= 37:) Wilt thou rob this leathern ierkin, &c.] The prince
intends to ask the drawer whether he will rob his master,
whom he denotes by many contemptuous distinctions. John-
son. = 38:) — caddis-garter,] Caddis was worsted galloon.
Mai.one. = 39:) — brown bastard—] Bastard was a kind of
sweet wine. The prince finding the waiter not able, or not
willing, to understand his instigation, puzzles him with lui-
connected prattle, and drives him away. Johnson. = 40:) —
1 am not yet of Percy's mind,] The drawer's answer had
interrupted the prince's train of discourse. He was pro-
ceeding thus : 1 am now of all humours, that have showed

themselves humours; I am not yet of Percy's mind;

that is, I am willing to indulge myselt in gaiety and frolic,
and try all the varieties of human life. I am not yet of
Percy's mind, — who thinks all the time lost that is not
spent in bloodshed, forgets decency and civility, and has
nothing but the talk of a soldier. Johnson. = 41:) — Rivo,']
This was perhaps the cant of the English taverns. = 42:)^
nether-stocks,] Nether-stocks are stockings. = 43:) "sweet
tale of the sons!" Malone. = 44:) Fal. Their point* being

broken, |j Poins. Itown fell their hose.] To understand

Poins's joke, the double meaning of point must be remem-
bered, which signifies tAe sharp end of a weapon, and tA«
lace of a garment. = 45:) — Kendal — ] Kendal, in Westmore-
land, is a place famous for making cloths, and dying them
with several bright colours. Kendal green was the livery
of Robert earl of Huntington and his followers, while they
remained in a state of outlawry, and their leader assumed
the title of Robin Hood.= 46:) — toi/ou>-A-eecA,] A AreecA of
tallow is the fat of an ox or cow rolled up by the butcher
in a round lump, in order to be carried to the chandler. It
is the proper word in use now. ^= 47:) — tAere is a noble-
man Give him as much as will make him a royal

man,] Perhaps here is a kind of jest intended. He that re-
ceived a noble was, in cant language, called a nobleman:
in this sense the prince catches the word, and bids tho
landlady give him as much as will make him a royal man,
that is, a real, or royal man, and send him away. The
royal went for 10s.— the noble only for 68. and 8d.= 48:)
— taken with the manner,] Taken with the manner is a law
phrase, and then in common use, to signify taken in the
fact. = 49:} Hot livers, and cold purses.} That is, drun-
kenness and poverty. To drink was, in the language »{

Ti/.S. [Pl:18.J

NOTES.

989

tho.sc times, to heat the /trcr. = 60:) Ifarrf. Clholer, my lord,
if rightly taken, 'j P. Hen. A'o, if rightly taken, halter.J The
reader \tho uould enter into the ypirit of this repartee,
must recollect the similarity of sound between collar and
rholer. = 51:) — bombast'^] is the stutVnie of clothes. =62:)

— upon the cross of a Welsh hook,] A n'elsh hook appears
t« have been some in!<tniment of the offensive kind. = 63:)

— pistol — ] Shakspeare never has any care to preserve the
manners of the time. Pistols were not known in the age
of Henry. Pistols were, about our author's time, eminently
used by the Scots. Sir Henry Wotton somewhere makes
mention of a Scottish pistol. Dut iieaumout and Flitcher
are still more inexcusable. In The Humourous Lieulvnant,
tney have equipped Demetrius I'oliorcetcs, one of the im-
mediate successors of Alexander the Great, with the .>^ame
weapon. =54:) — blue-caps— '\ A name of ridicule given to
the Scots from their blue bonnets. =55:) — you may buy
/anrf, \:c.] In former times the prosperity of tue nation was
known by the value of laud, as now by the price of stocks.
Before Henry the Seventh made it safe to serve the king
regnant, it was the practice at every revolution, for the
roiiqueror to conliscate the estates of those that opposed,
and perhaps of those who did not assist him. Those, there-
fore, that foresaw the change of government, and thought
their estates in danger, were desiroua to »ell them in haste
for something that might be carried away. Joh>so>. = 56:)

— This chair shall be my state,] A state is a chair Mith a
canopy over it. ^67:)— tAt» cushion my crown.'i Dr. Lcther-
laud, iu a MS. note, observes that the country people in
Warwickshire use a cushion for a croitn, at tneir harvest-
home diversions. = 58:) — king Cambyses'' — ] The banter is
here upon a play called,^:/ lamentable Tragedie, mixed full
of pleasant Mirth, containing the Life of Cambises, King
of Persia. By Thomas l*^e^<ton. [1570.J Thbobaiu. =69:) —
j/ij/ leg.] That is, my obeisance to my father. =60:) — tickle-
brain.\ This appears to have been the nick-name of some
ylrong liquor. _= 61:) — though the camomile, &c.] This
whole speech is supremely comic. The simile of camomile
a<ed to illustrate a contrary effect, brings to my remem-
brance an observation of a late writer of some merit, whom
the desire of being witty has betrayed into a like thought.
.Meauing to enforce with great vehemence ttie mad temerity
of yiiung soldiers, he remarks, that "though Bedlam be in
the road to Hogsdeu, it is out of the way to promotion."
Johnson. -= 62:) — a micher,] i.e. truant; A micher, means
a lurking thief distinguished from one more during.^ 63:)

— rabbet-sucker, &.C.] is, 1 suppose, a sucking rabbet. The
jest is in comparing him.'<e]f to something tuin and little.
So a poulterer's hare; a hare hung up by the hind legs
without a skin^ is long and slender. Johnson. =64:) — bolt-
ing hutch — ] 19 the wooden receptacle into which the meal
is bolted. Stkevkns. =: 65:) — that huge bombard of sack,}
A bombard is a barrel. = 66:) — Manningtree ox — ] Manning-
tree in Essex, and the neighbourhood of it, are famous for
richness of pasture. The farms thereabouts are chiefly te-
nanted by graziers. Some ox of an unusual size was, pro-
bably, roasted there on an occasion of public festivity, or
exposed for money to public show. = 6/:) — take me with
you;] that is, go no faster than 1 can follow. Let me know
your meaning. = 68:) This speech Mr. Malone gives to
prince Henry. = 69:J — hide thee behind the arras ;] The
bulk of Falstaff made him not the fittest to be concealed
behind the hangings : but every poet sacritices some thing to
the scenery. If Falstaff had not been hidden, he could not
have been found asleep, uor had his pockets searched. John-
son. When arras was lirst brought into England, it was
suspended on small hooks driven into the bare walls of
houses and castles. But this practice was soon discontinued ;
for after the damp of the stone or brickwork had been found
to rot the tapestry, it was fixed on frames of wood at such
a distance from the wall, as prevented the latter from being
injurious to the former, in old houses, therefore, long be-
fore the time of Shakspeare, there were large spaces left
between the arras and the walls, sufficient to contain even
one of FalstaH^s bulk. Stkkvens. =70:) The man, I do as-
sure you, is not here;] Every reader must regret that Shak-
speare would not give himself the trouble to furnish prince
Henry w_ith some more pardonable excuse; without obliging
him to have recourse to an absolute falsehood, and that
too uttered under the sanction of so strong an assurance.
= 'i') .— ■'. know, his death leill be a march of twelve-
score.] I.e. It will kill him to march so far as twelve-score
yards. =z

. A._CT IU. = 1:) — induction—] that is, entrance; be-
ginning. = 2:) Of burning cressets;] A cresset was a great
light set upon a beacon, light house, or watch-tower: from
the French word croissette, a little cross, because the bea-
cons had anciently crosses on the top of them. ^ 3:) Vis-
eased nature—] The poet has here taken, from the per-
verseuess and contrariousness of Hotspur's temper, an op-
portunity of raising his character, by a very rational aud
philosophical confutation of superstitious error. Johnson. =
*:) — and topples rfoirn— ] To topple is to tumble. = 5:) Me-
thitiks, my moiety,] The division is here into three parts,—
A moiety was frequently used by the writers of Shakspearc's
age, as a portion of any thing, though not divided into two
equal parts. =6:) — cantle out.] A cantle is a corner, or
piece of any thing. = 7:) For i u>a« trained up in the English
court.-] ihe real name of Owen Glendower was faughan.

and he was originally a barrister of the .Middle Temple. =
8:) — the tongue—] 'I'he English language. = 9:) — a brazen
ranstick turn'd,] The word candlestick which destroys the
harmony of the line, is written canstick in the quartos, 16S8.
1599, and 1608; and so it was pronounced. Hey wood and
several of the old writers, constantly spell it in this man-
ner. ^= 10:) Pll haste the irriter,] He means the writer of
the articles. Mr. Malone reads '-i'lliii and haste," \:c. ^=
11:) — of the moldwarp and the ant,] This alludes to an
old prophecy, which is said to have induced Uuen Glen-
dower to take arms against king Henry. The moldwarp is
the mole, so called because it renders the surface of the
earth unlevel by the hillocks which it raises. = 12:) "He

held me, last night," A.C.— Mai.one. = 13:) projited [\

In strange concealments :] skilled in -wonderful secrets. =
14:) — opinion,] means here self-opinion, or conceit. •= 16:)
"One that no persuasion" — M.4i.onk. ^^16:) — a feeling dis-
putation:] i.e. a contest of sensibility, a reciprocation in
which we encage on equal terms. = 17:) ff'ith ravishing
division, to her lute.] Divisions were very uncommon in
vocal music during the time of Shakspeare. Burnev.::^! 8:)
"She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down," — Ma-
lone. = 1 ^':) Making such difference "twixt wake and sleep,]
She will lull you by her song into soft tranquillity, in which
you shall be so near to sleep as to be free from perturba-
tion, aud so much awake as to be sensible of pleasure; a
state partaking of sleep aud wakefulness, as the twilight of
night aud day. Johnson. = 20:)— our book,] our paper of
conditions. = 21:) "And straight" — Malone. = 22:) ^rf» if
thou never walk'iUt further than Finsbury.] Open walks
aud fields near Chisw ell-street, London-wall, by Moorgate;
the eouimon resort of the citizens, as appears from many
of our ancient comedies. ^= 23:) — re/ret.- guards,] To such
as bave their clothes adorned with shreds of velvet, which
was, I suppose, the finery of cocknejs. Johnson. = 24:) —
our hook's drawn;] i.e. our articles. Every composition,
whettier play, ballad, or hi.-tury, was railed a book, on the
registers of ancient publications. = 26:) ^'some private con-
ference :" — Malone. = 2 6:) let such extenuation let me
beg, ii.c.] The coustruction is somewhat obscure. Let me
beg so much extenuation, that, upon confutation of many
false charges, I may be pardoned some that are true. 1
should read on reproof, instead of in reproof ; but concern-
ing Shakspearc's particles there is no certainty. Johnson.
= 2 7:) Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,] Our
author has, I believe, here been guilty of an anachronisin.
The prince's removal from council, in consequence of his
striking the lord chief justice Gascoigue, was some years
after the battle of Shrewsbury (1403.) His brother, Thomas
duke of (ylarcuce, was appointed president of the council in
his room, and he was not created a duke till the 13ih year
of king Henry IV. (1411.) Malonk. ^= 28:) — loyal to pos-
session ;] True to him that had then possession of the crown.
Johnson. ^=29:) — rasA bavin wits,] Hash, is heady, thought-
less : bavin is brushwood, which, fired, burns fiercely, but-
is soon out. = 30:) — carded Ai« state;] The metaphor seems
to be taken from mingling coarse wool with fine, and card-
ing them together, whereby the value of the latter is di-
minished. The king means, that Richard mingled and carded
together his royal state with capering fools, ^c. = 31:) .^fnd
gave his countenance, against his name,] i. e. favoured
and encouraged things tliat were contrary to his dignity
and reputation. = 32:) Of every beardless vain comparat-
ive:] Comparative means here, one who affects wit, a dealer
in comparisons: what Shakspeare calls, somewhere else, a
simile-monger. = i3:) Enfeolfd himself to popularity :]'Vo
enfeoff is a law term, signifying to invest witn possession.
= 3 4:) Capitu/afe—] i. e. make head. So, to articulate, in
a subsequent scene, is to form articles, =35:) — dearest — ]
Dearest is most fatal, most mischievous. = 36:) Lord Mor-
timer of Scotland hath sent word,] There was no such per-
sou as lord Mortimer of Scotland; but there was a lord
March of Scotland, (George Dunbar,) who having quitted
his own country in disgust, attached himself so warmly to
the English, and did them such signal services in their wars
with Scotland, that the parliament petitioned the king to
bestow some reward on him. He fought on the side of
Henry in this rebellion, and was the means of saving his
life at the battle of Shrewsbury, as is related by Holinshed.
This, no doubt, was the lord whom Shakspeare designed to
represent in the act of sending friendly intelligence to the
king. = 37:) Advantage feeds him /at,J i. e. feeds himself.
= 38:) — while I am in some liking;] while 1 have some
flesh, some substance. We have ba.S well-liking in the same
sense in a former play. Malokb. = S^:) — Thou art our
admiral, &c.] Decker, in his IFonderful Yeare, 1603, has
the same thought. He is describing the host of a country
inn : "An antiquary might have pickt rare matter out of his
nose. — The Hamburghers offered I know not how many
dollars for his companie in an East-Indian voyage, to have
stoode a nightes in tAe Poope of their Admirall, onely to
save the charges of candles." ^ kO:)— dame Partlet—^
Dame Partlet is the name of the hen in the old story-book
of Reynard the Fox: and in Chaucer's tale of The Cock
and the Fox, the favourite hen is called dame Pertelote.
= 41:) — the prince is a Jack,] This term of contempt oc-
curs frequently in our author. In The Taming of the Shrew,
Katharine calls her music master, in derision, a twangling
Jack.= 42:) — maid Marian tnay be, Lc] Maid Marian is
a man dressed like a woman, wlio attends the dancers of
the morris. = 48:) — impudent, embossed—] Embossed is

V.

990

NOTES.

[Pi.: 19.] Tii. S.

SMoln, puffy. = 44;) — do it with iiiiwa!>hud haiiil»i too."] i. c.
do it iminuiliately, or the lir.tt thing in the nioriiiiig, even
without staying to waxh your huud». Mr. Matiou thiuks it
iiieaiix, do it without retracting or repenting of tt. =

ACT IV. = 1:) — /defy— ] To defy uieaus here to dit-
daiii. =2:) But J m// beard hiiu.^ 'I'o beard in to oppose
face to face in a hostile or daring luauuer. = 3:) On any
Koal reniovUl,'^ On any /c«« near to himtielf ; on any whose
iulcrext 'n remote. =^ 4:) — no quailing—] To quail is to
laugul«ih, to sink into dejection. = 6:) The very li-l,] The
lint is lue selvage; liguratively, the utmost line of uircuin-
I'crence, the utmost extent. =■ b:) Where now reinainH — ]
tyhere, is used here fur whereat. It is ofteu used wiiu that
sigiiilicatiou by our author and his contc'm|ioraries.= 7:) A
comfort of retirement — ] A support to uliich we may have
recourse. == 8:) The quality and hair — ] 'J he hair seems to
be the complexion, the character. The metaphor appears
harsh to us, but, perhaps, was familiar in our author's lime.
We still say something is against the hair, as against the
grain, i. e. against the natuial tendency. = il:) — we of the
ull'eriiig side — J The offering tide may mean simply the as-
sailant, in opposition to the defendant: and it is likewise
true of him tuat offers war, or makes an invasion, that his
cause ought to be kept clear from all objections. = 10:) This
absence of your father's draws a curtain,] 'I'o draw a cur-
tain had anciently the same meaning as to undraw one lias
at present. = 1 1:) All plumUl like estridges, that w ing the
wind; \\ Bated like eagles, iVc.J i. e. all dressed like the prince
himself, the ostrich-fcatlwr being the cugui/.ance of tne
prince of Wales. To bate is, in the style of falconry, to
beat the wing, from the French, buttre,'uiM, is, to iluiicr in
preparation lor liight.= 12:) His cuisses— J Cot««e», French.
Armour lor the tliighs. = 13:) And witch—] for bewitch,
cAarirt. == 1 4:) — aouced gurnet.] Souced gurnet is an appel-
lation of contempt very frequently employed iu the ohl co-
medies. A gurnet is a lish resembling a piper. = 15:) — ten
times more dishonourable ragged than an old faced an-
cient:] An old faced ancient, is an old standard mended
with a different colour. It stiould not be written in one
word, as old and faced are distinct epithets. = lt>:) —gyves
on;] i. e. shackles. = 17:) — «/ Dainiry:] i. e. Daventry. =
16:)— good enough to toss;] that is, to loss upon a pike. =
li:) "Scot that iiiis day lives:" — M alone. = 2 0:) — such
great leading,] 8uch conduct, such experience in mar-
tial business. iVIalone reads — "such great leading as you
are." = 21:) "half of himself." Malone. = 22:) — of our
quality,] Quality, in our author's time, was frequently used
in the seu»e oi fellowship or occupation. = 23:) — of your
griefs;] That is, grievances. = iit:) 'To sue his livery,] Ihis
is a law purase belonging to tne feudal tenures; meaning
to sue out the delivery or possession of his lands from those
persons who, on the death of any of the tenants of the
crown, seized their lands, till the Jieir sued out his livery.
= 25:) The more and less—] i.e. the greater and the less.
= 26:) — task'd the whole state:] Tasked is here used for
taxed; it was ouce common lo employ these words indis-
criminately.= 27:) This head of safety ;] Tliis army, from
which 1 hope for protection. =: 28:) — sca^erf brief,] A brief
is simply a letter. = 29:) — in the first proportion,)] Whose
quota was larger than that of any other man in tne confe-
deracy. =30:) -^roterf sinew too,] A rated sinew signilies a
strength on which we reckoned; a help of which we made
account. = 31:) "And lord Mortimer." — Maloke. =

ACT v. — 1:) — husky Af«.'] Busky\sv(taAy. {Bosquet,
Fr.) Milton writes the word perhaps more properly, bosky.
= 2:) — to his purposes;] That is, lo the sun's, to that
which the sun portends by his unusual appearance. = 3:)
I'eace, chewet, peace.] A chewet, or chuet, is a noisy, chat-
tering bird, a pie. = 4:) — the injuries of a wanton time;]
i. e. ihe injuries done by king Richard in the wantonness
of prosperity. =5:) As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,]
'i'he cuckoo's chicken who, being hatched and fed by the
sparrow, iu whose nest tlie cuckoo's egg was laid, grows in
time able to devour her nurse. = 6:) — we stand opposed,
^c] We stand in opposition lo you. = 7:) — articulated,]
i. e. exhibited in articles. = 8:)— -starving /or a time—] i.e.
impatiently expecting a time, kc. =9:}— set off his head,]
i. e. taken from his account. — - 10:) — Honour is a mere
scutcheon,] Tlie reward of brave actions formerly was only
some honourable bearing in the shields of arms bestowed
upon deservers. Itut Falstaff having said that honour often
came nut till after death, he calls it very wittily a scut-
cheon, which is the painted heraldry borne in luiieral pro-
cessions; and by mere scutcheon is insinuated that whether
alive or dead, honour was but a name. = I 1:) "Suspicion
all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes." — Mai.onb. = 12:)
Deliver up || My lord of Westmoreland.] He was "im-
pawned as a surety for the safe return" of VNorcester. =
13:) He made a blushing cital-] Mr. I'ope observes, that
by cital is ini-aut taxation; but perhaps rather recital. =
14:) Of any prince, so wild, at liberty :J Of any prince that
played sucn pranks, and was nut coniined as a madman. =
15:) Piiow, — Ksperance!] This was the word of battle on
Percy's side, and has always been the motto oi the I'ercy
family. 3= \^:)Por, heaven to earth,] i. e. one might wager
heaven to earth. = 17:) Seniblabty furnished, Kc] i. c. in
resemblance, alike. = 18:) "lend me thy sMord." Mai.o>e.

= 1 P:) — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms,] Mean-
ing Gregory the Seventh, called Hildebrand. This furious
friar surmounted almost invincible obstacles to deprive the
emperor of his right of investiture of bishops, which his
preiU-cessors had long attempted in vain.=2U:)"i pr'^thee
lend me thy sword." .\1.\i.one. =21:) — a carbonado of me.]
A carbonado is a piece of meat cut cross-wise for the grid-
iron. =22:) 0, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth:]
Shakspeare has chosen to make Hotspur fall by the hand of
the prince of Wales; but there is, 1 believe, no authority
for the fact. Hulinshed says, "The king slew that day with
his own hand six and thirty persons of his enemies. The
other [i. e. troops] of his party, encouragt-d by his doings,
fought valiantly, and slew the lord I'ercy, called Mcnry
Hotspur." Speed says I'ercy was killed by an unknown
hand. .Maionk. = 23:) — those proud titles thou hast won
of me; &c.] Hotspur in his last moments endeavours to con-
sole himself. The glory of the prince wounds his thoughts;
but thought, being dependent on life, must cea'te with it,
and will soon he at an end. Life, on which thought de-
pends, is itself of no great value,_ being the fool and sport
of time; of time, which with all its dominion over sublun-
ary things, must itself af last he stopped. Johnson. = 24:)
But let my favours hide thy mangled face;] He covers his
face with a scarf, to hide the ghastliness of death. =2 5:) —
80 fat a deer—] There is in these lines a very natural mix-
ture of the serious and ludicrous, produced b*y the view of
Percy and Falstaff. = 26:) "On the ground." — Mai.o>-k.=:
2'}:) — a double man:] That is, I am not Falstaff and Percy
together, though, having Percy on my back, 1 seem double.
1^28:) "Hath shown us — Malone. =

XIX. KING HENRY IV.

PART II.

ACT I. = 1:) See note 1. of the First Part of this
Play. Steevens. = 2:) Enter IIumouh.] This speech of
Uuinour is not inelegant or unpoetical, but it is wholly
useless, since we are told nothing which the first scene
does not clearly and naturally discover. The only end of
such prologues i^i to inform the audience of some lacts pre-
vious to the action, of which they can have no knowledge
from the persons of the drama. Johnson. = 3;) — «o/iie
stratagem :] Some stratagem means here some great, im-
portant, or dreadful event. =4:) — forspent— ] '\'o forspend
is to waste, to exhaust. = 5:) -**//.<-« point—] A point is a
string tagged, or lace. = 6:) -some hililing fellow,] For hil-
derling, i. e. base, degenerate. ;= 7:) — like to a title leaf,]
It may not be amiss to observe, that, in the time of our
poet, the title-page to an elegy, as well as every interme-
diate leaf, was totally black. 1 have several in my posjes-
sion, written by Chapman, the translator ot Homer, and
ornamented in this manner. Stkevens. = 8:) — a witnessed
usurpation.] i. e. an attestation of its ravage. = P:) Your
spirit—] The impression upon your mind, by which you
conceive the death of your son. = 10:) — hold' st it fear, or
sin,] Fear for danger. = 1 I:) — faint quittance,] Quittance
is return. = 12:) ' Gan vail his stomach,] Uegan to fall his
courage, to let his spirits sink under liis fortune. From
avaler, Ft. to cast down, or to let fall down. =:13:) —
buckle—] Bend; yield to pressure. = 14:) — nice—] i. e.
trilling. = 15:) And darkne.ss be the burier of the dead!]
The conclusion of this noble speech is extremely striking.
There is no need to suppose it exactly philosophical ; dark-
ness, in poetry, may be absence of eyes, as well as priva-
tion of light. Yet we may remark, that by an ancient opin-
ion it has been held, thai if the human race, for whom the
world was made, were extirpated, the whole system of sub-
lunary nature would cease. Johnson. = 16:) — more, and
less,] More and less mean greater asid /e««. = 1 7:) — to gird
at me:] i. e. to gibe. =r 18:) — mandrake,] Mandrake is a
root supposed to have the shape of a man ; it is now coun-
terfeited with the root of briouy. = 19:) — I was never
manned with an agate till now;] That is, I never before
had an agate for my man. Alluding to the little figures cut

is, if a man by taking up goods is in their debt. To be
thorough seems to be the same with the present phrase, —
to be tn with a tradesman. = 22:) 1 bought him in Paul s,]
At that time the resort of idle people, cheats, and knights
of the post. = 23:) — Lord Chief Justice,] This judge was
Sir VVni. ttiiscoigiie, ('hief Justice of the King's Bench. =
24:) — hunt-counter,] Hunt-counter means, base tyke, or
worthless dog.^=2h:) A wassel candle, kc] A wassel candle
is a large candle lighted up at a feast. There is a poor
quibble upon the word trox, which signilies increase as well
as the matter of the honeycomb. := 2(i:) — 1 cannot go, I
cannot tell:] I cannot be taken in a reckoning; I cannot
pass current, as the coin called an aiiget, if good, would.
= 27:) — in these coster-monger times,] In these times when
the prevalence of trade has produced that meanness that
rates the merit of every thing by money. Johnson. = 28:) —
Pregnancy —] Pregnancy is readiness. = 29:) — your wit
singlef] ot »mall.=iO:)— antiquity f] To use the word an-

V.

Tu. S. [Pt: 19.J

NOTES.

991

tiquity for old age, is not peculiar to Sbalspcare. ^=31:) —
tfou are too impatient to bear crosi^cs.] A quibble vecuis
here iulendi-d. Fali-taif bad jii»t a>ikc'd hix^ lordship to leud
hiiu a tbuu»aud pound, aud be tells biut in rcturu Ibat he
is iiiit tu be entrusted with uioury. A crots 18 a cuiu so
callod, because titaoiped with a cross. -= 32:) — fillip mt irith
a tbreeinau beetle.] ,4 three-man beetle is an implement
ui>ed I'ur driving piles; it is made of a log of Moud about
eighteen or twenty inches diameter, and fourteen ur lifteeu
inches thick, uith'uue short and tuu long bandies. A uiau
at each of the long handles manages the fall of the beetle,
and a third man, by the shun handle, assists iu raising it
to strike the blo\t. *8iirh au implement was, without doubt,
very suitable tut filliping so corpulent a being as Falstatf.
= S3:) — prevent my cutset.'] 'I'o prevent means, iu this
place, to anticipate. = 34:) — to commodity.] i. e. profit,
self-interest.^^ ii:) Consent upon a sure foundation ;] i.e.
a^ree. =36:)— one power against the Frent-h,] During this
rebellion of Northumberland aud the archbishop, a French
army of twelve thousand men lauded at Milford Haven, iu
Wales, for the aid of Uweu Gleudower. Stkkvkns.=

ACT II. =1:) U here is your yeoman V] A bailiff's fol-
lower was, in our author's time, called a Serjeant's yeoman.
= 2:) — an o' come but tpithin my vice;] f ice or grasp; a
metaphor tateo from a smith's vice. =3:) — lubbar's head—']
This is, I suppose, a colloquial corruption of the Libbard's
head. J<iH>so>. = i:) — honey suckle villain ^ — honey-seed
rogue.'] The landlady's corruption of homicidal and homi-
ciii*;.= 5:) — rampall'ian! —fustilarian.'] The lirst of these
terms may mean a ramping riotous strumpet. Fustilarian
is, probably, a made word, itnm J'usty. = d:) — parcel-gilt
goblet,] A'parccl-gilt goblet is a goblet gilt only nu such
parts of it as are embossed. = :) "Wheeson-week," — Ma-
Lo>K.= 8:) — goodu-ife heech, the butcher's wife,] A keech
is the fat of au o\ rolled up by the butcher into a round
lump. ^=9:) — tA«» sueap— ] A Yorkshire word for reAuic, or
check. = 10:) — answer in the effect of your reputation,]
That is, answer in a manner suitable to your character. =
11:) — in water-work,] i.e. in water colours. = 12:) — that
bawl out the ruins of thy linen,] 1 suspect we should read
— that bawl out of fAe ruins of thy linen; i. e. bis bastard
childreu wrapt up in his old shirts. The subsequent words
coiilirm this emendatiou. = 13:) — all ostentatiou of sorrow.]
Ostentation is here not boastful show, but simple show. =
li:) — proper fellow of mu hands;] A toll or proper fellow,
means a good looking, well made, personable man. ^=15:) —
through a red lattice,] i. e. from an ale-huuse window. ==
It:) Mlhea dreamed, kc] Shakspeare is here mistaken in
his mythology, and has confounded Althea's lire brand with
Hecuba's. Tue lire-brand of Althea was real: bnt Hecuba,
when she was big v«ith Paris, dreamed that she was de-
livered of a lire-brand that consumed the kingdom. Joh>-
hifs. =17:) — the martlemas, your master'f] That is, the
autumn, or rather the latter spring. The old lelluw with
juvenile passions. = 18:) — tAj» wen—] This swoln excres-
cence of a man. = 19:) — the answer is as ready as a bor-
rower'« cap ;] A uiau that goes tu borrow money, is of all
others the most complaisant; his cap is always at hand. =
2l>:) 1 will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity:] I
suppose by the honourable Homanis intended Julius L'xsar,
whose veni, vidi, vici, seems tu be alluded tu in the begin-
ning of the letter: 1 commend me to thee, 1 commend thee,
and 1 leave thee. The very words of ('assar are afterwards
quoted by Falsiaff. Hkatu. = 21:) — frank 'f] Frank is sty.
-= 22:) Ephesians,] Kphesian was a term in the cant of
these times, peritaps, a toper. =,23:) — What pagan tnay
that be'f] Fagan seems to have been a cant term, implying
irregularity either of birth or mauucrs.=:24:) />i(i «ee/M de-
fensible:] Defensible does nut iu this place mean capable
of defence, but bearing strength, furnishing the means of
defence; — the passive for tUe active participle. = 25:) To
rain upon remembrance — ] Alluding tu the plant rosemary,
so called, and used iu funerals. := 26:) The Hoar's Head
was near the prince's residence, a mansiou called Coldhar-
bour, near All-hallow's church, Upper Thames-street. =^27:)
— Sneak's noi«e;] Sneak was a street minstrel, and there-
fore the drawer goes out to listen if he can hear him in the
ueighbuur-hood. Joh>so>. == 28:) — Acre will 6eold uti»:]
Ltis, an old word yet in use iu some counties, signifying a
merry Icstival, from the French Aujf, octo. =2y:) If'hen
Arthur first in court — ] The entire ballad is published in
the lirst volume of Dr. Percy's Reliques of ancient English
Foetry.^ 30:) Sick of a calm:] Periiaps she means to say
of a 9ua/»t. = 31:) You make fat rascals,] Falstaff alludes
to a phrase of the forest. Lean deer are called rascal deer.
He tells her she calls him wrong, being fat, be cannot be a
rascal. Joii>son. =32:) — tAe charged chambers—] To un-
derstand this quibble, it is necessary to say, that a cham-
ber siguilies not only an apartment, but a piece of ordnance.
:=33:) —rheumatic — ] Rheumatic, iu the cant language of
the times, signitied capricious, humuursome. In this sense
it appears to be used iu many other old plays. =: 34:) — as
two dry toasts;] Which cannot meet but they grate one an-
other. = 35:) — ancient Fistol—] is the same as ensign
Fistol. Falstaff was captain; Peto, lieutenant; and Pistol,
ensign, or ancient. = 3b:) — there comes no swaggerers
iere.J K swaggerer was a roaring, bullying, blustering, light-
ing iellow. = 37:) — a tame cheater,] Gamester and cheater
Mate, iu Shakspeare's age, synonymous terms. = 38:) — J

will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater :] The hu-
mour of this consists iu the woman's mistaking the title of
c-Aeater, (which our ancestors gave to him whom we now,
with better manners, rati a gamester,) lor that ollice of the
exchequer called au escheator, well known to the common
people of that time; and named, either corruptly or satiri-
cally, a cheater. =; 3 S: ) — ir «7 A lifo point*-] As a mark of
his commission. ^= iO:)—much!] Much was a common e»-
pressiou of disdain at that time, of the »ame sense witk
i that more modern one, Marry, cume up. = 41:) — down, fai-
tors!J i.e. traitiilrs, ra-c.ils. ^=4 2:) — //are ire not Hiren— ]
A cam word fur a harlot. = 43:) — Cannibals,] By a blun-
der for Hannibal. r= 4i:)— feed and be fat, my fair I'ali-
polis:] This is a burlesque on a line in an old play The
Battle of Alcazar, K.c. printed in 151-4, in wbich IMuley Ma-
homet enters to his wife with lion's flesh on his sword:
"Feed then, and faint not, my fair Co/i/po/»«." = 45:) Come
we to full points here; Kc] That is, shall wc stop here,
shall we have no further entertainment 1 Johnso>. = 46:)
; Street knight, I kiss thy ueif :] i. e. kiss thy list. = 47:) —
I (Sallow-way nags'f] That is, ruinuiun hacknies. = 48:) — like
a sbovegruat shilling:] Perhaps a piece of polished metal
made use of in the play of shovel-board. Slide-thrift, or rhorc-
groat, is one of the games prohibited by statute 33 Henry VIII.
c. 9. = 4?^:) — nave of a wheel—] iVai-e and tnare are easily
reconciled, but why nave of a wheel 'f 1 suppose from his
roundness. He was called round man, in contempt, before.
JloM?isoN.= 50:) — tAe liery Trigon, Xc] Triguttum igneum
is the astronomical term when the upper plauels meet in a
liery sign. = 51:) — a kirlle off] K woman's kirtle, or rather,
upper kirtle, (as distinguished from a petticoat, which wan
sometimes called a kirtle,) was a long mantle which reached
to the ground, with a bead to it that entirely covered the
face; aiid it was, perhaps, usually red. A balfkirtle was
a similar garment, reaching only somewhat lower than the
waist. = 62:) Ha.' a bastard, kc'.] The improbability of this
scene is scarcely balauced by the humour. Joiisso>.= 63:)

— if you take not the heat.] .Alluding, perhaps, to the pro-
verb, "Strike while the iron is Aot.'^ = 54:)— /or suffering
flesh to be eaten, ke.] By several statutes made iu the reigns
of Elizabeth and James i. for the regulation and observance
of lish days, victuallers were expressly forbidden lo utter
flesh in Lent, and to these Falstaff alludes. =

ACT HI. ^= 1:) "O sleep, O gentle sleep," — M.*losb.
= 2:) TAat, tritA tAe burly,] Hurly is noise, derived from
the French AuWer, to bowl, as hurly-burly from hurluberlu,
Fr. = 3:) — J/«t irAiVA of you was by, Kc] He refers to £ii«;
lUehard II. Act IV. .sc. ii. But whither the king's or the
author's memory fails him, so it was, that Warwick was
not pre.«ent at tuat conversation. \ either was the kin^ him-
self present, so that he must have received iiil'urmation of
what passcil frum Northumberland. His mrmory, indeed, is
singularly treacherous, as, at the time of which he is now
speaking, he had actually ascended the throne. Besides
Shakspeare has mistaken the name of the preient nobleinau.
The earldom of Warwick was at this lime in the family o(
Beauchamp, and did not come into that of the I^evils till
many years after. =4:) — / Aad no such intent,] He means,
"/ should have had no such intent, but that uecessitv," j:c.
or Snakspearc has here also forgotten bis former play, or
has chosen tu make Henry forget bis situation at the time
mentioned. He had then actually accepted the crown. =5:)

— tAat Gleudower i» dead.] Gleudower did not die till after
King Henry iV. Shakspeare was led into this error by Ho-
linshed, who places l>wen Gleudowcr's death iu the lentk
year of Henry's reign. =6:) — 6jf tAe rood.] i. e. the cross.
= 7:) — swiiige-bucklers — ] Swinge-bucklers and swash-
bucklers were words implying rakes or rioters in the time
of Shakspeare. = 6:) — 6on'aro6o«—] i. e. ladies of pleasure.
Bona Roba, Ital. = 9:)— Skogan'* Aearf— ] This was JoAn
Scogan, jester to king Edward IV. and not Henry, the poet,
who lived long before, but is frequently confounded with
him. Our author, no doubt, was well read in John's Jests,
"gathered by Andrew Hoarde, doctor of physic," aud printed
in 4to. and black letter, but without date. = 1 0:) — a crack,]
This is an old Islandic word, signifying a hoy or child. =
1 1:) _ clapped tt.he clout—] i. e. hit the white mark : at
twelve score; i.e. of yards. r= 12:) — J/o»ter Sure-card, as
1 think.] It is observable, that many of Shakspeare'* names
are invented, and characteristical. Master Forth-right, the
tiller; Master Shoe tie, the traveller; Master Smooth, the
silkman; .Mrs. Over-done, the bawd; hateieep-rfoirn, Jane
.VigAf-irori-, Lc. Sure-curd was used as a term for a boon
companion, so lately as the latter end of the last century,
by one of the translators n( Suetonius. M %l.o^K.= IS:)
Here is two more called than your number ;] Five only
have been called, and the numbtr required is four. Some
name seems to have been omitted bv the transcriber. The
restoration of this sixth man would solve the dilViculty that
occurs below : for when Mouldy and Hull-calf are set aside,
Falstaff, as Dr. Farmer has observed, gels but tAree re-
cruits. Perhaps our author himself is answerable for Ibis
slight inaccuracy. Mai.o>k. = 14:) "Stay at home till yon
are past service:"- Maloxk. = 16:) -tAe tbewes,] i.e. th«
muscular strength or appearance of manhood. In ancient
writers this term usually implies manners, or behaviour
„„jy __ i^i)—foeman—] An obsolete term for an enemy in

, irar^l7:) — caliver—] A caliver was less and lighter than
a musquct, as is evident from its being fired without a rest.

992

NOTES.

[Pi.: 19.] Tii.S.

= 18:) — traverse;^ An ancient term in military exercise.
= 19:) — 1 was then sir Uagonct in Arthur's show,)] Ar-
thur's show, liere supposed to have been presented at Clc-
ineut's inn, was probably an interlude, or masque, vthich
actually existed, and was very popular in Shakspeare's age:
and seems to have been conipilecf from Mallery's Morte Ar-
thur, or the History of King Arthur, then recently published,
and the favourite and most fashionable romance. Hut some
tuink Arthur's show was an exhibition of arcnery on Mile-
end greeu. =:20:) —a little quiver ffllow,] Quiuer is nimble,
active, ice. ^= 21:) — about Turubull-street;] Turnbull or
Turnmill- street, is near Cow-cross, West Smitlilield. •:=:22:)
''invincible:" — Mai.one. = 22:) — oi;cr-scuielied— j that is,
whijtt, curferf.^=24:) — fancies, or his gnod-nights.] Fancies
and Oood-nights were the titles of little poems. = 2 5:) ^nrf
now is this vice's dagger—^ iiy Hce here the poet means
that droll character in the old plays equipped with ass's
ears and a wooden dagger. The viord vice is an abbrevia-
tion of device, but tiie commentators are not agreed ou this
important point. = 26:) — beat his own uamt;:J that is, beat
gaunt, a fellow so slender, that his name migut have been
gaunt. =

ACT IV. = 1:) — well-appointed— 1 i.e. completely ac-
cout^erf. ^=: 2:) — guarded iritft rage,'] Guarded is an expres-
sion taken from dress; it means the same as /acerf, turned
up. = 3:) — graves,] For graves Dr. VVarburton very plausi-
bly reads glaives, and is followed by Sir Tliomas flanmer.
But we might perhaps as plausibly read greofcs, i. e. armour
for the legs, a kind of boots. = 4:) — our griefs—] i.e. our
grievances. r= 8:) — commotion's bitter edge'i] i. e. the edge
of bitter strife and commotion; the sword of rebellion. =

6:) My brother general, iVic. H I make my quarrel in

particular.] The sense is this — "My brother general, the
commonwealth, which ought to distribute its beuelits equally,
is become an enemy to those of his own house, lo brothers
born, by giving all to some, and others none; and this (says
he) 1 make my quarrel or grievance that honours are un-
equally distributed;" the cojistant birth of male-contents,
and the source of civil commotions. VVarbuktok. Uiher
senses have been attempted by other commentators, but
none more probable. =-= 7:) Construe the times to their ne-
cessities,] that is, — Judge of what is done in these times,
according to the exigencies that over- rule us. = 8:) Either
from the king, &c.] Whether the faults of government be
imputed to the time or the king, it appears not that you
have, for your part, been injured eitner by the king or the
time. = 9:) Their armed staves in charge, cVc] An armed
staff is a lance. To be in charge, is to be fixed in the rest
for the encounter. = 10:) — tAetr beavers down,] Beaver
meant properly that part of the helmet which let down, to
enable the wearer to drink; but is conlounded both here
and in Hamlet with visiere, or used for helmet in general.
= 11:) — sights of steel,] i. e. the perforated part of their
helmets, through which they could see to direct their aim.
:=12:) — TAe earl of Hereford—] This is a mistake of our
author's. He was duke of Heretor d. = 13:) — substantial
form;] that is, by a pardon of due form and legal validity.
= 14:) — awful banks again,] i. e. the proper limits of re-
verence. = 15:) — consist upon,] Perhaps the meaning is, as
our conditions shall stand upon, shall make the fou..daiion
of the treaty. A Latin sense. = Id:) — nice,] i. e. trivial. =
17:) That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,] Royal
faith means the faith due to a Hng:. ^=18:) — picking griev-
ances:] ticking means piddling, insignilicant. = 19:) — «'/pe
his tables clean;] Alluding to a table book of s^lale, ivory,
icc. = 20:) — an iron man,] i. e. clad in armour. = 21:) —
workings:] i. e. labours of thought. = 22:) You have taken
up,] To take up is to levy, to raise in arms. = 23:) — in
common sense,] Common sense is the general sense of ge-
neral danger. Johnson. = 24:) kFhose dangerous eyes may
well be charmed asleep,] Alluding to the dragon charmed to
rest by the spells of Medea. = 26:) y4«(i so, success of mis-
chief—] Success for succession. = 2b:)— and do allow—]
i. e. approve. ^=21:) Against ill chances, men are ever merry ;J
Thus the poet describes Romeo as feeling an unaccustomed
degree of cheerfulness just before he hears the news of the
death of Juliet. = 28:) — let our trains, \;c.] that is, our
army on each part, that we may both see those that were
to have opposed us. = 29:) Fondly brought here, Jtc] Fondly
is foolishly. = 30:) Exeunt.] It cannot but raise some in-
dignation to find this horrid violation of faith passed over
thus slightly by the poet, without any note of censure or
detestation. Johnson. =31:) The heat is past,] 'i'hat is, the
violence of resentment, the eagerness of revenge. = 32:) —
cinders of the element.] A ludicrous term for the stars. =
33:) — stand my good lord,] i. e. stand my good friend. =
34:)— 1, in my condition,] Condition is, perhaps, the same
with temper of mind: or it may mean, /, in my condition,
i. c. in my place as commanding oflicer, who ought to re-
present things merely as they are, shall speak of you bet-
ter than you deserve. = 35:) — your dukedom.] He had no
dukedom. = 36:) — this same young sober blooded boy doth
not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh;] Fal-
staff here speaks like a veteran in life. The young prince
did not love him, and he despaired to gain his affection,
for he could not make him laugh. Men only become friends
by community of pleasures. Fie who cannot be softened
into gaiety, cannot easily be melted into kindness. =37:) —
to any proof:] i. e. any couiirmed state of manhood. The

allusion is to armour hardened till it abides a certain trial.
= 38:) — apprehensive,] i. e. quick to understand. = 39:) —
forgetive,] Forgetive from forge ; inventive, imaginative.
= 40:) — kept by a devil;] It was anciently supposed that
all the mines of gold, iVc. w ere guarded by evil spirits. =
41:)— till sack commences it,] i. e. till sack gives it a be-
ginning, brings it into action : or perhaps, Snakspeare al-
ludes to the Cambridge Commencement; and in what fol-
lows to the Oxford Act: for by those different names our
two universities have long distinguished the season, at which
each of them gives to her respective students a complete
authority to use those hoards of learning which have en-
titled them 10 their several degrees in arts, law, physic,
and divinity. = 4 2:) — / have him already tempering, iVc]
A very pleasant allusion to the old use of sealing with soft
wax. ^43:) Uur navy is address'd,) i.e. Our navy is ready,
prepared. = 44:) — if he be observ'd:] i.e. if he has respect-
ful attention shown to him. =45:) — humorous as winter,]
That is, cnangeible as the weather of a winter's day. =
46:) — congealed in the spring of day] Alluding to the opin-
ion of some philosophers, ti.at the vapours being congealed
in the air by cold, ^wuich is most inieuse towards the
morning,) and being attervvards rarilied and let loose by the
warmtii of the sun, occasion tliose sudden and impetuous
gusts of wind which are called flaws. Wakburton. = 4 7:)
Mingled with venom of suggestion,] Though tlieir blood be
intlaincd by the temptations to which youth is peculiarly
subject. = 48:) — rash gunpowder.] Hash is quick, violent,
suddeu. This repre^entalion of the prince is a natural pic-
ture of a young man, whose passions are yet too strung
for his virtues. Johnson. = 49:) — his affections — ] His pas-
sions; his inordinate desires. =50:) 'Tis seldom, when the
bee, Acc.J As the bee having once placed her comb in a car-
case, slays by her honey, so he that has once taken plea-
sure in bad company, uiU continue to associate with those
that ha^e the art oi pleasing him. Joh>son.^=-5 I:) — in his
-particular.] His is used for its, very frequently in the old
plays. =o2:) Hath wrought the mure, iVc] i. e. the wall.-=
5 3:) The people fear me;] i. e. make ine afraid. =54:) Un-
fatherd heirs,] That is, equivocal births; animals that had
no animal progenitors; productions not brought forth ac-
cording to tue stated laws of generation. Johnson. = 55:)
— as the year—] i. e. as if the year, ^c.= 56:) The river
hath thrice flowed,] Tiiis is historically true. It happened
on the 12th of October, 1411. = 5 7:) Unless some dull—]
\' Dull signifies melancholy, gentle, soothing, or, producing
dullnens or heaviness ; and consequently sleep. -= 58:) Set
i me the crown upon my pillow here.] It is still the custom
in France to place the crown on the king's pillovr when he
I is dying. = 5S:) — the ports—] Are the gates of slumber.
Forts is the ancient military term for gates ; and is yet used
j in this sense in Scotland. = 60:) — homely biggin — J A kind
1 of cap, at present worn only by children ; but so called from
the cap worn by the Heguines, an order of nuns. = 61:) —
i this golden rigol — J ili>o/ineaiisa circZe. =62:) — tolling — ]
\ Tolling is taking toll. = 6S:) Yield his engrossments—]
His accumulations. = 64:) — determined — ] i. e. ended; it is
still used ill this sense in legal conveyances. ^^6 5:) — »ea/'rf
up my expectation:] Thou hast confirmed my opinion. =
66:) — in med'cine portable:] 'i'here has long prevaijed an
opinion that a solution of gold has great medicinal virtues,
and that the incorruptibility of gold might be communicated
to the body impregnated with it. =67:) — soil—] is spot,
dirt, turpitude, reproach. =68:) — supposed ;)eaee:1 Counter-

! :] Cou
old ft

feiled, iincigiued, not real. = 69:) — all these bold fears,]
Fear is here used in the active sense, for that which causes
/ear. = 70:) Changes the mode:] Mode is the form or state
of tilings. = 71:) —for what in me was purchas'd,] Pur-
chased, in this place, signilies acquired by unjust and indi-
rect methods. Furchase, in Shakspeare, frequently ineana
stolen goods, or goods dishonestly obtained. = 72:) — suc-
cessively.] Hy order of succession. Every usurper snatches
a claim of hereditary right as soon as he can. = 73:) To lead
out many to the Hohf Land;] The sense is: of those who
assisted my usurpation, some 1 have cut off, and many /
intended to lead abroad. This journey to the Holy Land,
of which the king very frequently revives the mention, had
two motive.^, religion .ind policy. He durst not wear the
ill-gotten crown without expiation, but in the act of expia-
tion he contrives to make his wicLediiess successful. John-
son. ^^ 7 4:) How I came, iVc] This is a true picture of a
mind divided between heaven and earth. He prays for the
prosperity of guilt while he deprecates its punishment.
Johnson. =

ACT V. =1:) — those precepts cannot be served:] Pre-
cept is a justice's warrant. To the oflices which Falstaff
I gives Davy in the following scene, may be added that of
I justice's clerk. Davy has almost as many employments as
Scrub in The Stratagem. = 2:) Let it be cast,] that is, cast
up. computed. = 3:) — bearded hermifs staves — ] He had
before called him the starved justice. His want of iiesh is
a standing jest. = 4:) — near their master:] i. e. admitted
to their master's confidence. = 5:) — two actions,)] There
is something humorous in making a spendthrift compute
time by the operation of an action for debt. = 6:) — fellow
that never had the ache—] that is, a young fellow, one
whose disposition to merriment time and pain have not yet
impaired. =: 7:) — not the Turkish court;] Not the court
where the prince that mouats the throne puts his brothers

to death. = 8:) — }Fa« this easy "?] that is, was this not
grievous? Shaksnearc has easy in this sense elsewhere.
Jou>so!«. ^ S:J To trip the course of laic,] to defeat tUe
process of justice; a uietaplior taken from the act of trip-
uinff a runner. = 1 0:) ^iiiil mock your workings in a second
body.] To treat with contempt jour acts executed by a re-
presentative. = 11:) — and propose a son:] i. e. image to
yourself a son, coiurive lor a moment to think you liave
one. = 12:) — in your stale,] ia your regal character and of-
fice, not with the pasi^ion of a man interested, but with the
impartiality of a legislator. Johnson. = 13:)— remem-
brance,] that is, admonition. = 14:) My father is gone wild — ]
The meaning is — .My wild dispositions having ceased on
my father's death, and being now as it were buried in his
tomb, he and Mildness arc interred in the same grave. ^=
15:) — with his spirit sadly / survive,] Sadly in the same as
soberly, seriously, gravely. Sad is opposed to wild. Jouk-
8os. = lt:) — fAe state of floods,] i. e. dignity of floods, or
of the ocean. = 17:) — and females dear, A:c.] I'his very
natural character of Justice Silence is nut suflicieuily ob-
served. He would scarcely speak a word before, and now
there is no possibility of stopping his mouth. = 18:) — jiro-
facd] Italian from pro faccia; a cant term in Italy, that is,
much good may it do you. = If-;) — TAe heart's all.] That
is, the intention with which the entertainment is given. The
humour consists in making Davy act as master of the house.
Johnson. = 20:) "wife has all ;" — Malone.:=21:)— ieatAer-
coats — ] The apple commonly denominated russctiuc, iu
Devonshire, is called the buff-coat. = 22:) — cavaieroes — ]
This was the term by which an airy, splendid, irregular
, fellow was distinguished. The soldiers uf king Charles were
called cavaliers from the gaiety which they atfected iu op-
position to the sour faction of the parliament. =23:) J>o me
right,] To do a man right, and to do him reason, were
formerly the usual expressions in pledging healths. He who
drank a bumper, expected that a bumper should be drauk
to his toa.st. =2 i:) And dub me knight:] U was the custom
of the good fellows of t^hakspeare's days to drink a very
large draught uf wine, and sometimes a less palatable pota-
tion, on their knees, to the health of tiieir mistress. He
who performed this exploit was dubb'd a. knight for the
evenlng. = 25:) Samingo.] Samingo, tuat is, San Domingo,
as some nf the commentators liave rightly observed. £ut
what is the meaning and propriety of the name here, has
not yet been shown. = 2t:) — but goodman Pulf of Barson.]
A little before, William Visor of Woucot is mentioned.
Woudmancot and Barton (says -Mr. Edwards's MSS), which

I suppose are these tv«o places, and are represented to be
in the neighbourhopd of Justice Shallow, are both of them
iu Berkeley hundred iu Glostershire. This, 1 imagine, was
done to disguise the satire a little: for Sir Thomas Lucy,

II ho, by the coat of arms he bears, must be the real Justice
Shallow, lived at Chart ecot, near Stratford, in VVarwickshire.
Stkkvens. = 27:) — Bezonian'^J A term of reproach, fre-
quent iu the writers coulempurary with our poet. Bisognoso,
a needy person; thence metaphorically, a base scoundrel.
= 28:) — — lig me, like Ij The bragging Spaniard.] To Jig,
in Spanish, higas dar, is to insult, by puttiug the thumb be-
tween the fore and middle finger. Prom this Spanish cus-
tom we yet say in contempt, "a fig for you." Johnson. =
29:) Fal. What! is the old king deady i|Pist. Js nail in
door:] This proverbial expression is olteuer used than un-
derstood. The door nail is the nail on which iu ancient
doors the knocker strikes. It is therefore used as a com-
parison to any one irrecoverably dead, one who has fallen
(as Virgil says) multd morte, i. e. viith abundant death,
such as reiteration of strokes on the head would naturally
produce. =30:) Nut-hook, .Vc] Nut-hook seems to have been
IU those times a term of reproach for a catchpoll; or, as
gome think, a cant word for a thief, or rogue. =31:) — a
dozen of cushions — ] that is, to stutt' her out that she might
counterfeit pregnancy. = 3 2:) — thou thin man in a censer!]
An embossed iigiirc in the middle of the pierced convex lid
of the censer. = 33:) — bluebottle rogue.'] A name, 1 sup-
pose, given to the beadle, from the colour of his livery;
and an allusion to the flesh-fly so called. = 3 4:) — half-kir-
tles.] From the description of a A'/rt/e given by the commen-
tators, a half-kirtle should seem to be a short cloak. Per-
haps a cloak, without sleeves, was here meant. ^=35:) 3/ore
rushes, i:c.] It has been already observed, that at ceremo-
nial entertainments, it was the custom to strew the floor
with rushes. Chambers, and indeed all apartments usually
inhabited, were formerly strewed iu this manner. As our
ance»tors rarely washed iheir floors, disguises of uncleanli-
uess became necessary things. = 36:) — ^Tis all in every
part.] The sentence alluded to is: — "'Tis all iu all, and
all in every part." And so doubtless it should be read. 'Tis
a common way of expressing one's approbation of a right
measure to say, 'tis all in all. = 37:) — most royal imp of
fame!] The word imp is perpetually used by ancient wri
ters, for progeny. = 38:) — profane;] In our author it often
signifies /oi;e of talk, without the particular idea now given
it. = 39:) — hence,] i. e. henceforward, from this time, in
the future. = 40;) S'ot to come near our person by ten mile.]
Mr. Rowe observes, that many readers lament to see Fal-
staff' so hardly used by his old friend. But if it be consi-
dered, that the fat knight has never uttered one sentiment
of generosity, and with all his power of exciting mirth, has
nothing in him that can be esteemed, no great pain will be
suffered from the reflection that he is compelled to live ho-
nestly, and maintaiued by the king, with a promise uf ad-

\'ancement when he shall deserve it. I think the poet more
blameable for Poins, who is always represented as joiuiug
some virtues with his vices, and is therefore treated by the
prince with apparent distinction, yet he dues uothing in the
time of actiou:^ and Uiough after the bustle is over, he is
again a favourite, at last vanishes without notice. Shak-
speare_ certainly lost him by heedlessness, in the multipli-
city of his characters, the variety of his action, and his
eagerness to end the play. Johnson. This circumstance
was originally mentioned by Hall, and is thus recorded by
Holinshed, who was certainly Shakspeare's historian: "Im-
mediately after that he w as invested kyng, and had reccyved
the crow lie, he determined with hiinselfe to puite upon him
the shape of a new man, turning insolence and wildness
into gravitie and sobernesse: and whereas he had passed
his youth iu wanton pastime and riotous misorder, with a
sorte of misgoverned mates, and uuthriftie playfeers, he
now banished them from his presence, (not unrewarded nor
yet unpreferred,) inhibiting them upon a great payne, not
once to approcke, lodge, or sojourne within ten miles of
his courte or mansion: and in their places he elected and
chose men of gravitie, witte, and hygh policie, by whose
wise couusell he might at all limes rule to his hououre : —
whereas if he should have reteined the other lusiie com-

fiaiiions ahoute him, he doubted least they might have al-
ured him into such lewde and lighte partes, as with them
before lyme he had youthfully used."^41:) — to the Pieet ;']
I do not see why Falstatf is carried to the Fleet. We have
never lost sight of him since his dismission from the king;
he has committed no new fault, and therefore incurred uo
punishment; but the different agitations of fear, anger, and
surprize iu him and his company, made a good scene to the
eye; and our author, who wanted ihem no longer on the
stage, was glad to find this method of sweeping them away.
Johnson. = 42:) This epilogue was merely occasional, and
alludes to some theatrical transaction. Johnson. = 43:) — All
the gentlewomen, &c.] The trick of influencing one part of
the audience by the favour of the other, has been played
already in the epilogue to As you like it. Johnson. = 44:)
— where, for any thing 1 know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat,
unless already he be killed with your hard opinions; for
Uldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man.] Shak-
speare, I think, meant to say, that "Falstalf may perhaps
die of his debaucheries in France," — (having mentioned
Falstafl^s death, he then, with his usual licence, uses the
word in a metaphorical sense, adding,) — "unless he be al-
ready killed by the hard and unjust opinions'" of those who
imagined thai the knight's character (like his predecessor)
was intended as a ridicule on Sir John Uldcastle, the good
Lord Cobham. This our author disclaims, reminding the
audience that there can be no ground for such a supposition.
I call them, (says he) Aard and unjust opinions "for Sir
John Uldcastle was no debauchee, but a protestant martyr,
and our Falstaff is not the man;" i.e. is no represcntatiou
of him, has uo allusion whatsoever to him. Shakspeare
seems to have been pained by some report that his inimi-
table character, like the despicable buffoon of the old play
of Henry V. whose dress and figure resembled that of Fal-
staff, was meant to throw an imputation on the memory of
Lord Cobham ; m hich, iu the reign of so zealous a friend in
the Protestant cause as Elizabeth, would not have been
easily pardoned at court. Our author, had he been so in-
clined, (which we have uo grouud for supposing,) was much
too wise to have ever directed any ridicule at the great
martyr for that cause which was so warmly espoused by his
queen and patroness. The former ridiculous representations
of Sir John Uldcastle on the stage were undoubtedly pro-
duced by papists, and probably often exhibited, in inferior
theatres, to crowded audiences, between the years 1580 and
15iK). Malone.= 45:) — to pray for the ^ueen.] It was the
custom of the old players at the end of the performance,
to pray for their patrons. Almost all the aucient interludes
I have met with conclude with some solemn prayer for the
king or queen, house of commons. Sec. Hence, perhaps, the
Fivant Rex et Regina, at the bottom of our modern play-
bills. SiKKVKNS. =

XX. KING HENRY V.

ACT I. = 1:) 0, for a muse of fire, &c.]_ This goes, says
Warburton, upon the notion of the Peripatetic system, which
imagines several heavens one above another; the last and
highest of which was one of fire. It alludes likewise to the
asiiiring nature of fire, which, by its levity, at the separa-
tion of the chaos, took the highest seat of all the elements.
Johnson. But these remarks arc perhaps too fanciful. = 2:)

princes to act, || Andmonarchs to behold— ] Shakspeare

does not seem to set distance enough betw een the performers
and spectators. = 3:) Within this wooden O,] Au allusion to
the theatre where this history was exhibited, being, from
its circular form, called The Globe. = 4:) — the very cas-
ques,] The helmets. = 5.) — imaginary forces—] Imaginary
for imaginative, or your powers ot fancy. Active and pas-
sive words are by this author frequently confounded. John-
son = 6:) ^nd make imaginary puissance:] 'Ihis shows that
Shakspeare was fully sensible of the absurdity ot showing
battles on the theatre, which, indeed, is never done, but
tragedy becomes farce. Nothing can be represented to the

63

994

NOTES

[Pi.: 20] Th.S.

eye, but by something like it, and within a wooden O no-
thing very like a battle can be exhibited. = 7:) — o/ Canter-
bury,] Henry Chicheley, a Carthusian monk, recently pro-
moted to the see of Canterbury. = 8:) — £/!/.] John Fordham,
consecrated 1388; died 1426. = 9:) Never came reformation
in a flood,^ Alluding to the method by which Hercules
cleansed the famous stables, uhen he turued a river through
them. Hercules still is in our author's head, when he men-
tions the hydra. JoHi«isoiii. = 10:) The air, &c.] This line is
exquisitely beautiful. = 11:) So that the art and practic
part of /i/e— ] He discourses with so much skill on all sub-
jects, that the art and practice of life must be the mistresn
or teacher of his theoric; that is, that his theory must
have been taught by art and practice; which, says he, is
strange, since he could see little of the true art or practice
among his loose companions, nor ever retired to digest his
practice into theory. Jrt is used by the author for prac-
tice, as distinguished from science, or theory. Johnson. =
12:) — companies — ] is here used for companions. It is used
by other authors of Shakspeare's age in the same sense. =
13:) — popularity.] i.e. plebeian intercourse; an unusual
sense of the word. -=1^:) — crescive in his faculty.'^ Increas-
ing in its proper power. =15:) The severals, and unhidden
passages,] This Hue I suspect of corruption, though it may
be fairly enough explained: the passages of his titles are
the lines of succession by which his claims descend. Vn-
hiddenia open, clear. Johnson. = 16:) — ta»fc — ] Keep busied
with scruples and laborious disquisitions. =17:) Ur nicely
charge your understanding soul — ] Take heed, lest by nice
and subtle sophistry you burthen your knowing soul, or
knowingly burthen your soul, with the guilt of advancing a
false title, or of maintaining, by specious fallacies, a claim
which, if shown in its native and true colours, would ap-
pear to be false. r= 18:) — miscreate,^ lll-begottcn, illegi-
timate, spurious. = 19:) — in approbation—] i. e. in proving
aud supporting that title which shall be now set up.= 20:)

— giose,] expound, explain, and sometimes comment upon.
r= 2 1:) To line his title, Kc] To fine his title, is to make
it showy or specious by some appearance of justice. Strk-
VEN8.= 22:) Convey'd himself —'\ Derived his title. ^=23:)

— imbare their crooked titles—} i. e. to lay open, to display
to view. = 24:) They of those marches,] The marches are
the borders, the limits, the conlines. Hence the lords mar-
chers, i. e. the lords presidents of the marches, AiC. = 25:)

— the main intendment—] Intendment is here perhaps used
for intention, which in our author's time signilicd extreme
exertion. The main intendment may, however, mean, the
general disposition. = 2t:) "at the bruit thereof." -- Ma-
lone. = 27:) — fear'd—'] i. e. frightened. = 28:) — in one
concent-,] 1 learn from Ur. Burney, that concent is con-
nected harmony, in general, and not confined to any speci-
fic consonance. Thus, (says the same elegant and well-in-
formed writer,) concentio and concentus are both used by
Cicero for the union of voices or instruments in what we
should now call a chorus, or concert. Steevens. = 29:) Set-
ting endeavour in continual motion ; || To which is fixed,
as an aim or butt, || Obedience :} Neither the sense nor the
construction of this passage is very obvious. The construc-
tion is, endeavour — as an aim or butt to which endeavour,
obedience is fixed. The sense is, that all endeavour is to
terminate in obedience, to be subordinate to the public
good and general design of government. = 30:)^ and offi-
cers of s»rt8 :] Oflicers of sorts means oflicers of different
degrees. =31:) — civil—] i.e. sober, grave. ^=32:) — to exe-
cutors— ] Executors is here used for executioners. = 33:)

— empery,} This word, which signifies dominioji, is now
obsolete, though formerly iu general use. !=34:) "a paper
epitaph." ]VIaloke. = 35:) — a nimble galliard won;] \ gal-
liard was an ancient dance, now obsolete. :=:36:) — chaces.}
Chace is a term at tennis. = 37:) — fA/s poor seat of Eng-
land;} By the -seat of England, the king means the throne.
= S8:) yind therefore, living hence,] Living hence means,
withdrawing from the court, the place in which he is now
speaking. =39:) For that 1 have laid by—} To qualify my-
self for this undertaking, 1 have descended from my station,
and studied the arts of life in a lower character. Johnson.
=40:) — his balls to gun-stones-,] When ordnance was lirst
used, they discharged balls, not of iron, but of stone. =

ACT II. =1:) — ffee gilt of France,} Gilt, which, in our
author, generally signiiies a display of gold, \n the present
instance, means golden money. = 2:) — while we force a
play.] To force a play, is to produce a play by compelling
many circumstances into a narrow compass. = 3:) — and
we'll be all three sworn brothers to France;} The humour
of sworn brothers should be opened a little. In the time of
adventure, it was usual fiir two chiefs to bind themselves
to share in each other's fortune, and divide their acquisi-
tions between them. So, in the Conqueror's expedition, Ro-
bert de t)ily, and Roger do Ivery, were fratres jurati; and
Robert gave one of^thc honours he received to his sworn
brother Kitger. SSo these three scoundrels set out for France,
as if they were going to make a conquest of the kingdom.
= 4:) — 0 well-a (lay. Lady, if he be not drawn now.'} This
is omitted by Mr. Malone.^=5:) / am not Barbason;] Bar-
bason is the name of a daemon mentioned in The Merry
Wives of Windsor. The unmeaning tumour of Pistol's
speech very naturally reminds IN}"' of the sounding non-
sense uttered by cojy'urors. = 6:) T/iere/ore ■exhale.] Exhale,
perhaps here signifies draw, or in Pistol's language, hale,

or lug out: but more probably it means ^ tAere/ore Jreat/ie
your last, or die. a threat common enough amoug dramatic
heroes of_ a higher rank than Pistol, who only expresses
this idea in the fantastic language peculiar to his character.
= 7:) Mr. Malone's punctuation is, "for, lambkins we will
live." = 8:) For which wc have in head assembled them'f}
In head seems synonymous with the modern military term
in force. ^9:) — hearts create — ] Hearts conipountled or
made vp of duty and zeal. = 10:) — more advice,} On his
return to more coolness of mind. = 11:) — proceeding on
distemper,] It has been just said by the king, that it was
excess of wine that set him on, and distemper may there-
fore mean intoxication. Distemper'' d in liquor is still a
common expression. = 12:) — how shall we stretch our eye,}
If we may not wink at small faults, how wide must wc open
our eyes at great. = 13:) Who are the late commissioners'^}
that is, as appears from the sequel, who are the persons
lately appointed commissioners °< := 14:) — quick — ] that is,

living. = 15:) though the truth of it stands off as

gross II /Is black from white,} Though the truth be as ap-
pareut and visible us black and while contiguous to each
other. To stand off is etre releve, to be prominent to the
eye, as the strong parts of a picture. ::= 16:) — so grossly —
that admiration, kc.} Falpably ; with a plain and visible
connection of cause aud etfcct, that they excited no expres-
sion of surprize. = 17:) — he, that temper'd thee,} i. e. ren-
dered thee pliable to his will. = 18:) — t;a«tJ/ Tartar —] i.e.
Tartarus, the fabled place of future punishment. = 19:) 0,
how hast thou with jealousy infected || The sweetness of
affiance!} Shakspeare uses this aggravation of the guilt of
treachery with great judgment. One^ of the worst conse-

3uences of breach of trust is the diminution of that confi-
ence which makes the happiness of life, and the uissemi-
nation of suspicion, which is the poison of society. John-
son. = 20:) Garnish'' d and deck'd in modest complement;]
Complements, in the age of Shakspearc, meant the same as
accomplishments in the present one. = 21:) Not working
with the eye, without the ear,] The king means to say of
Scroop, that he was a cautious uian, who knew that fronti
nulla fides, that a specious appearance was deceitful, and
therefore did not work with the eye, without the ear, did not
trust the air or look of any man till he had tried hiui by en-
quiry and conversation. =22:) —anrf »o/Jne/«/ bolted,] Bolted
is the same with sifted, and has con»<equently the meaning of
refined. ^=23:) Which 1 iu sufferance heartily will rejoice,}
t'ambridge means to say, at which prevention, or, which in-
tended scheme that it was prevented, 1 shall rejoice. Sliak-
speare has many such elliptical expressions. The intended
scheme that he alludes to, was the taking off Henry, to make
room forhis brother-in-law.T=24:)"iii to desolation.— Malone,
= 25:) —let me bring thee to Staines.} i. e. let me attend,
or accompany thee. = 26:) — an it had been any christom
child;} i.e. child that has wore the chrysom, or white cloth,
put on a new baptised child. = 27:) — turning o''the tide:}
It has been a very old opinion, which Mead, deimperio so-
ils, quotes, as if he believed it, that nobody dies but in the
time of ebb: half the deaths in London confute the notion;
but we find that it was common among the women of the
poet's time. Johnson. =2 8:) — cold as any stone.} Such is
the end of Falstaff, from whom Shaksjieaie had promised
lis, in his epilogue to King Henry IT . that we should re-
ceive more entertainment. It happened to Shakspeare, as
to other writers, to have his imagination crowded wilh a
tumultuary confusion of images, which, while they were yci
uusorted and unexamined, seemed sufficient to furnish a
long train of incidents, and a new variety of merriment:
but which, when he was to produce them to view, shrunk
suddenly from him, or could not be accommodated to his
general design. That he once designed to have brought Fal-
statr on the scene again, wc know from himself; but whe-
ther he could contrive no train of adventures suitable to
his character, or could match him with no companions likely
to quicken his humour, or could open no new vein of plea-
santry, and was afraid to continue the same strain lest it
should not find the same reception, he has here for ever
discarded him, and made haste to despatch him, perhaps
for the same reason for which Addison killed Sir Roger,
that no other hand might attempt to exhibit him. Let meaner
authors learn from this example, that it is dangerous to sell
the bear which is yet not hunted; to promise to the public
what they have not written. This disappointment probably
inclined queen Elizabeth to command the poet to produce
him onre again, and to show him in love or courtship. 'Ibis
was, indeed, a new source of humour, and produced a new
play from the former characters. Johnson. = 29:) — rheu-
matic;} This word is elsewhere used by our author for
peevish, or splenetic, as scorbutico is iu Italian. Mrs.
t^uickly however probably means lunatic. ^=30:) — clear thy
chrysials.] Dry thine eyes. =31:) — so dull a kingdom,} i.e.
render it callous, insensible. = 32:) How modest in excep-
tion,} How diffident and decent in making objections. = 33:)
— strain,] lineage. = 34:) That haunted us—} To haunt is
a M ord of the utmost horror, which shows that they dreaded
the English as goblins and spirits. = 35:) — fate of him.}
His fate is what is allotted him by destiny, or what he is
fated to perform. :^86:) — «i)enrf fAetrmoutAs,] thatis, bark;
the sportsman's terra. = 37:) — memoroWe line,] Tliis ge-
nealogy; this deduction of his lineage. =; 38:) Shall chide
your trespass,} To cAjrfe is to resound, to echo.^=^

Tu.S. [Pi.: 20.]

NOTES

995

ACT lU. = 1:) — rivage,] The *on* or ihore. = 2:) —
to sternage of this nary;] The stem being the hinder part
of the ship, the meaning is, let your minds follow close
after the navy. Stern, however, appears to have been an-
ciently synonymous to rudder. ^=3:) — linttock — ] The staff
to which the match is fixed when ordnance is fired. = 4:) —
jutty—^ The force of the verb to jutty, when applied to
a rock projecting into the sea, is not felt by those who are
unaware that this word anciently signified a mole raised to
withstand the encroachment of the tide. Jutty-beads, in
sea language, are platforms standing oo piles, near the
docks, and projecting without the wharfs, for the more cou-
veniciit docking and undocking ships. ::=d:) — Ai« confounded
bate,] His worn or wasted base. = ti:) "you noble English."

— Malo>k. = 7:) — argument.] Is matter, or subject. = &)

— like greyhounds in the slips,] Slips are a contrivance of
leather, to start Imo dogs at the same time. = t-:) — Fluel-
/e».] This is only the Welsh pronunciation of Lluellyn.
Thus also Flloyd instead of Lloyd, = 10:) — to men of
mould!] To men of eartA, to poor mortal men. =11:) — best
men,-] that is, bravest; so in the next lines, good deeds are
brave actions. ^= 12:) — tAc men would carry coals] It ap-
pears that, in Shakspeare's age, to carry coals, was, I know
not why, to endure affronts. ^=13:) — is dight himself four
yards under the countermines:] Fluellen means, that the
enemy had digged him!<elf countermines four yards under
the mines. = 14:) — will plow up all,] that is, be will blow
up all. = 15:) — / sail quit you — ] That is, I shall, with
your permission, requite you, that is, answer you, or inter-
pose with my arguments, as I shall tind opportunity. =: Iti:)

— tAere i» an end.] It were to be wished, that the poor
merriment of this dialogue had not been purchased with so

much profaneness. Johnson. = 1 7:) fell feats [{ Enlink^d

to waste and desolation^] Allihe savage practices naturally
concomitant to the sack of cities. = 18:) ff'hiles yet the cool
and temperate wind of grace [\ Overblows the filthy and con-
tagious clouds — ] This IS a very harsh metaphor. To orer-
blow is to driue away, or to Areep off.^^ 19:) — are we ad-
drest.] i.e. prepared. ^20:) Scene if.] This scene is mean
enough, when it is read ; uut the grimaces of two French
women, and the odd accent with which they uttered the
Engli.-<h, made it divert upon the stage. It may be observed,
that there is in it not only the French language, but the
French spirit. Alice compliments the princess upon her know-
ledge of four words, and tells her that she pronounces like
the English themselves. The princess suspects no deficiency
in her instructress, nor the instructress in herself. Through-
out the whole scene there may be found French cervility,
and French vanity. Johnson. ^21:) '■'■may foy'^ — Malonk.
= 22:) — our fathers' luxury,] In this place, as in others,
luxury means lust. =23:) — «ai'age — ] is here used in the
French original sense, for silvan, uncultivated, the same
with irj7d.= 2 4:) In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.] Shot-
ten sigiiilies any thing projected: so nook-shotten isle, is
an isle that shoots out into capes, promontories, and necks
of land, the very figure of Great Britain. = 25:) A drench
for sur-rein'd jades,] Sur-rein'd means over worked or rid-
den ; and is perhaps derived from the reins of the back. =
2b:) — lavoltas high,] A dance in which there was much
turning and much capering. =27:) tFith pennons—] Pen-
nons armorial were small flags, on which the arms, device,
and motto of a knight were painted. = 28;)— melted snow — ]
The poet has here defeated himself by passing too soon
from one image to another. To bid the French rush upon
the English as the torrents formed from melted snow stream
from the Alps, was at once vehement and proper, but its
force is destroyed by the grossness of the thought in the
next line. :^ 2 9:) Uf buxom valour,] i. e. valour under good
command, obedient to its superiors. = 30:) For he liath
stoCn a pix,] A pix, or little chest, (from the Latin word

Si'x(«, a box,) in which the consecrated Ao«t was used to
e kept. = 31:) TAe lig of Spain!] Mr. Ssteevens thinks this
is an allusion to the custom of giving poisoned iigs to those
who were the objects either of Spanish or Italian revenge.
= 32:) — a sconce,] appears to have been some hasty, ruUe,
inconsiderable kind of fortification. = 33;) — a beard of the
general's cut,] It appears from an old ballad inserted in a
Miscellany, entitled Le Frince ef Jmour, 8vo. 16tiO, that our
ancestors were very curious in the fashion of their beards,
and that a certain cut or form was appropriated to the sol-
dier, the bishop, the judge, the clown, Acc. The «pade-beard,
and perhaps the «ti/etto-beard also, was appropriated to
the first of these characters. It is observable that our au-
thor's patron, Henry Earl of Southampton, who spent much
of his time in camps, is drawn with the latter of these
beards; and his unfortunate friend. Lord Essex, is constantly
represented with the former. r= 34:) — At* fire's out.] This
is the last time that any sport can be made with the red
face of Bardolph, which, to confess the truth, seems to
have taken mure hold on Shakspeare's imagination than on
any other. The conception is very cold to the solitary rea-
der, though it may be somewhat invigorated by the exhibi-
tion on the stage. This poet is always more careful about
the present than the future, about his audience than his
readers. Johnson. :=35:) Enter Montjoy.] Montjoie is the
title of the first king at arms in France, as Garter is in
our own country. = 3tJ:) — 6y mj habit.] That is, by his he-
rald's coat. The person of a herald being inviolable, was
distinguished in those times of formality by a peculiar dress,
which in likewise yet woru ou particular occasions. = 37:) —

L

upon our cue,] io our turn. This phrase the author learned
among players, and has imparted it to kings. ^= 38:) IfitA-
out impeachment:] i.e. hinderance. Emp^chement, French.
= 39:) — He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were
hairs ;] Alluding to the bounding of tennis-balls, which were
stuffed with hair. = 40:) — your straight trossers.] Thia
word very frequently occurs in the old dramatic writers,
and seems to mean straight breeches, or trowser8.'=41:) —
'tis a hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate.)
This is a poor pun, taken from the terms used in falconry.
The whole sense and sarcasm depends upon the equivoque
of one word, viz. 6ate, in sound, but not in orthugrapny,
answering to the term bate in falconry. When the hawk
is unhooded, her first action is baiting, that is flapping her
wings, as a preparation to her flying at the game. The
hawk wants no courage, but invariably baits upon taking
off the hood. = 42;)— pee»i«A— ] In ancient language, signi-
fied — foolish. ^

ACT rV. = 1:) — stilly sound*,] i. e. gently, lowly. =
2:) — the other's umber'd face:] Umber' d means here dis-
coloured by the gleam of the fires. Umber is a dark yel-
low earth, brought from L mbria in Italy, which being mixed
with waterj produces such a dusky yellow colour as the
gleam of fire by night gives to the countenance. r= 3;) —
orer-lusty— ] i. e. ov_er-»oucj^. =4:) Do the low-rated Eng-
lish play at dice;] i. e. do play them away at dice. =5:)
Minding true things,] To mind is the same as to call to
remembrance. ^=6:) "'that we should 'dress, ke. — Malonb.
= 7:) /Fi'rA ca«tea slough, ^.c.] Slough is the skin which
the serpent annually throws off, and by the change of which
he is supposed to regain new vigour and fresh youth. Leger-
ity is lightness, nimbleuess. Johnson. = 8:) it sorts — ] i. e. it
agrees.^ 9:) — conditions:] Are qualities. The meaning is,
\ that objects are represented by his senses to him, as to
other men by theirs. What is danger to another is danger
likewise to him; and, when he feels fear, it is like the fear
of meaner mortals. = 10:) — tAefr children rawly left.] i.e.
left young and hel2>less. = Hi) — native punfsAment,] That
is, punishment in their native country; or, perhaps, native
punishment is such as they were born to, if^ihey offend. =
12:)— Every subject's duty — ] This is a very just distinc-
tion, and the whole argument is well followed, and properly
concluded. = 13:) 'Mass, you II pay him then.'] To pay, in
old language, meant to thrash or beat; and here signifies
to bring to account, to punish. = 14:) — too round;] i.e. too
rough, too unceremonious. T= 15:) Upon the king! &c.] There
is something very striking and solemn in this soliloquy, into
which the king breaks immediately as soou as he is left
aloue. Something like this, on less occasions, every breast
has felt. Heflection and seriousness rush upon the mind
upon the separation of a gay company, and especially after
forced and unwilling merriment. Johnson. = 16:i — 'farced
title running, ic] Farced is stuffed. The tumiu puffy ti-
tles with which a king's name is always introduced. This,
I think, is the sense. Johnson. = 17:) Can sleep so soundly,
^c] These lines are exquisitely pleasing. To sweat in the
eye of Fhcebus, and to sleep in Elysium, are expressions

very poetical. Johnson. = 18:) but little trota, ||

What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, \' tf'hote
hours the peasant best advantages.] The sense of^ this pas-
sage, which is expressed with some slight obscurity, seem*
to be — He little knows at the expense of how much royal
vigilance, that peace, which brings most advantage to the
peasant, is maintained. To advantage is a verb elsewhere
used by Shakspeare. = 19:) Two chantries,] One of these
monasteries was for Carthusian monks, and was called Beth-
lehem ; the other was for religious men and women of the
order of Saint Bridget, and was named Sion. They were on
opposite sides of the Thames, and adjoining the royal manor
of Sheen, now called it/cAmond. = 20:) Via! — les eaux et la
terre—] Via is an old hortatory exclamation, as aUon*!-=
21:) And dout tAem — ] Dout is a word still used in War-
wickshire, and signifies to do out, or extinguish. = 22;) —
a hilding /oe;] Hilding, or hinderling, is a low u retch. r=
23:) The tucket-sonuance, ice] The tucket -sonuance was,
perhaps, the name of an introductory flourish on the trumpet,
as toccata in Italian is the prelude of a sonata on the harp-
sichord, and toccar la tromba is to blow the trumpet. ^=24:)
TAeir ragged curtains poorly are let loose,] By their ragged
curtains are meant their colours. The idea seems to have
been taken from what every man must have observed, i.e.
ragged curtains put in motion by the air, when the windows
of mean houses are left open. = 25:) TAeir horsemen sit
like fixed candlesticks, \\ With torch-staves in their hand:]
Grandpre alludes to the form of ancient candlesticks, which
frequently represented human figures holding *)ie sockets
for the lights in their extended hands. = 2fe) — gimmal
6it— ] Gimmal is, in the western counties, . , '/ig ; a fim-
malbit is therefore a 6itof which the parts ula /A one within
another. = 27:)i stay but for my guard;] It stems, by what
follows, that guard in this place means rather something of
ornament or of distinction, than a body of attendants. John-
son. = 28:) It yearns me not,] To yearn, is to grieve or
vex. =29:) — of Crispian :] The battle of Agincourt was
fought upon the 25th of October, St. Crispin's day. = 30:)
— u>itA advantages,] Old men, notwithstanding the natural
forgetfulncss of age, shall remember their feats of this day,
and remember to tell them iritA advantage. Age is com-
monly boastful and inclined to magnify past acts and past

r 63*

996

NOTE S.

[Pl:21.] Tii.S.

times. Johnson. = 31:) From this day to the ending — ] It
may be observed that we are apt to promise to ourselves
a more lasting memory than the changing state of human
things admits. This prediction is not veriJied; the feast of
Crispin passes by witliout any mention of Agincourt. Late
events obliterate the former: the civil wars have left in this
nation scarcely any tradition of more ancient history. =
S2:)— gentle his condition:} Tliis day shall advance him to
the rank of a gentlemau. Johnson. King Henry V. inhi-
bited any person but such as had a right by inheritance, or
grant, to assume coats of arms, except those who fought
with him at the battle of Agincourt ; and, 1 think, these last
were allowed the chief seats of honour at all feasts and
piiblic meetings. Tollet. = 33:) — upon saint Crispin'' s
dayi.j This speech, like many others of the declamatory
kind, is too long. _ Had it been contracted to about half the
number of lines, it might have gained force, and lost none
of the sentiments. Johnson. = 34:) — mind—'\ i. e. remind.
= 35:) — in brass—'] i.e. in brazen plates anciently let into
tombstones. = 36:) "Mark then abounding," Ike. Malone.
= 3 7:) — warriors for the working-day:] We are soldiers
but coarsely dressed; we have not on our holiday apparel.
= 38:) — our gilt,] i.e. golden show, superlicial gilding.
Obsolete. = 39:) "Quality"? Callino, castore me, art thou,"
Kc. Malone. = 40:)—- thou diest on point of fox,] Fox is
an old cant .word for a sword. = 41:) — luxurious mountain
goat,] Luxurious means lascivious. -=^2:) — a ton o/moysTJ
Moy, says Dr. Johnson, is a piece of money; whence moi
d'or,. or moi of gold; but moy also was a measure of corn.
Which is meant here, the reader may determine. = 43:) —
and lirk him,] The word firk is so variously used by the
old. writers, tbat it is almost impossible to ascertain its
precise meaning. On this occasion it may mean to chastise.
= 44:) 0 perdurable shame!] Ferdurable is lasting. = i 5:)
"Let us die in fight." — Malone. = 46:) — no gentler—]
Who has no more gentility. = 47:) — raught —] i. e. reached.
= 48:) "With wistful," ac. — Malone. = 49:) — the fat
knight — ] This is the last time thatFalstaff can make sport.
The poet was loath to part with him, and has continued
his memory as long as he could. = 50:) — great sort,] High
rank. = 51:) — quite from the answer of his degree.] A man
of such station as is not bound to hazard his person to
answer to a challenge from one of the soldier's low degree. =

ACT v. = 1:) — o mighty Mhiftler— ] An officer who
walks first in processions, or before persons in high sta-
tions, on occasions of ceremony. The name is still retained
in London, and there is an officer so called that walks be-
fore their companies at times of public solemnity. It seems
a corruption from the French word huissier. = 2:) — to have
borne, Hic] The construction is, to have his bruised helmet,
&.C. borne before him through the city : i. e. to order it to
be borne. = 3:) Giving full trophy,] Transferring all the
honours of conquest, all trophies, tokens, and shows, from
himself to God. =4:) — likelihood,] Likelihood for simili-
tude. WARBUttT0N.= 5:) — fAe genera/ of our gracious em-
press—^ The earl of Essex, in the reign of queen Elizabeth.
= 6:) Bringing rebellion broached — ] Spitted, transjixed.
= 7:) To have me fold up, kc] Dost thou desire to have
me put thee to death. =: 8:) — astonished him.] That is, you
have stunned him with the blow. =9:) — gleeking — ] i. e.
scoffing, sneering. Gleek was a game at cards. = 10:) —
English condition.] Condition is temper, disposition of mind.
= li:) Doth fortune play the huswife—] that is, the jilt.
Huswife is here used in an ill sense. =" 12:) The comic
scenes of The History of Henry the Fourth and Fifth are
now at an end, and all the comic personages are now dis-
missed. Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly are dead ; IVym and Bar-
dolph are hanged; Gadshill was lost immediately after the
robbery; Poins_ and Peto have vanished since, one knows
not how; and Pistol is now beaten into obscurity. 1 believe
every reader regrets their departure. Johnson. = 13:) Unto
this bar—] To this barrier; to this place of congress. =
14:) — deracinate — ] To deracinate is to force up by the
roots. = 15:) — difl'us'd attire,] Diffused for extravagant.
The military habit of those times was extremely so. = 16:)
— former favour,] Former appearance. ^= 17:) — — we will,
suddenly, || Fass our accept, and peremptory answer.] i. e.
we will pass our acceptance of what we ai)prove, and \ve
will pass a peremptory answer to the rest. Politeness might
forbid his saying, we will pass a denial, but his own dignity
required more time for deliberation. := 18:) — sacA a plain
king,] I know not why Shakspeare now gives the king nearly
such a character as he made him formerly ridicule in Percy.
This military grossness and unskilfulness in all the softer
arts does not suit very well with the gaieties of his youth,
with the general knowledge ascribed to him at his accession,
or with the contemptuous message sent him by the Dauphin,
who renresents him as fitter for a ball room than the field,
and tells him that he is not to revel into duchies, or win
provinces with a nimble galliard. The truth is, that the
pott's matter failed him in the fifth Act, and he was glad
to fill it up with whatever he could get; and not even Shak-
speare can Mrite xell without a proper subject. It is a
vain endeavour for the most skilful hand to cultivate bar-
renness, or to paint upon vacuity. Johnsoi;*. = 19:) — no
strength in measure,] i.e. in daincing. ==20:) — /oot greenly,]
i.e. like a young lover, aukwardly. =21:) — take a fellow
of plain and uncoined constancy;] Uncoined constancy
siguiliea real and true constancy, unrefined and unadorned.

Johnson. = 22:) — untempering effect—] The sense is, that
jou love me notwithstaiKlingmy fuce has no power to tcmjier,
1. e. soften you to my purpoje. = 2 6:) — weak list—] i. e.
slight barrier. = 2i:)~my condition is not smooth:] Con-
dition is temper. =2o:) /"ordon the frankness of my mirth,]
We have here but a mean dialogue for princes; the merri-
uit'ut is very gross, and the sentiments are very \» orthless.
Johnson. = 26:) This moral—] that is, the application of
this table. The moral being the application of a fable, our
author calls any application a moral. = 27:) Mr. Steevens,
in edit. 179i, 15 vols, reads ^"-for my wish." =28:) Our bend-
ing author—] By bending, oar author meant unequal to
the weight of his subject; and bending beneath it. = 29:)
Mangling by starts—] By touching only on select parts,
= '60:) — the world's best garden- j i. e. France. =:

XXI, KING HENRY VI.

PART I.

ACT I. = 1:) Hung be the heavens with black,'] Allud-
ing to our ancient stage practice when a tragedy was to be
expected. = 2:) "King Henry," kc. Malone. = 3:) — the
subtle-ivitted French, iic] There was a notion prevalent a
long time, that life might be taken away by metrical charms.
As superstition grew weaker, these charms were imagined
only to have power on irrational animals. In our author's
time it was supposed that the Irish could kill rats by a song.
= 4:) "moisten'd eye," — Malone. = 5:) Our isle be made
a nourish—] probably a nurse. = 6:) "A third thinks," Lc.
Malone. = "j :)— her flowing tides.] i.e. England's flowing
tides. = 8:) — their intermissive miseries.] i. e. their mise-
ries, which have had only a short intermission from Henry
the Filth's death to my coming amongst them. = 9:) // sir
John Fastolfe, Ate] For an account of this sir Jonn Fas-

p. 221.; Sir John tenn's Collection of the Fasten Letters;
AixA Biographia Britannica, vol. v.; an elaborate article by
Mr. Gough, which none of the commentators appear to have
consulted. = 10:) — as their hungry prey.] i.e. £Ae prey for
which they are hungry. = 1 1:) England all Olivers and
Rowlands bred,] I'hese were two of the mo.st famous in the
list ol Charlemagne's twelve peers ; and their exploits are
rendered so ridiculously and equally extravagant by the old
romances, that from thence arose that saying amongst our
plain and sensible ancestors, of giving one a Rowland for
his Oliver, to signify the matching one incredible lie with
another. Wahburton. Rather, to oppose one hero to an-
other; i. e. to give a person as good a one as he brings.
Steevens. = 12:) — gimmals—] A gimmal is a piece of
jointed work, where one piece moves within another, whence
it is taken at large for an engine. It is now by the viilgair
called a gimcrack. = l'i:) Bastard of Orleans,] That this iu
former times was not a term of repfoach, see Bishop Hurd's
Letters on Chivalry and Romance, in the third volume of
his Dialogues, p. 233, who observing on circumstances of
agreement between the heroic and Gothic manners, says
tnat "Bastardy was iu credit with both." One of William
the Conqueror's charters begins, ^^Ego Gulielmus cogno-
mento Bustardus." J\or was bastardy reckoned a disgrace
among the ancients. See the eighth Iliad, in which the ille-
gitimacy ot Teucer is mentioned as a panegyric upon him,
ver.284.= 14:)— nine sibyls of old Rome;] There Mere no
nine sibyls ot Home; but he confounds things, and mistakes
this for the nine books of Sibylline oracles, brought to one
of the Tarquin8.= 16:) "which you may see." Malone. =
16:)Reso!ve on this:] i.e. be firmly persuaded of it.^17:)
"Out of a great deal," Ike. Malone. = 18:) Expect saint
Martin's summer,] That is, expect prosperity after mis-
fortune, like fair weather at Martlemas, after winter has
begun. = 19:) Nor yet saint Fhilip's daughters,] Meaning
the four daughters of Philip mentioned in the Acts. = 20:)
— tAez-e is conveyance.] Conveyance means tAe/t. =21:)
Breakup fAe gates,] To ftreafcujpiuShakspeare's age was the
same as to break open. = 22:) — tawny coats] Tatvny was
a colour worn for mourning, as well as black; and was
therefore the suitable and sober habit of any person cm-
ployed in an ecclesiastical court = 23:) I'iel'd priest,] Al-
luding to his shaven crown. Malone reads "I'eel'd." -=
2 4:) Thou, that gav''st whores indulgences to sin:] The
public stews were formerly under the district of the bistiop
of Winchester. =25:) Y'// canvas tAee— ] i.e. I'll sift thee.
= 26:) This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,] About four
miles from Damascus is a high hill, reported to be the same
on which Cain slew his brother Abel. = 27:) IFinchester
goose,] A strumpet, or the consequence of her love, was a
vVinchester goose. = 2 8:>i'W call for clubs, if you will not
away:] This was an outcry for assistance, on any riot or
quarrel in the streets. = a9:) — stomachs — ] Stomach is
pride, a haughty spirit of resentment. :=30:) 1 myself fight
not once in forty year.] The mayor of London was not
brought in to be laughed at, as is plain by his manner of
interfering in the quarrel, where he all along preserves a
sufficient dignity. In the line preceding these, he directs
his oflicer, to whom, without doubt, these two lines should
be giveu. They suit his character, and are very expressive

•f ibe pacific temper of the city guards. Wahburton. 1 see
no rea«ioii lor tiiis change. The mayor speaks tirst as a
magistrate, and afterwani^ as a citizen. Johnson. Kotuith-
6tandiiig Warburioii's note in support of the dignity of the
mayor, J^hal^speare ccriaiuly meant to represent him as a
pour well-meaning, simple man, for that is the character
he invariably gives to his mayors. The mayor of London,
in Hichard III. is just of the same stamp. And so is the
ma\or of York iu the Third Part of this play, where he
rctiii^es to admit Edward as king, but lets him into the city
as duke of \ork, on which Gloster says — "A wise stout
captain! and persuaded soon. <{ '■'■Hast. The good old man
would fain th:ii all were well." Such are all iShakspeare's
mayors. .M. .Mason. ^= 31:) TAc prince's espials —] Espials
arc spies. ^= 32:) "Xow do thou watch, for 1 can stay no
longer." Malouk. = 33:) — «o pil'd estecm'd.] Mr. Malone
reads — so vile-e»feem'd. — So piWd, may mean — so pit-
lag'd, so stripped of honours; but Mr. Steevens thinks
Sliakspeare wrote Pliilistin'd; i.e. treated as Sampsou was
by the Philistines. :=34:) "Here, through this grate, I count
each one." .Malone. = 35:) — thy cheek's side struck off!]
(Camden says in his Remaines that the French scarce knew
the use of great ordnance, till the siege of Mans iu 1455,
when a brtach was made in the walls of that town by the
Knglish, under the conduct of this earl of Salisbury ; and
thiit he was the first Enclish gentleman that was slain by
a cannon-ba'.l. = 36:) "aiid like thee, \ero." Malone. =
37:) Pucelle or puzzel,] Pusscl means o dirty wench or a
drab, from puzza, i. e. malus factor, says Minshcu. =38:)
Blood will 1 draw on thee,] The superstition of these times
taught that he that could draw the witch's blood, was free
from her power. Joiis>o>. ^=i^:) — hy fear. Inc.] See Han-
nibal's stratagem to escape by fisiug bundles of lighted twigs
on the horns of oxen, rei-orded in Livy, lib. xxii. c. 16. =
40:) '-from the English :"—MALONK. = tl:) "the bells aloud
throughout," A.C. — Malone. = 42:) TAan Khoilope's,] JiAo-
dope was a famous strumpet, who acquired great riches by
her trade. The least, but most finished of the Egyptian
pyramids was built by her. She is said afterwards to have
married Psammetichus, king of Egypt. Ur. Johnson thinks
that the Uauphiu meuus to call Joan of Arc a strumpet, all
the while he is making this loud praise of her. = 4 3:) —
coffer of Varius,] When Alexander the Great took the city
of Gaza, the metropolis of Syria, amidst the other spoils
and wealth of Darius treasured up there, he found an ex-
ceeding rich and beautiful little chest or casket, and asked
those about him what they thought fittest to be laid up in
it. When they had severally delivered their opinions, he
told them he esteemed nothing so worthy to be preserved
iu it, as Homer's Iliad. =

ACT II. =1:) — court of guard] The same phrase oc-
curs again in Othello, Antony and Cleopatra, iic. and is
equivalent to the modern term — guard-room. = 2:) — un-
ready so'f] Unready was the current word in those times
for undressed. ^=i:) — platforms —] i. e. plans, schemes. =
4:) _ where she lies ;] i. e. w here she dwells. = 5:) — lAetr
censure—] i. e. their opinion.= 6:)— writhled — ] i. e. wrinkled.
= 7:) — »o fond,] i. e. so /oo/i»/j. = 8:) — 6ruited,] To bruit
is to proclaim with noise, to announce loudly. ^=9:) — bear
him best,] i.e. regulate his motions most adroitly. =: 10:) /
love no colours;] Colours is here used ambiguously for tints
and deceits. ^^11:) — well objected;] Properly thrown in our
way, justly proposed.^ 12:) "faction," —Malone. = 13:) —
crestless yeomen—] i. e. those who have no right to arms.
= 14:) He bears him on the place'' s privilege, \ The Tem-
ple, being a religious house, was au asylum, a place of ex-
emption from violence, revenge, and bloodshed. Johnson.
:= 15:) Corrupted, and exempt—] Exempt iot excluded.
= lb":) For your partaker Jfoole,] Partaker in ancient lan-
guaee signifies one who takes part with another, au ac-
complice, a confederate. = 17:) To scourge you for this ap-
preiieusion :] Apprehension, i.e. opinion. = 18:) — pursuiv-
ants of death,] Pursuivants, the heralds that, forerunning
death, proclaim its approach. = 19:)— as drawing to their
exigent:] Exigent, end. = 20:) —— the arbitrator of de-
tpa'irs, l\Just death, kind umpire—] that is, he that termi-
nates ur concludes misery. The expression is harsh, and
forced. Johwsos. ^ 21:) — late-de«p/serf— ] \. e. lately de-
spised. =22:)— J'/i tell thee my disease.] Disease seems to
be here uneasiness, or discontent. = 23:) — in this haughty
great attempt,] Haughty is AigA. =24:) Thou art my heir ;
the rest, I irish thee gather;] I'he sense is — 1 acknowledge
thee to be my heir; the consequences which may be collected
from thence, I recommend it to thee to draw. = 25:) Ur make
my ill — ] My ill, is my ill usage. =

ACT m. = It) — put up a bill;] i. e. articles of ac-
cusation, for in this sense the word bill was sometimes
used. ^=2:) TAou bastard of my grandfather!] The bishop
of Winchester was au illegitimate son of John of Gauui,
duke of Lancaster, by Catharine Swyuford, whom the duke
afterwards married. ^3:) "Rome shall remedy this." —Ma-
lone. = 4;) Roam thither then.] Roam to Rome. To roam
is supposed to be derived from the cant of vagabonds, who
often pretended a pilgrimage to Rome. Johnson. ^5:) — un-
accustum'd fight — ] iJnaccustom'd is unseemly, indecent.
= 6:) "but to his majesty:" — &Lti.OME. = 7:) — an iDkhorn

mate,] A bookman. It was a term of reproach at the time
towards men of learning, or men affecting to be learned. =
8:) "Yield, my lord protector;" — Malone. = 9:) — AatA a
kindly gird.] i. e. feels an emotion of kind remorse. ^^ 10:)

— reguerdon — ] Recompence, return. = 1 1:) Were entered
Pucelle, and her praciisants ;J Practice, iu the language of
that lime, wa^ treachery, and perhaps in the softer sense,-
stratagem. Practisants are therefore confederates in stra-
tagem. Johnson. =12:) No way to (Aat,} that is, no way
equal to that, no way so fit as that. Jou>son.= 13:) — tAe
nride of Prance.] Pride signifies the haughty power. ^= 14:)
Mr. Malone omits »(>. = 15:) That stout Pendragon,] This
hero was I ther Pendragon, brother to .\iirclius, and father
to king Arthur. Shakspeare has imputed to Pendragon an
exploit of .Aurelius, who, says Holinshed, "even sicke of a
flixe as he was, caused himself to be carried forth iu a lit-
ter : with whose presence his people were so iucoura^ed.
that encountering with the Saxons they wan the victone.'
^Ifc-:) — take some order — ] i.e. make some necessary dis-
positions. = 17:) But be eslirped — ] To extirp is to root
out. = 18:) — expuls'd— ] i. e. expelled. = 19:) — (Aese
haughty — ] Haughty does not mean violent in this place,
but elevated, high-spirited. ■=20:) Done like a Frenchman;
turn, and turn again!] The inconstancy of the French was
always the subject of satire. 1 have read a dissertation
written to prove that the indes of the wind upon our stee-
ples was made in form of a cock, to ridicule the French for
their frequent changes. JoH?isoN. = 21:) / do remember how
my father said,] 'I'he author of this* play was not a very
correct hi^-torian. Hejiry was but nine mouths old when his
father died, and never saw him. ^22:) — resolved—] i.e. con-
firmed in opinion of it. =^ 23:) Or been reguerdou'd — ] i. e.
rewarded. The word was obsolete even iu the time of Shak-
speare. Chaucer uses it in the Boke of Boethius. = 2i:) —
tAese colours tAat / ipear — ] This was the badge of a rose.
and not an officer's scarf. ^=25:) That, who so draws d
sword, ^tis present death ;] i. e. with a menace iu the court,
or in the presence chamber.^

ACT IV. = 1:)— sucA as shall pretend—] To pretend
is to design, to intend. = 2: ) To tear the garter from thy
craven's leg,] i.e. thy mean, dastardly leg. = 3:) — haughty
courage,] Haughty is here in its original sense for high.
= 4:) — in most extremes,] i. e. in greatest extremities. =
5:) Pretend — ] To pretend seems to be here used in its La-
tin sense, i. e. to Ao^d out, to stretch forward. It may mean,
however, as in other places, to design. ^6:) "How say you,
my lord"*" Maloke. = 7:) — -I am prevented,] Prevented is
here anticipated ; a Latinism. = 8:) — did repugn tAe trutA,]
To repugn is to resist. = 9:) Tis much,] In our author's
time this phrase meant — 'Tis strange, or wonderful. = 10:)

— when envy breeds unkind division;] Envy in- old English
writers frequently meaus enmity. Unkind is unnatural. =
11:) To rive tAeir dangerous artillery—] To riie their ar-
tillery means only to fire their artillery. To rive is to
burst: and a caunon, when fired, has so much the appear-
ance jf bursting, that, in the language of poetry, it may
well be said to burst. We say, a cloud bursts, when it
thunders. = 12:) — due tAee withal;] To due is to endue,
to deck, to grace. =: 1 3:) — be then in blood :] Be iu high
spirits, be of true mettle. = 14:) A'ot rascal-We,] A rascal
deer is the term of cha<e for lean poor deer.^ 15:) And 1
am lowted — ] i. e. treated with contempt like a lowt, or
low country fellow.= 16:) — are done.] i.e. expended, con-
sumed. The word is yet used in this sense in the Westera
counties. =: 17:) — tAe vulture—] Alluding to the tale of Pro-
metheus. = IS:)— from bought and sold lord Talbot;] i. e.
from one utterly ruined by the treacherous practices oi
others. = 19:) — ring'd about—] Environed, encircled. =
20:) — in advantage lingering,] Protracting his resistance
by the advantage of a strong post. = 21:) — irortA/ess emu-
lation.] In this line, emulation signifies merely rivalry, not
struggle for superior excellence. =22:) .Mr. Malone omits
and. = 2 3:) — o feast of death,! To a lield where death
will be feasted with slaugiiter. ^ 24:) — unawoided-] for
unavoidable. z=2S:) — noble Talbot stood.] For what reason
this scene is written in rhyme, I cannot guess. If Shak-
speare had not in other plays mingled his rhymes and blank
verses in the same manner, 1 should have suspected that
this dialogue had been a part of some other poem which
was never finished, and that being loath to throw his labour
away, he inserted it here. Johnson. ^26:) — your regard—]

Your care of your own safety. = 27:) fair son, \\ Bom

to eclipse, Jtc] A quibble, between son and sun.= 28:) To
my determin'd time—] i.e.ended. T=2P:)0n that advantage,
bought with such a shame, \i(To save a paltry life, and
slay bright fame,)] The sense is— Before young Talbot fly
from his father, (in order to save his life while he destroys
his character, on, or for the sake of, tAe advantages you
mention, namely, preserving our household's name, i;c. may
my coward hors'e drop down dead! .Malone. =:30:)^nd like
me to the peasant boys of France;] To like one to the pea-
sants, is, to compare, to level by comparison. ^=SU) Trium-
phant death, smear'd with captivity.'], that is, death stained
and dishououred with captivity. Johnson. = 32:) lend ring
my ruin,] Watching me with tenderness in my lall. =33:)
TAou antic death,] The fool, or antic of the play, made
sport by mocking the graver personages. = 34:) — winged
through the lither sky,] Lithcr is flexible or yielding. =
i 5:)— raging wood,] i. e. raging mad. =36:) — i« French-

=J

998

NOTES.

[Pl: 22.] T//. S.

men'* blood r^ The return of rhyme where young Talbot is
again mentioned, and in no other place, strengthens this
suspicion that these verses were originally part of some
other work, and were copied here only to save the trouble
of composing new. Johnsok. = 37:) — of a giglot wchcIi:]
Giglot is a wanton, or a »trumpst.=

ACT V. r= 1:) — immanity — ] i. e. barbarity, savagenets.
Tr= 2: J What! is my lord of Winchester instaU''d,\\ And
called unto a cardinal's degree!] This argues a great lorget-
fulness in the poet. In the first Act, Gloster says: "I'll
canvas thee in thy broad cardinal's hat:" and it is strange
that the duke oftxeter should not know of his advancement.
= 3:) That, neither in birth,] 1 would read — /or birth.
That is, thou shalt not rule me, though thy birth is legitim-
ate, and thy authority supreme. JoM^soI«. = 4:) "Into two
parties," — Malowe. = 6:) — !/« charming spelts, and peri
apts;] ('harms sowed up. Periapts were worn about the
neck as preservatives from disease or danger. Of these,
the first chanter of St. John's Gospel w as deemed the most
efficacious. ^ &.] — monarch of the north,] The north was
always supposed to be the particular habitation ot bad
spirits. Milton, therefore, assembles the rebel angels in the
north. Johnson. = 7:) /f Aere— ] i. e. uiAereo*. = «:) — vail
her lofty-plumed crest,] i. e. lower it. = 9:) Fell, banning
hag!] To ban is to curse. = 10:) As plays the sun upon the
glassy streams, kc] This comparison, made between things
which seem sufficiently unlike, is intended to express tue
softness and delicacy of lady Margaret's beauty, which de-
lighted, but did not dazzle; which was bright, but gave no
pain by its lustre. Johnson. = 11:) — disable not thyself i]
Do not represent thyself so weak. To disable the juugment
of another was. in that age, the same as to destroy its
credit or authority. Johnson. = 12:) — and makes the senses
rough.] The meaning of this word is not very obvious. Sir
Thomas Hannier reads — croucfe. = 13:) — a wooden thing.]
is an awkward business, an undertaking not likely to suc-
ceed. =14:) — my fancy—] i. e. my /ore. = 15:) — lace,] To
face is to carry a false appearance: to play the hypocrite.
= 16:) To send such peevish tokens—] Peevish, for childish.
= 17:) Mad,] i. e. wild, if mad be the word that ought to
stand here, which some of the commentators doubt. =r 18:) —
timeless— J is untimely. = 19:) Decrepit miser!] Miser has
no relation to avarice in this passage, but simply means a
miserable creature. = 20:) — fAot thou wilt be so obstacle!]
A vulgar corruption of obstinate, which 1 think has oddly
lasted since our author's time till now. Johnson. = 21:) iVo,
misconcciv'd!] i. e. No, ye misconceivers, ye who nistake

me and my qualities. = 22:) till mischief, and despair,

II Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves !] Per-
haps Shakspeare intended to remark, in this execration, the
frequency of suicide among the English, which has been
commonly imputed to the gloominess of their air. Johnson.
= 23:) — remorse— ] i. e. compassion, pity. ^=2^:) — baleful
enemies.] Baleful is sorrowful; but it had anciently the
same meaning as baneful.-=2b:) — with a coronet;] Coronet
is here used for a crown. = 26:)— upon comparison^] Do
you stand to compare your present state, a state which you
have neither right or power to maintain, with the terms
which we offer* = 27:) Of benefit—] Benefit is here a term
of law. Be content to live as the beneficiary of our king.
Johnson. =: 28:) So am I driven,] This simile is somewhat
obscure: he seems to mean, that as a ship is driven against
the tide by the wind, so he is driven by love against the
current of his interest. Johnson. r= 29:)— at a triunph— ]
A triumph, in the age of Shakspeare, signified a public ex-
hibition, such as a mask, a revel. Ate. = 30:) — by attorney-
ship;] By the interventiou of another man's choice; or tbe
discretional agency of another. r=31:) "bringeth bliss," —
Malonk. = 82:) If you do censure me, &.C.] To censure is
here simply to judge. Jf in judging me you consider the
past frailties of your own youth. = 33:) — ruminate my
grief.] Grief in the first line is taken generally for pain or
uneasiness; in the second specially for sorrow. =

XXII. KING HENRY VI.

PART II.

ACT I. ==1:)^« by your high, &c.] It is apparent that
this play begins where the former ends, and continues the
series of transactions of which it presupposes the first part
already^ known. This is a sufficient proof that the second
and third parts were not written without dependance on
the first, though they were printed as containing a com-
plete period of history. Johnson. = 2:) The mutual confe-
rence—'^ 1 am the bolder to address you, having already
familiarized you to my imagination. Johnson. ^=3:) — mine
alder-liefest sovereign,] Alder-liefest is a corruption of the
German word aller-liebste, beloved above all things, dear-
est of all. = 4:) This peroration with such circumstance f]
This speech crowded with so many instances of aggravation.
Johnson. — 6:) And are the cities, &c.] The indignation of
Warwick is natural, and 1 wi.sh it had been better expressed ;
there is a kind of jingle intended in wounds and wofds.
Johnson. =r 6:) — the princc''s heart of Calydon.] According
to the fable, Meleager's life was tu continue only so long

as a certain firebrand should last. His mother Althea hav-
ing thrown it into the fire, he expired in great torments.
= 7:) — ill-niirtur'd— ] lll-nurtur'd, is ill-educated. = 8:)
VVhrreas — ] Whereas is the same as where; and seems to
be brought into u.«e only on account of its being a dissyl-
lable. =9:) — sir JoAn.'] A title frequently bestowed on tne
clergy. = 10:) — A crafty knave does need no broker ;] This
is a proverbial sentence. = 1 1:) Sort how it will,] Let the
issue be what it will. = 12:) — in the quill.] Perhaps our
supplications in the quill, or in quill, means no more than
our written or penned supplications. = 13:) That my master
was*] Peter supposes that the queen had asked, whether
the duke of York had said that his master (for so he under-
stands the pronoun Ae in her speech) was rightful heir to
the crown. = 14:) — tAi« late complaint—] that is, the com-
plaint of Peter the armourer's man against his master, for
saying that York was the rightful king. Johnson. = 16:) —
his censure ;] Through all these plays censure is used in an
indilTerent sense, simply for judgment or opinion. = 16:)
"her fume needs no spurs." Malone. = 17:) By these ten
bones, ic] We have just heard a duchess threaten to set
her ten commandments in the face of a queen. The jests
in this play turn rather too much on the enumeration of
fingers. Tnis adjuration is, however, very ancient. = 18:)
These two lines spoken by K. Henry, are omitted by Mr.
Malone. =r_iy:)— our exorcisms Y] The word exorcise, and
its derivatives, are used by Shakspeare in an uncommon
sense. In ail other writers it means to lay spirits, but in
these plays it invariably means to raise them. = 20:) —
ban- dogs howl,] A ban-dog is a village-dog, or mastiff,
which w as formerly called a band-dog, per syncopen bandog.
= 21:) — That^ J had said and done!] It was anciently be-
lieved that spirits, who were raised by incantations, re-
mained above ground, and answered questions with reluct-
ance. See both Lucan and Statius. = 22:) Tell me, &c.]
"Yet these two words were not in the paper read by Bo-
lingbroke, which York has now in his hand; nor are they
in the original play. Here we have a species of inaccuracy
peculiar to Shakspeare, of which he has been guilty in other
places. =

ACT II. =1:) —for flying at the brook,] The falconer's
term for hawking at water-fowl. = 2:) — are fain—] Fain,

in this place, signifies/ond. = 3:) thine eyes and thoughts

II Beat on a crown,] To beat is a term in falconry, signify-
ing to flutter. = i,:) — my fence shall fail.] Fence is tlie art
of defence. = 5:) — crying, A miracle !J This scene is founded
on a story which Sir I'homas More has related, and which
he says was communicated to him by his father. The im-
postor's name is not mentioned, but he was detected by
Humphrey duke of Gloster, and in the manner here repre-
sented. =6:) "sit there,"_ — Malone. = 7:) "all our names,"

— Malonb. = 8:) "it is impossible." — Malone. ^9:) — A

sort lewdly bent,] Lewdly, in this place, and in some

others, does not signify wantonly, but wickedly. A «ort is
a company. = 10:) Your lady is forthcoming — ] that is,
Your lady is in custody. = 1 l:)Steeven8 and Malone some-
times spell this name Edmond and sometimes Edmund. They
have afforded us no canon of accuracy in this case; and
our readers will probably not think one necessary. = 12:) —
private plot,] Sequestered spot of ground. = 13:) Sorrow
would solace, and mine age would ease.] that is, sorrow
would have, sorrow requires, solace, and age requires ease.
= 14:) This staff of honour raught:] Maught is the ancient
preterite of the verb reach, and is frequently used by Spen-
ser. =15:) — worse bested,] In a worse plight. = 16:) — with
a sand-bag fastened to it;] As, according to the old laws
of duels, knights were to fight with the lance and sword ;
so those of inferior rank fought with an ebon staff or bat-
toon, to the farther end of which was fixed a bag crammed
hard with sand. Mr. Sympsoii, in his notes on BenJonson,
observes, that a passage in St. Chrysostom very clearly
proves the great antiquity of this practice. = 1 7:) — o cup
of charneco.] A common name for a sort of sweet wine,
made at a village so called near Lisbon. ^18:) For, by his
death, we do perceive his guilt:] According to the ancient
usage of the duel, the vanquished person not only lost his
life but his reputation, and his death was always regarded
as a certain evidence of his guilt. =^ 19:) Lneath— ] i.e.
scarcely, or not ea«i7y.= 20:) - envious — ] i. e. malicious.
= 21:) Maild up in shame,] Wrapped up, bundled up in
disgrace; alluding to the sheet of penance. =22:) — deep-
fet— ] i. e. decp-/etcAerf. = 23:) — any scathe,] Scathe, is
harm, or mischief.^ 2 4:^ Thy greatest help is ^uiet,] The
poet naa not endeavoured to raise much compassion for tbe
duchess, who indeed suffers but what she had deserved.
Johnson. = 25:) — tAe world may laugh again:] that is, the
world may look again favourably upon me. Johnson. = 26:)

— conduct of my shame!) i. e. conductor. = 27:) — I long
to see my prison.] This impatience of a high spirit is very
natural. It is not so dreadful to be imprisoned, as it is de-
sirable in a state of disgrace to be sheltered from the scorn
of gazers. Johnson. =

ACT III. =1:) I muse,] i. e. wonder. = 2:) "how per-
emptory."—Malone. =3:) Meseemeth—] that is, itseemeth
to me; a word more grammatiral than methinks, which has,
1 kuow not how, intruded into its place. Johnson. = 4:) —

Tw.S. [Pi.: 22.J

NOTES

Q4MI

collect—] i.e. astemble by o6»errot«<m.= 5:) // it be fond,]
I. e. tceak, foolith. = 6:) — your grace'* tote.] Suffolk unen
kig'hneii and grace promiscuously to tlie quei;ii. Majetty
«as not tlie settled title till tile time of king James the
iiTft. JoH-^sojf. = 7:) Vet, by reputing of kit kigh lieicent,]
Reputing of hit high detceut, u valuing himself upon it.

— 8:) — thit gear — ] Gear was a general word for tbiugs
or matters. = 9:) "Well, Suffolk's duke, thou, &c." .Maloks.
^^ 10:) — thete faults are easy,] Easy is aii adjective used
adverbially. = 11:) — accuse— J i. e. accusation. = 12:) —
liefest—] Is dearest. Johnson. = 13:) This line is omitted
by .Mr. Malone, without any reasoo_ assigned, and we there-
fore conjecture, that the omission is au error of the press.
= 1 4:) Free lords, &c.] Hy this she means (as may be seen
by the sequel) you who are uot bound up to such precise
regards of religiou as is the king; but are men of the world,
aud know hovy to live. ^ 1 5:) — in o flowering bank,]; i. e.
in the flowers growing on a bank. = 16:) So; let him die,
in that he is a fox, ;, By nature prov'd an enemy to the
flock, j Before his chaps be staitrd with crimson blood ;^
.Js Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege.] The mean-
ing of tue speaker is not hard to be discovered, but his
expression is very much perplexed. He means that the fox
may be lawfully killed, as being known to be by nature au
enemy to sheep, even before he has actually killed them;
so Humphrey may be properly destroyed, as being proved
by arguments to be the king's enemy, belore he has com-
mitted any actual crime. Some may be tempted to read
treasons for reasons, but the drift_ of the argumeut is to
show that there may be reasons to kill him before auy trea- i

son has broken out. John.-os. = 17:) for that is good i

deceit ^k'hich mates him first, that first intends deceit.] |
Mates him, means confounds him; from amatir or mater, \
Fr. = 18:) — i will be bis priest.] 1 will be the attendant |
ou his last sceue; 1 will be the last man whom he will see. {
= 19:) — and censure well the deed,] that is, approve the :
deed, judge the deed good. = 20:) it »i-i7/« not— J It is of,
■o importance. =21:) — expedient «to/i.'J i. e. expeditious. |
= 22:) — mad-bred flaw] Flaw is a sudden violeut gust of |
wiud. = 23:) — o troop of kernes;] ICerne* were light-armed i
Irish foot-soldiers. ^ 24:) — a wild Morisco,] A Moor in a |
military dance, now called morris, that is, a Moorish dance. |
= 25:) — rigftf now—] Just now, even now. r= 26:) Be woe \
for me,] that is, let not woe be to thee for Gloster, but for !
me. = 2 7:) The splitting rocks, kc] The sense seems to be ■
this: — The rocks hid themselves in the sauds, which sunk |
to receive them into their bosom. Stebvej.s.= 28:) Might j
in thy palace perish Margaret] The verb perish is here
used actively. ^= 2 !■:) //i» /afAer'» acts, commenc'd in burn- j
ing Troy if] The poet here is unquestionably alludiog to i
\irpi(j±:neid I.); but he strangely blends facts with lictiou. \
In the lirst plact, it was Cupid in the semblance of Ascanius, |
who gat in Dido's lap, aud was fondled by her. But then '
it was not Cupid who related to her the process of Troy's '
destruction; but it wasJKiieas himself who related this his-
tory. =30:) For seeing him, I see my life in death.] i.e. I
see my life destroyed or endangered by his death. = 31:)'
Oft have 1 seen a timely parted ghost, i-c] All that is true
of the body of a dead mau is here said by \> arw ick of the ,
soul. I would read: Oft have I seen a timely-parted corse,

— But of two common words, how or why was one changed
for the other'* 1 believe the transcriber thought that the
epithet timely parted could not be used of tue body, but
that, as in Hamlet, there is mention of peace-parted souls,
so here timely parted must have the same substantive. He
removed one imaginary difflculty, aud made many real. If
the soul is parted from the body, the body is likewise parted
from the soul. I canuot but stop a moment to observe, that
this horrible description is scarcely the work of auy pen
but Shakspeares. Joussos. = 32:) His hands abroad dis-
play'd,] i. e. the lingers being widely distended. = S3:) The j
mortal worm — ] i. e. the fatal, the 'deadly worm. =3 4:)— i
hoip quaint an orator—] Quaint for dextrous, artificial.^ j
36:)— a sort—] is a company. = 3&.) He shall not breathe I
infection in this air—] that is, he shall not contaminate \
this air with his infected breath. = 37:) tf'ould curses kill, :
as doth the mandrake's groan,] The fabulous accounts of
the plant called a mandrake give it an inferior degree of
animal life, and relate, that when it is torn from the ground
it groans, and that this groan being certainly fatal to him i
that is offering such unwelcome violence, tue practice of
those who gather mandrakes is to tie one end of a string ^
to tue plant, and the other to a dog, upon whom the fatal

groan discharges its malignity. ^= 38:) murdering basi- j

lisks! 'i lizards' stings.'] It has been said of the basilisk

that it has the power of destroying by a single glance of ,
the eye. A lizard has no sliug, but is quite inoffensive. = '
39:) You bade me ban, and wilt you bid me leave/] This \
inconsistency is very common in real life. Those who are I
vexed to impatience, are angry to see others less disturbed <
than themselves, but when others begin to rave, they im- j
mediately see in them what they could not lind in them-
selves, the deformity and folly of useless rage. Johnson, j
= 40:) That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, {[ '•
Through whom a thousand sighs, Xc] That h\ the impres- '
sion ot my kiss for ever remaining ou thy hauii thou might-
est think on those lips through which a thousaud sighs will
be breathed for thee. =41:) if'here,] In the preambles of
almost all the statutes made during the first twenty years
of queen Elizabeth's reign, the word leAere is employed in-
stead of wAere<M. It is to ated here. = 42:) "cot'sive," —

Malo!«b. = 4S:) /'// have an Iri*—] Iris was the messenger
of Juno. =: 44:) Exeunt.] This is one of the scenes whick
have been applauded by the critics, and which will runtiaae
to be admired when prejudices shall cease, and bigotry give
way to impartial examination. These are beauties that rise
out of nature and of truth; the superficial reader caniMt
miss them, the profound can image nothing beyond theau
Johnson. =

ACrriV =^1:) The gaudy, blabbing, and remoreefnl
day — ] The epithet blabbing, applied to the day by a maa
about to commit murder, is exquisitely beautiful. Guilt is
afraid of light, considers darkness as a natural shelter, and
makes nighi the confidante of those actions which cannot
be trusted to the tell-tale day. Johnson. =^2:) — —the jades
11 That drag the tragic melancholy night ; i| if''ho with their
drowsy, slow, and flagging wings \\ Clip dead men's graves^
The wings of the jades that drag night appears au unna-
tural image, till it is remembered that the chariot of the
night is supposed, by Shakspeare, to be drawn by dragons.
= 3:) -T d jaded groom.] Jaded groom may mean a grooin
whom all men treat w iih contempt ; as worthless as the most
paltry kind of horse ; or a groom who has hitherto beea
treated with no greater ceremony than a horse. = 4:) —
abortive pride:] Pride that has had birth too soon, pride
issuing before its time. = 5:) — to affy — ] To affy is to be-
troth in marriage. ::= 6:) Bein^ captain of a pinnace,] .\ pin-
nace did not anciently siguif;« , as at present, a man of war's
boat, but a ship of small burthen. = 7:) ''■Fene gelidus," Lc.
Malone. =8:) — bezonians:] Bisognoio, is a mean low man.
:^y:) .J Roman sworder, i-c] i. e. Hercnnius a ceuturioa,
and Pupilius Laenas, tribune of the soldiers. = 10:)/'onip^
the great:] The poet seems to have roufouuded the story
of Pompey with some other. = 11:) — since gentlemen came
up.] Thus we familiarly say — a fashion comes up. = 12:) —
a cade of herrings.] tliat is, a barrel of herrings.^ 13:) —
our enemies shall fall before us,] He alludes to his name
Cade, from rado, Ifat. to fall. He has too much icaming
for his character. Johnson. = 14:) —/urred pacir,] A wallet
or knapsack of skin with the hair outward. = 15:) — the
Held IS honourable;] Perhaps a quibble between ^e/d in ibi
htraldic, and in its common acceptation, was designed. =
16:) — but the cage.] A cage was formerly a term for a pri-
son. We yet talk of jail-6ird». = 17:)— /or his coat is of
proof.] .A quibble between two senses of the word; one ait
being able to resist, the other as being weU-tried, that is,
long worn. =: 18:) — the three-hooped pot shall have ten
hoops ;] A hoop was a measure. = 19:) —there shall be no
money;] To mend the world by banishing money is an old
contrivance of those who did not consider that the quarrels
and mischiefs which arise from money, as the sign or ticket
of riches, must, if money were to cease, arise immediately
from ricnes themselves, and could never be at an end till
cver^ man was contented with his own share of the goods
of life.^20:) — o6/ig:afjon»,] that is, 6onrf«. = 21:) They km
to write it on the top of letters;] i. e. of letters missive,
and such like public acts. See Stabillon's Diplomata. =
22:) — i pass not;] 1 pay them no regard. =: 23:) "lacking
one, a week." Malone. = 24:) RuVd, like a wandering
planet,] Predominated irresistibly over my passions, as the
planets over the lives of those that are born under their
influence. = 25:) — one and twenty fifteens,] .A fifteen was
the fifteenth part of all the moveables or personal property
of each subject. = 26:) — tAou say, thou serge,] Say was
the old word for silk ; on this depends the series of dtegra-
dation, from say to serge, from serge to 6uciram.:=27:) —
printing to be used;] Shakspeare is a little too early witk
Ibis accusation. ^= 28:) — because they could not read, thou
hast hanged them ;] that is, they were hanged because they
could uot claim the benefit of clergy. =29:) — Thou dost
ride on a foot-cloth,] A foot-cloth was a kind of housing,
which covered the body of the horse, and almost reachea
the ground. It was sometimes made of velvet, and bordered
with gold lace. = 30:) — to let thy horse wear a cloak,^
This is a reproach truly characteristical. Nothing gives so
much offence to the lower ranks of mankind, as the sight
of superfluities merely ostentatious. = 31:) — for watching—]
that is, in consequence of watching. = 32:) ''the help of a
hatchet." Malone. = 33:) These hands are free from guilt-
less blood-shedding,] Guiltless is not an epithet to blood-
shedding, but to blood. These hands are free from shed-
ding guiltless or innocent blood = 34:) — Ac shall die, an
it be but for pleading so well for his life.'] This sentiment
is not merely designed as an expression of ferocious tri-
umph, but to mark the eternal eumity which the vulgar bear
to those of more liberal education and superior rank. Tke
vulgar are always ready to depreciate the talents whick
they behold with envy, and insult the eminence which ih^
despair to reach. Stekvens. =35:) — a familiar under kt»
tongue;'] A familiar is a da;moa who was supposed to at-
tend at call.= 36:) — sir James Cromer,] It was H'illiasm
Crowmer, sheriff of Kent, whom Cade put to death. Lord
Say and he had been previously sent to the Tower, and
both, or at least the former, convicted of treason, at Cade's
mock commission of oyer aud terminer at Guildhall. = 37:)
— laA-e up commodities upon our bills"?] Perhaps this is an
equivoque alluding to the brown bills, or halberds, witk
which the commons were anciently armed. ^=38:) 0/ gal low-
glasses, and stout kernes,] These were two orders of foot-
soldiers among the Irish. = 39:) "calm" — Malohs. = 40;)

1000

NOTES

[Pl: 23.] Th. S.

Kent. Men's Garden.'] Thia Ideii was the new sheriff of
heut, who had followed Cade from H,oche!iter.= 41:) — 6ut
for a sallet, my brain-pan, &c.] A quibble from salut, Fr. ;
as an helmet keeps the head 8afe. = 42:) "As for words," —
MAiiONK. = 43:) f/ow much thou wrong' st me,] that is, in
supposing that I am proud of my victory. ^^44:) So wish i,
1 might thrust thy soul to hetl, &c.] \ot to dwell upon the
wickedness of this horrid wish, with which Iden debases his
character, the whole Hpeech is' wild and confused. To draw
a man by the heels, headlong, is somewhat diflicult; nor
can I discover how the dunghill would be his grave, if his
trunk were left to be fed upon by crows. These 1 conceive
not to be the faults of corruption but negligence, and there-
fore do not attempt correction. Johnson.' ^=

ACT V. = 1:) — balance it] that is, balance my hand.

= 2:) Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, ||

Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come—] 'I'he Nevils, earls
of Warwick, had a bear and ragged staff for their cogni
zance. = 3:) — being suffer'd— ] Heing suffer'd to approach
to the bear's fell paw. Such may be the meaning. 1 am
not, however, sure, but the poet meant, being in a state of
sufferance or pain. _Malone. =4:) — burgonet,] Is a helmet.
= 5:) Foul stigmatic,] A stigmatic is one on whom nature
has set a mark of deformity, a stigma. A stigmatic origin-
ally and properly signified a person who has been branded
with a hot iron for some crime. = 6:) ^4 dreadful lay!] A
dreadful wager; atremendous stake. = 7:) Z>ies.J()ur author,
in making Clitford fall by the hand of York, has departed
from the truth of history ; a practice not uncommon to him
when he does his utmost to make his characters consider-
able. This circumstance, however, serves to prepare the
reader or spectator for the vengeance afterwards taken by
Clifford's son on York and Rutland. It is remarkable, that
at the beginning of the third part of this historical play,
the poet has forgot this occurrence, and there represents
(Jjifford's death as it really happened. = 8:) And the pre-
mised ^ames — ] Premised, for sent before their time. 'J'he
sense is, let the flames reserved for the last day be sent
now.=:9:) To cease!] Is to stop, a verb active. := 10:) —to
achieve—] Is, to obtain. ^= 1 1:) The silver livery of advised
age;] Advised is wise, experienced, or cautious, considerate.
= liJ:) As wild Medea, AiC.j When Medea Hed with Jason
from Colchos, she murderecf her brother Ahsyrtus, and cut
his body into several pieces, that her father might be pre-
vented for some time from pursuing her. = 13:) An allusion
to Jourdain's prophecy in Act 1. Sc. IV. = 14:) — all our
present parts.] i. e. party. Tvrwhitt. = 15:) — brush of
time;] i. e. the gradual detrition of time. = 16:) — gallant
in the brow of youth,] The- brow of youth is the height of
youth, as the brow of a hill is its summit. = 17:) Three times
bestrid him,] that is, three times I saw him fallen, and,
striding over him, defended him till he recovered. ^= 18:)
IFell, lords, we have not got that which toe have:] i. e. we
have not secured, we are not sure of retaining, that which
we have acquired. = 19:) Being opposites of such repairing
nature.] Being enemies that arc likely so soon to rally and
recover themselves from this defeat. =

XXm. KING HENRY VI.

PART III,

ACT I. =1:) Third Part of King Henry FJ.] This play
is only divided from the former for the convenience of ex-
hibition; for the series of action is continued without inter-
ruption, nor are any two scenes of any play more closely
connected than the first scene of this play with the last of
the former. Johnson. = 2:) — if Warwick shake his bells.]
The allusion is to falconry. The hawks had sojuetimes little
bells hung upon them, perhaps to dare the birds; that is,
to fright tiiem from rising. = 3:) "Patience is for poltroons,
such as he."— Malone. = 4:) — sith- ] i.e. since. = 5:) Mr.
Malonc omits But. = H:) — prejudicial to his crown?] i. e
to th« prerogative of the crown. = 7:) "hear but one word;"
— Malone. =8:) They seek revenge,] They go away, not
because they doubt the justice of this determination, but
because they have been conquered, and seek to be revenged.
They are not influenced by principle, but passion. = Q-) _
I'll to my castle.] Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in York-
shire. =10:) —bewray —] i.e. betray, discover. ^=11:) "Ua-
ther than have made" — Malone. = 12:) What is it, but to
make thy sepulchre,] The queen's reproach is founded on a
position long received among politicians, that the loss of a
king's power is soon followed by loss of life. = 13:) Tire
on the jlesh of me,] To tire is to fasten, to fix the talons,
from the French tirer; or rather, to peck. = 14:) — t/jo«e
three lords—] that is, of Northumberland, Westmoreland,
and Clifford, who had left him in disgust. = 1 5:) ^re oath is
of no moment,] The obligation of an oath is here eluded
by very despicable sophistry. A lawful magistrate alone
has the power to exact an oath, but the oath derives no
part of its force from the magistrate. The plea against the
obligation of an oath obliging to maintain an usurper, taken
from the unlawfulness of the oath itself in the foregoing
play, was rational and just. = 16:) The queen, with all, kc]
I iiuow not whether the author intended any moral instruc-

tion, but he that reads this has a striking admonition against
that precipitancy by which men often use unlawful means
to do that which a little delay would put honestly in their
power. Had York staid but a few moments, he had saved
his cause from the stain of perjury. Johnson. The whole,
however^ is a violation of historic truth. =: 17:) Whose fa-
ther—] I.e. the father of which brat, namely the duke of
York. = 18:) We bodg'd again;] i.e. we boggled, made bad
or bungling work of our attempt to rally. =r 19:) _ noon-
tide prick.] Or, noontide point on the dial. = 20:) /t is war's
prize—] It is the estimation of people at war; the settled
opinion. = 21:) That rauglit—] i.e. that reached. The an-
cient preterite and participle passive of reor/i. = 22:)— this
napkin—] A napkin is a handkerchief. = 23:) ^nd will you
pale—] i. e. impale, encircle with a crown. = 24:) — to do
him dead.] To kill him. = 25:) — f/te type—] i. e. the dis-
tinguishing mark; an obsolete use of the word. =: 2&.)'Ti«
government, that makes them seem divine;] Government,
in the language of that time, signified evenness of temper,
and decency of manners. Johnson. = 27:) — septentrion.]
i. e. the north. Septentrio, Lat. =

ACT II. = 1:) Methought, he bore him — ] i. e. he de-
meaned himself. ^=1:) And takes her farewell of the glori-
ous sun!] Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun,
when she dismisses him to his diurnal course. = 3:) — the
racking clouds,] i. e. the clouds in rapid, tumultuary motion.
= 4:) — blazing by our meeds,] Meed here means merit.
= 6:) 0, speak no more!] The generous tenderness of Kd-
ward, and savage fortitude of Ilichard, are well distinguished
by their different reception of their father's death. Johnson.
= 6:) — the hope of Troy—] Hector. = 7:) — haught North-
umberland,] i.e. high spirited, or haughty. ^^8:} Why then
it sorts,] Why then things are as the^ snould he. =' 9:) —

fondly — J i. e. foolishly.^ iO:) did'stthou never hear, —

II That things ill got had ever bad success'^ kc] The pro-
verb quoted by his majesty on this occasion, seems to mili-
tate directly against his own argument, and shows that
things ill got might have good success. M. Mason. t= 11:)
Whose father, Lr..] Alluding to a common proverb: "Happy
the child whose father went to the devil." = 12:) Darraign — J
that is, range your host, put your host in order. ^= 13:) —
1 am rcsolvUl,] It is my firm persuasion; I am no longer in
doubt. = 14:) [As if a channel should be caird the sea,)]
A channel, in our author's time, signified what we now call
a kennel. = 15:) To let thy tongue detect — ] To show thy
meanness of birth by the indecency of language with which
thou railest at my deformity. Johnson. :=!&.) A wisp of
straw—] An instrument of correction that mignt disgrace,
but not hurt fier. A wisp was also tJie punishmeiit for a
scold. = 17:) To make this shameless callet — j Callet, a
lewd woman, a drab, perhaps so called from the French
ca/ofe, which was a sort of headdress worn by country girls.

= 18:) — Menelaiis;] i. e. a cuckold. = 19:) we saw our

sunshine made thy spring, || And that thy summer bred us
no increase,] When we saw that by favouring tiiee we made
thee grow in fortune, but that we received no advantage
from thy fortune flourishing by our favour, we tlien resolved
to destroy thee, and determined to try sjonie otiier means,
though our first efforts have tailed. =:'Z0:) A Field of Battle,
iic] We should read near Tonton. Sliakspeare has here,
perhaps intentionally, thrown lliree different actions into
one. ^=21:) /ind look upon,] And arc mere spectators. =
22:) Beseeching'Viiee,] that is, beseeching the divine power.
r=23:) — quailing — ] i. e. sinking into dejection. =2 4:) Fore-
slow HO longer,] To fore-slow is to be dilatory, to loiter.
= 25:) — victhinks, it were a happy life,] This speech is
mournful and soft, exquisitely suited to the character of the
king, and makes a pleasing interchange, by affording, amidst
the tumult and horror of the battle, an unexjiected glimpse
of rural innocence and pastoral tranquillity. Johnson. =
26:) Enter a Son, ,Vc.j These two horrible incidents arc se-
lected to show the innumerable calamities of civil war.
Johnson. In the battle of Constantine and Maxentius, by
Raphael, the second of these incidents is introduced on a
similar occasion. = 27:) And let our hearts, and eyes, like
civil war, || Be blind ivith tears, and break overcharged with
grief.] The meaning is here inaccurately expressed. The
king intends to say that the state of their hearts and eyes
shall be like that of the kingdom in a civil war, all shall
be destroyed by power formed within themselves. Johnson.
= 28:) If' hat stratagems,] Stratragem is used by Shakspearc
not merely to express^ the events and surprises of war. —
The word means in this place some dreadful event. ^= 29:)
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, iicj Of the
various meanings given to these two lines, the following
seems the most probable. Had the son been younger, he
would have been precluded from the levy that brougut him
into the field; and had the father recognised him before the
mortal blow, it would not have been too late to have saved
him from death. Hem.ey. =30:) lake on with me,] To take
on is a phrase still in use among the vulgar, and signilies —
to persist in clamorous lamctitation. ^= 31:) Mi^thiuk— ]
i. e. think ill, unfavourably . ^=^ 32:) And so obsequious will
thy father be.] Obsequious is here careful of osbequics, or
of" funeral rites. = 33:) — like life and death's departing.]
Departing for separation. = 34:) — eager words.] Sour
words; words of asperity. = 35:) — too ominous.] Alluding,
perhaps, to the deaths of Thomas of Woodstock, aud Hum-
phrey, dukes of Gloster. =

7>/.S. [Pl:24.]

NOTES

1001

ACT m. =1:) — brake — ] A ftrate anciently siffiiified a
thicket. =: 2:) — this laiiuU— J Laund means me "iaine as
lawn; a plain extended between woods. = 3:) O Margaret,
ice] The piety of Henry scarce interests us more lor his
misiortune;-, tnan this his constant solicitude tor the wel-
fare of his deceitful queen. Steevens.^4:) //'irfoiD, wcir*//
consider— '\ Tliis is a very lively and xpritely tlialogue; the
reciiirocatioii is quicker than is common in Shakspeare.
JoH>soN. = 5:) — good leave have yuu ;] Good leave, are
words implying readiness of assent. =o:) — lAe sadness — ]
i.e. the seriousness;= (0 "for she looks very sad." ^1AL0^_K.
^::; 8;) — unticWd bearwhelp,} It was an opinion uhich, in
•pite of it-i absurdity, prevailed long, that the bear brings
forth only shapeless lumps of animated 11e!>h, which she licks
into the form of bears. It is now well known that the
whelps of the bear are produced in the same state «ith
tho>.e of other cn-atures. = s:) — — to o'erbear such ,| Js are
oj' better person than myself ,i Richard speaks here the lan-
guage of nature. Whoever is stigmatized with Utformity
has a constant source of envy in his mind, and would coun-
terbalance by some other superiority those advantages which
hce feels himself to want. Uacou remarks that ihe de-
formed are commonly daring; and it is almost proverbially
observed that they are ill-natured. 'l"he truth is, that the
deformed, like all other men, are displeayeil with inferior-
ity, and endeavour to gain ground by good or bad means,
a.i they are virtuous or corrupt. Joh>son. = 10:) — that |
Henry was unfortunate.'] He means, that Henry was un- ;
successful in war, having lo-st his dominions in France, ic.
= 1 1:) Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,] Envy
is always supposed to liavc some fascinating or blasting -
pouer; and to be out of the reach of tnvy is theretore a
privilege belonging only to great excellence. 1 know not
well wliy envy is mcniioned here, or uhose envy can be
meant; but the meaning is, that his love is superior to envy,
and can leel no blast from the lady's rftsr/oin. Ur that, if'
Uona refuse to quit or requite his pain, his love may turn
to disdain, though the consciousness of his own merit will
exempt him from the pangs of envy. Johkson. 1 believe
envy is in this place, as in many others, put for malice or
hatred. His situation places him above these, though it
cannot secure him from female disdain. Stkevess. = 12:)
You have a father able— ] This seems ironical. The poverty
of Margaret's lather is a very frequent topic of reproach.
z= li:) Thy sly conveyance,] Couveyaucei is juggling, and
thence is taken for arlilice and fraud :=14:) — to sootn your
forgery and his,] To soften it, to make it more endurable:
or pernaps, to sooth us, and to prevent our being exasper-
ated b} your forgery and his. Walose. ■= I o:) — guerdon' d —]
i. e. rcMarded.^lo:) — g'o fear thy king—] Tliat is, Jright
thy king. = 17:) — to put armour on.] It was once no un-
usual tiling for queens themselves to appear in armour at
the head of their forces. The suit whicn Elizabeth wore,
when she rode through the lines at Tilbury to encourage
the troops, on the approach of the armada, may be still
seen in the Tower. = 18:) — thy reward;] Here we are to
suppose that, according to ancient custom, Warwick makes
a present to the herald or messenger, whom the original
copies call — a post. = 19:) — to make a stale,] i. e. stalk-
ing-horse, pretence. =

ACT IV. = 1:) tf^hy, k-nows not Montague, that of it-
self , \\ England is safe, if true within itself^] ^ either the
lapse of two centuries, nor any circumstance which has oc-
curred during that eventful period, has in any degree shook
the credit of this observation, or impaired the confidence
of the public in the truth of it. "England is and will be
still safe, if true within itself." =2:) —icitA tAe seas,] This
has been the advice of every man who in any age under-
stood and favoured the interest of England. = 3:) — you
icould not have bestow'd the heir — ] It must be remem-
bered, that till the Restoration, the heiresses of great es-
tates were in the wardship of the king, who in their minor-
ity gave them up to plunder, and afterwards matched them
to his favourites. 1 know not when liberty gained more than
by the abolition of the court of wards. Joh?(so>. = 4:) — /
was not ignoble of descent,] Her father was sir Richard
VVidville, knight, afterwards earl of Rivers ; her mother,
Jaqueline, durhess-dowager of Hedford, who was daughter
to Pclcr of Luxcmburgh, earl of &>aiiit Paul, and widow of
John duke of liedford, brother to King Henry V. = 6:) —
the was there in place.] This expression, signifying, she
was there present, occurs frequently in old English writers.
En |)/ace, a Gallicism. ^6:) — are done,] i. e. are consumed,
thrown olf. The word is often used in this sense by the
writers of our author's age. = 7:) "welcome, sweet Clar-
ence;"—Malo>e. = 8:)— the Thracian fatal steeds;] We
are told by some of the writers on the Trojan story, that
the capture of these horses was one of the necfssary pre-
liminaries to the fate of Troy. = 9:) Then, for his mind,
be Edward England's king:] That is, in his mind; as far
as his own mind goes. =r 10:) —/em »7ien rightly temper
toith the stars:] 1 suppose the meaning is. tnat few men
conform their temper to their destiny ; 'whirh King Henry
did, when linding himself unfortunate he gave the manage-
ment of public atifairs to more prosperous hands. Joh>son.
= 11:) — tfi place.] i. e. here present. := 12:) This pretty
lad—] He was afterwards Henry Vli.; a man wuo put an
end to the civil war of the two houses, but no otherwise

remarkable for virtue. Shakspeare knew his trade. Henry VII.
was grandfather to queen Elizabeth, and the king from
whom James inherited. Johnson. = 1 3:) — attended him — ]
i. e. waited for him. r= 14:) The good old man would fain
that all were well,] The mayor is willing we should enter,
so he may not be blamed. = 15:) The bruit — ] i. c. noise,
report. t= 16:) — my meed — ] Meed signilies here merit. =
1":) The sun shines hot, kc] The allusion is to a well-
kuown proverb — ".Make hay while the sun shines." =

ACT V. r=l:) ni do thee service—] i. e. enroll myself
among thy dependants. Cowell informs us, that servitium
is "that service which the tenant, by reason of his fee,
oweth unto his lord." =2:) The king was slily fingered from
\ the deck !] A pack of cards was ancient4y termed a deck of
j cards, or a pair of cards, and this is still in use in some
1 parts. = 3:) Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, ;|
I Have sold their lives unto the house of York;] The first of
I these noblemen was Edmund, slain at the_ battle of iSaint
I Albaii's, 1455. The second was Henry his son, beheaded
I al'tiT the battle of Hexham, 1463. The present diike Edmund,
j brother to Henrj% was taken prisoner atTewksbiiry, 1471^
and there beheaded, his brother John losing his life in the
same light. = 4:) — to lime the stones — ] that is, to cement
the stones. Lime makes mortar. = .5:) — so blunt,] Stupid,
insensible of paternal fondness. = &.) — passing traitor,]
I Eminent, egregious; traitorous beyond the rninmon track of
treason. ^=7:) — a bug, that fear'd us all.] Dug is a bug-
bear, a terrilic being. ^^8:) My parks, i.c.j This mention «if
his parks and manors diininisiies the pathetic effect of the
foregoing lines. = 9:) JFhich sounded like a cannon in a
vault,] Mr. Steevens thinks clamour, which is in the old
i plav, the proper word, and adds, "The indistinct gabble of .
uii(fertakers, while they adjust a coflin in a family vault,
will abundantly illustrate the preceding simile. Such a pe-
culiar hubbub of inarticulate sounds might have attracted
our author's notice: it has too often forced itself on mine."
= 10:) My tears gainsay;] To gainsay is to unsay, to deny,
to contradict. = 11:) — to Hammes' castle—] A castle in
Picardy, where Oxford was confined for many years. = 12:)
Let Aisop, iic] The prince calls Richard, for Ijis crooked-
ness, .iEsop ; and the poet, following nature, makes Richard
I highly incensed at the reproach. = 13:) — the likeness of
I this railer here.] That thou resemblest thy railing mother.
j =:14:) — with words"?] i.e. dispute, contention. =1 5:) 'Tioas
i sin before,] She alludes to the desertion of f-'Iarence. = 16:)
I — hapless male — ] The word inalc is here used in a very
I uncommon sense, not for the male of the female, but for
' the male parent : the sweet bird is evidently his son prince
I Edward. = 17:) JFhich now mistrust no parcel of my fear;]
I Who suspect no part of what my fears presage. = 1 8:) The
raven rook'd her — ] To rooi-, or rather to ruck, is a north-
I country word, signifying to squat down, or lodge on any
; thing. = 19:) But 1 will sort a pitchy day for thee:] Hut
1 will choose out an hour whose gloom shall be as fatal to
you. To sort is to select. = 20:) IFork thou the way, kc]
He speaks this line, lirst touching his head, and then look-
ing on his Aand. = 21:) Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy
brother, thanks.] In my copy of the second folio, which had
belonged to king Charles the lir?t, his maiesly has erased.
— Cla. and written King iu its suad— Shakspeare, there-
fore, in the catalogue of his restorers, may boast of a royal
name. Stkevens. = 22:) fFith stately triumphs,] Triumphs
are public shows. ^

XXIV. KING RICHARD III.

ACT I. = 1:) — t/iis sun of York;] Alluding to the cog-
nizance of Edward IV. which was a sun, in memory of ttie
fAree suns, which are said to have appeared at the battle
which he gained over the Lancastrians at Mortimer's Cross.
= 2:) — delightful measures.] A measure was, strictly speak-
ing, a court dance of a stately turn, though the word is
sometimes employed to express dances in general. = 3:) —
barbed steeds,] i. e. steeds caparisoned in a w arlike manner.
Barbed, however, may be no more than a corruption of
barded. Equus bardatus, in the Latin of the middle ages,
was a horse adorned with military trappings. = 4:) He
capers—] War capers. This is poetical, though a little
harsh; if it be York that capers, the antecedent is at such
a distance, that it is almost forgotten. =; 5:) CAeated of fea-
ture by dissembling nature,] By dissembling is not meant
hypocritical nature, that pretends one thing, and does an-
other; but nature that puts together things of a dissimilar
kind, as a brave soul and a deformed body. Feature is
used here, as in other pieces of the same age, for beauty
in general. =6:) And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,]
Shakspeare very diligently inculcates, that the wickednesa
of Richard proceeded from his deformity, from the envy
that rose at the comparison of his own person with others,
and which incited him to disturb the pleasures that he could
not partake. Johsson. — 7:) — inductions dangerous,] Pre-
parations for mischief. The induction is preparatory to the
action of the play. = 8:) -toys-] Fancies, freaks of ima-
gination. = 9:) The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself.]
That is the queen and Shore. = 10:) "And that the queen's,"
&c — Malose. = 11:) — tAegueen's abjecis,] The most ser-

V.

Tile of her subjects, who must of course obey all her coin-
inands. = 12:) — lie /or you:] i. e. be imprmotied in your
stead. To lie was anciently to reside, as appears by many
instances in these volumes. = 1 3:) — thouid be mew'd,] A
mew was the place of confniement where a hawk was kipt
till he had moulted. = 14:) — an evil diet—] i. e. a bad re-
gimen. = 15:) — obsequiously lament—] Obsequious, in this
instance, means funereal. := 16:) — key-cold-] A key, on
account of the coldness of the metal of which it is composed,
was anciently employed to stop any slight bleeding. Tlie
epithet is common to many old writers. = 17:) — to his un-
happiuess!] i.e. disposition to mischief. = 18:) — pattern of

thy butcheries :] i'attern is instance, or example. == 1 i<:)

see! dead Henry's wounds \\ Open their congeaVd mouths,
and bleed afresh!] It is a tradition very generally received,
that the murdered body bleeds on the touch of the murderer.
This was so much believed by Sir Kenelm Digby, that he
has endeavoured to explain the reason. =20:) fouehaafe,
ditfus'd infection of a man,] Diffused infection of a man
may mean, thou that art as dangerous as a pestilence, that
infects the air by its ditfusion. DiffasUl may, however,
mean irregular. ^= 2 V.) "In thy foul turoat," \c. — Mai.onk.
= 22:) That laid their guilt—] The crime of my brothers.
He has just charged the murder of lady Anne's husband
upon Edward. = 23:) — a slower method;] As quick was
used for »;)rite/y, so e/ou>er was put for «ertott». =^24:) "Mo,
when," A:c. — Mai.onk.=^25:) ^i/t 'twas thy beauty— ] Shak-
speare countenances the observation, that no woman can
ever be offended with the mention of her beauty. JoH^soN.
= 26:) "Then never man was true." — Mai.onk. = 2'/:) —
Crosby-place:] A house near Bishopsgate street, belonging
to the duke of Gloster, now Orosby-square, where part of
the house is yet remaining. = 28:) "Sirs, take up the corse."

— MAL0^K. = 29:) "all the world to nothing, ah !" — Malone.
= 30:) — a beggarly denier,] A denier is the twelfth part
of a French sous, and appears to have been the usual re-
quest of a beggar. =31:) — to warn them—] i. e. to »u»i-

jnon. = 32:) speak fair, || Smile in men's faces, smooth,

deceive, and cog, || Duck with French nods and apish cour-
tesy,] An importation of artificial manners seems to have
afforded our ancient poets a neverfaiiing topic of invective.
= 33:) — with lewd complaints.] Lewd, in the present in-
stance, signilies rude, ignorant; from the Anglo-Saxon, lae-
wede, a laic. (Miaucer often uses the word lewd, both for
a laic and an ignorant person. = 34:) Since every Jack be-
came a gentleman,] This proverbial expression at once de-
monstrates the origin of the term Jack so often used by
Shakspeare. It means one of the very lowest class of peo-
ple, among whom this name is of the most common ancf fa-
miliar kind.:=:35:) "while many fair promotions" — Malonb.
= 3b:) " ro be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at:" —
Malone. =37:) — my pains— ] My labours, my tot7«.= 38:)

— royalizc — ] i.e. to make royal. = 39:) "Yea," — Malose.
= 40:) — Margaret'* battle—] is — Margaret's army. = 41:)
which you have pill'd from me:] To pill is to pillage. =
42:) ^A, gentle villain,] Gentle appears to be taken iu its
common acceptation, but to be used ironically. = 43:) — what
roak'st thou in my sight i^] An obsolete expression for —
what dost thou in my sight. = 44:) — hath plagu'd thy bloody
deed.] To plague, in ancient language, is to punish. = id:)

— by surfeit die your king!] Alluding to his luxurious life.
= 46:) — e/t)i«A-niark'd,] I'he common people in Scotland,
(as we learn from Kelly's Froverbs,) have still an aversion
to those who have any natural defect or redundancy, as
thinking them markUl out for mischief. = 47:) — rooting
hog!] The expression is line, alluding (in memory of her
young son) to the ravage which hogs make, with the finest
flowers, in gardens; and intimating that Elizabeth was to
expect no other treatment for her sons. Warhurton. =48:)
The slave of nature,] The expression is strong and noble,
and alludes to the ancient custom of masters branding their
profligate slaves ; by which it is insinuated that his mis-
shapen person was the mark that nature had set upon him
to stigmatize his ill conditions. = 49:) — bottled spider,] A
spider is called bottled, because, like other insects, he has
a middle slender, and a belly protuberant. Kichard's form
and venom made her liken him to a spider. = 60:) fVitness
my son, kc] Her distress cannot prevent her quibbling. It
may be here remarked, that the introduction of Margaret
in this place is against all historical evidence. She was
ransomed and sent to France soon after Tewksbury iight,
and there passed the remainder of her wretched life. ^:= 51:)
Your aiery buildeth in our aiery'« nest;] An aiery is a
hawk's or an eagle's nest. = 32:) He is frank'd up to fat-
ting for his pains ;] A frank is an old English word for a
hog-sty or pen. ' i'is possible he uses this metanhor to
Clarence, in allusion to the crest of the family ot York,
which was a boar. =5 3:) — done scath to us.] Scath is harm,
mischief. r=hk:) Mr. Malone omits upon.^=: 56:) Your eyes
drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears ;] This, I be-
lieve, is a proverbial expression. Steevkns. = 56:) — faith-
ful man,] Not an infidel. = 6 7:) — unvalued jewels,] Un-
valued is here used for invaluable. — S8:) — withinmy pant-
ing bulk,] Bulk is often used by Shakspeare and his con-
temporaries for body. = 59:) "Show him our commission;"

— Mai.okb. = 60:) "my charge to you." — Mai.onb. = 61:)
"ray holy humour," kc. — Mai.onb. = 62:) Spoke like a tall
fellow,] rhe meaning of tall, in old English, is stout, dar-
ing, fearless, and strong. = 63:) — the costard — ] i. e. the
head; a name adopted from an apple shaped like a man's
head. = 64:) — we'tt reasou— ] We'll talk. =65:) JThat law-

ful quest — ] Quest is inquest or jury. ^=66:) "^as you hope
to have redemption," — MALOi<iK. = 67:) — dear — ] This is a
word of mere enforcement, and very frequently occurs, with
different shades of meaning, in our author. = 68:) "Why,
sirs, he sends," &lc. — Mai-oxk. :=6P:) "this sin" — Malone.
= 'i 0:) — springing, — Flantagenet,] Klooming Plantagenet;
a prince in the spring oi \\ic.-=1\:) — novice,] Youth; one
yet new t* Ifce world. =

ACT H. T=z 1:) "And now in peace," kc. — Malonk. =
2:) Dissemble not your hatred,] i. e. do not gloss it over.
= 3:) "but not in blood," — Malone. = 4:) The forfeit,] He
means the remission of the forfeit. = 5:) Have I a tongue
to doom my brother's death,] This lamentation is very ten-
der and pathetic. The recollection of the good qualities of
the dead is very natural, and no less naturally does the
king endeavour to cuinmunicate the crime to others. =^6:) —
My pretty cousins,] The duchess is here addressing her
grand-children, but cousin was the term used in Shakspeare's
time, by uncles to nephews and nieces, grandfathers to
grandchildren, kc. It seems to have been used instead of
our kinsman, and kinswoman, and to have supplied the place
of both. = 7:) Incapable and shallow innocents,] Incapable
\a unintelligent. =8:) — his images:] The children by whom
he was represented. =9;) For it requires — ] i. e. because.
= 10:) Both Steevens and Malone place ^sirfe at the end of
the preceding line, but surely it belongs to the third, if not
to the whole speech. =11:) — your censures — ] To_ccn*ure
formerly meant to deliver an opinion. =12:) As index to
the story — ] i. e. preparatory — by way of prelude. = IS:)
"Vcs, that the king is dead." Malonk.= li:) You cannot
reason almost — ] To reason is to conuer»e. = 15:) "Last
night, I hear, they lay at IN'orthampton ; || At Stony-Strat-
ford will they be to-night." Malome. In both readinffs,
historical truth is violated. = 16:) — been remember'd,] To
be remember'd is, in Shakspeare, to have one's memory
quick, to have one's thoughts about one. = 17:) A parlous
boy:] Farlous is keen, shrewd. = 18:) — awlesa—] Xot pro-
ducing awe, nor reverenced. To jut upon is to encroach. =3=

ACT III. r= 1:) — to your chamber.] Loudon was an-
ciently called Camera regis. This title it began to have
immeuiately after the INorman conquest. = 2:) Too ceremoiii-
ousj and traditional:] Ceremonious for superstitious ; tra-
ditional for adherent to old customs. = 3:) tVeigh it but
with the grossness of this ageA That is, compare the act of
seizing him with the gross and licentious practices of these
times, it will not be considered as a. violation of sanctuary,
for you may give such reasons as men are used to admit.
= 4:) As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,] Retailed means
handed down from_ one to another. = o:) Thus, like tht
formal vice, Iniquity, i| / moralize two meanings in one
word.] The pice of the old moralities was a buffoon cha-
racter, whose chief employment was to make the audience
laugh, and one of the modes by which he effected his pur-
pose was by double meanings, or playing upon words. In
these moral representations, /''raud, Iniquity, Coyetousness,
Luxury, Gluttony, lanity, &c. were frequently introduced.
The formal Vice perhaps means, the shrewd, the sensible
Vice. = 6:) — lightly—] Commonly, in ordinary course. =
7:) — dread lord;] The original of this epithet applied to
kings has been much disputed. In some of our old statutes
the king is called Rex metuendissimus. Johnson. == 8:) Too
late he died,] i. e. too lately, the loss is loo fresh in our
memory. = 9:) "I priiy you, uncle, give me,"4:c. — Malone.
= 10:) / weigh it lightly, &c.] i. e. 1 should still esteem it
but a trilling gift, were it heavier, or perhaps, I'd weigh it

lightly, i.e. 1 could manage it, though it were heavier.

= 11:) "My lord, will't please,"— Malone. = 12:) "Why,
what should you fear?" — Malone. = 13:) IFas not in-
censed—] i.e. incited or suggested. ^=1^:) — capable ;] here,
as in many other places in these plays, means intelligent,
quick of apprehension. = 15:) Mr. Malone omits '■'■gentle.'^
r=lb:) — divided councils,] That is, a private consultation,
separate from the known and public council. = 17:) "from
the lord Stanley." —Malone. = lfi:) "these tedious"— Ma-
lone. = 19:) — the boar had rased off^ his helm:] By the
6oar, throughout this scene, is meant Gloster, who was called
the 6oar, or the hog, from his having a boar for his cogniz-
ance, and one of the supporters of his coat of arms. Stkk-
vENs. = 20:) His honour,] Tliis was the usual address to
noblemen iu Shakspeare's time. ^21:) — wanting- instance:]
That is, wanting some example or act of malevolence, by
which they may be justitied: or which, perhaps, is nearer
to the true meaning, wanting any immediate ground or rea-
son. Johnson. =^22:) "and" is omitted by Mr. Malonc.= 23:)

— the holy rood,] i. e. the cross. = 24:) "dear as you do
yours;" — Malone. = 2 5:) — 2 misdoubt;] i. e. suspect it of
danger. = 26:) They, for their truth,] That is, with respect
to their honesty. =27:) — e.rerci«e,J For attending him in
private to hear his confession; or, perhaps it means only
religious exhortation or lecture. = 28:) — shriving work in
hand.] Shriving work is confession. = 29:) — the hour oj
death t« expiate.] Perhaps, /u//yc(»m;)fefcrf, and ended. ==30:)

— and wants but nomination.] i. e. the only thing wanting, i»
appointment of a particular day for the ccremouy. = 31:) —
inward—] i. e. intimate, confidential. = 32:) Had you not
come upon your cue,] Ihii expression ia borrowed from the

7>/. S. [Pi.:24.]

NOTES.

1003

theatre. The cue, queue, or tail of a tpeech, coiisii»t« of
the lastt words, which are the token for an entrance or aii-
sw,er. To come on the cue, therefore, is to come at the
proper lime. = 33:) Here Mr. Maloiie iiitcrposex, '■'■Hatt. 1
ihank joiir grace." = 34:) 1 saw good ttrawbcrriet — J The
rea!>ou vthy ihe bishop was dciipatched on thi.n errand, is not
clearer in Holinshed, from whom !!=hakspcare adopted the
circumstances, ihun in this scene, where^ it is introduced.
= 36:) There'* some conceit or other — ] i. e. pleasant idea
or fancy. = 36:) Mr. Malone add;*, "Stan. I pray (Jod he
be not,! say." r= 37:) Three times to-day my foot-cloih
horse did stumble,] To stumble was anciently esteemed a
bad omen. 'Ihe housings of a horse, and sometimes a horse
himself, were anciently denominated a foot- cloth. = 38:)
Intending deep suspicion:] i. e. pretending. =_3i':) "harm-
less"— S1aloise.= 40:) — his conversation—] \. e. familiar
intercourse. 'Ihe phrase criminal conversation, is yet in
daily usie. = ' '
nard's cas

= 41:) "luhtful eve," — Malom3. = 42:)-
tle;] It was originally built by Baynard,

-toBay-
a noble-

uian, who (according to istowe s account) came in with the
conqueror. This editice, which stood in Thames-street, has
lung been pulled dowu, though parts of its strong tounua-
tion are still visible at low water. The site of it is now a
timber-yard. = 43:) — to doctor Shaw.] IShaw and Penker
were two popular preachers. — Instead of a pamphlet being
published by the secretary of the Treasury, to fiimiih the
advocates for the administration of the day, with plausible
topics of argument on great political measures, (the estab-
lished mode of Ihe present time,) formerly it was_ custom-
ary to publish the court creed from the pulpit at Saint PauTs
Cross. As Kichard now employed Dr. Shaw to support his
claim to the crown, so, about fifteen years before, the gntat
earl of \\arwick employed his chaplain Ur. Goddard to con-
vince the people that Henry \T. ought to be restored, and
that Edward IV. was an usurper. Mai.O!*e.^= 44:) The pre-
cedent—] The original draft from which the engrossment
was made. =45:) —seen in thought.] That is, seen in si-
lence, without notice or detection. = 4t):) "breathing stones,"
— MAl,o^B. = 47:) — intend some fear ;] Perhaps, pretend;
though intend will !>tand in the sense of giving attention.
Jouf,»oy. = i8:)Js 1 can say nay to thee, He] i.e. if (says
Kichard) you speak for them as plausibly as I in my own
person, or my own purposes, shall seem to deny your suit,
there is no doubt but we shall bring all to a happy issue.
= 4k) — day bed,] i. e. a couch, or sofa. = 50:) — to en-
gross—] to fatten, to pamiter =51:)— God defend, his
grace should say us nay!] This pious and courtly may«;r was
t!.dmttnd Shaw, brother to Ur. Shaw, whom Kichard had
employed to prove his title to the crown, from the jtulpit
at Saint Paul's ('ross. =: 52:) Jnd almost shoulder'd in the
swallowing gulf—] Shoulder'd has the same meaning as
rudely thrust into. = 53:) IVhieh to recure,] To recure is
to recover. = 54:) (Jnd much I need to help you,] And 1 want
much of the ability requisite to give you help, if help were
needed. = 55:) — are nice and trivial,] Nice is generally
used by Shakspeare in the sense of minute, trifling, of
petty import. = bt>:)— loath' d bigamy ;] Bigamy, by a canon
of the council of Lyons, ,\. I). 1274, (adopted in bnglaud by
a statute in 4 Edw. 1 ) was made unlawful and infamous.
It differed from polygamy, or having two wives at once:
as it consisted in eilher marrying two virgins successively,
or once marrying a widow. = 5 7:) — effeminate remorse,]
i.e. pity. = 5b:) "and you sage," \:c. — Malo>e. =

ACT IV. = 1:) trerc red-hot steel, to sear me to the
brain!] She seems to allude to the ancient mode of punishing
a regicide, or any other egregious criminal, viz. by placing
a crown of iron, heated red iiot, upon his head. = 2:) But
with his timorous dreams — ] "I'in recorded by Polydore Vir-
gil, that Kichard was frequently disturbed by tLTrible dreams:
this is therefore no lictiou.^3:) ^nrf cacAAour's joy uTect'd
with a week of teen] Teen is sorrow. = 4:) — now do I play
the touch,] To jUay the touch is to represent the touch-
stone.^b:) — see, he gnaws his lip.] Several of our ancient
historians observe, that this was an accustomed action of
Hichard, whether he was pensive oraiigry. = &.) And un-
respeclive boys;] Unrespective is inattentive to conse-
quences, inconsiderate. ^= 'i:) — close exploit — ] is secret
act. = 8:) — witty — ] In this place signiiies judicious or cun-
ning. A wit was not at this time employed to signify a man
of fancy, but was used for wisdom or judgment. ^= V:) twill
take order for her keeping close,] i. e. 1 will take measures
that shall oblige her to keep close. != 10:) — it stands me
much upon,] i. e. it is of the utmost consequence to my
designs. = 11:) — deal upon;] i. e. act upon. We should
now say— deal with; but the other was the phraseology of
our author's time. = 12;) Well, let it strike.] This seems to
have been a proverbial sentence. ^= 13:) Because that, like
a Jack,] An image, like those at St. Dunstan's church in
Fleet Street, and at the market-houses at several towns in
this kingdom, was usually called a Jack of the clock-house.
= 14:) To Brecknock.] To the castle of Brecknock in Wales,
where the duke of Buckingham's estate lay. = 15:) — the
Bretagne Richmond—] He thus denominates Richmond, be-
cause after the battle of Tewksbury he had taken refuge in
the court of Francis II. duke of Bretagne, where by the
procurement of king Edward IV. he was kept a long time in
a kind of honourable custody. = 16:) fearful comment-
ing \\ Is leaden servitor —] 'limorous thought and cautious
disquisition arc the dull attendant! on delay. = 17;)— cttre

induction — ] Induction is preface, introduction, first part.
It is so used by Sackville in our author's time. ^=18:) —
say, that right for right—] Margaret now perhaps means
to .-ay. The right of me, an injured mother, whose son was
slain at Tewksbury, has now operated as powerfully as that
right which the dealh of Kutland gave you to divine justice,
and has destroyed your children lu their turn. = 19:) When
didst thou sleep, iic] I'hat is. When, before the present oc-
ca!iion, didst thou ever sleep during the commission of such
an action ■* = 20:) — sctJiorf/,] For seniority. Johixson. =:21:)
"I had a Henry," — Malomi. ^= 22:) — Aer pew-fellow—]
J'cw fellow seems to be companion. = 23:) Young York he
is but boot,] Boot is that wh rh is thrown in to mend a pur-
chase. = 24:) The flattering iiuhx of a direful pageant,]
fugeants are dumb shows, and the poet meant to allude to
one of these, Ihe index of which promised a happier con-
clusion. The pageants then displayed on public occasions
were generally preceded by a brief account of the order in
which the characters were to walk. These indexes were
distributed among the spectators, that ihey might under-
stand ihe meaning of such allegorical stutf as was usually
exhibited. The index of every book was anciently placed

before the beginning of it. = 2o:) a garish flag, || To he

the aim of every dangerous shot;] Alluding to the danger-
ous situation of those persons to whose care the standards
of armies were entrustid. Stekvens. = 26:) Decline all
this,] i. e. run through all this from first to last. = 27:) —
that ow'd that croitm,] i. e. that possessed it. = 28:) — a
touch of your condition,] A spice or particle of your temper
or disposition. =2!-':) Tetchy—] Is touchy, peevish, fretful,
ill-tempered. = 30:) That ctier grac'd me—] To grace seems
here to mean the same as to bless, to make happy. So,
gracious is kind, and graces are favours. Johksok. = 31:)
— Humphrey Hour,] I believe nothing more than a quibble
was meant. In our poet's twentieth Sonnet we find a si-
milar conceit; a quibble between Aue* (colours) and Hughes,
(formerly spelt Hewes) the person addressed. Mai.one. =
3 2:) Shame serves thy life,] To «eri'e is to accompany,
servants being near the persons of their masters. = 33:)
Stay, madam,] Un this dialogue 'tis not necessary to bestow
much criticism; part of it is ridiculous, and the whole im-
probable. JoHKsoN. I cannot agree with Dr. Johnson's opin-
ion. 1 see nothing ridiculous in any part of this dialogue;
and with respect to probability, it was not unnatural that
Richard, who by his art and wheedling tongue had prevailed
on lady Anne to marry him in her heart's extremest grief,
should hope to persuade an ambitious, and, as he thought
her, a wicked woman, to consent to his marriage with her
daughter, which would make her a queen, and aggrandize
her family. M.Mason. ■= 2ii:) All unavoided, Lc] i. e. un-
avoidable.■=Z6:) — still use — ] i.e. constant use. = 36:) TAe
high imperial type — ] Type is exhibition, show, display, or
perhaps, emblem. = 37:) Canst thou demise — ] To demise
is to grant, from demittere, to devolve a right from one to
another. = 88:) "1, even 1; what think, &c." Malone. =
= 3v:)"but hate thee," — Malonk. = 40;) — bid iijte sorrow.]
Bid is in the past tease from bide. = 41:) To whom I will
retail my conquest won,] To retail is to hand down from
one to another. Richard, in the present instance, means to
!-ay he will transmit the benefit of his victories to Eliza-
beth. = 4 2:) — which the king's King forbids.] Alluding to
the prohibition in the Levitical law. =: 4 3:) "by heaven, ' —
Malone. = 44:) — changing — woman !] Such was the real
character of this queen dowager, who would have married
her daughter to king Kichard, and did all in her power to
alienate the marquis of Dorset, her son, from the earl of
Richmond. = 45:) Some light-foot friend, Kc] Richard's
precipitation and confusion is in this scene very happily
represented by inconsistent orders, and sudden variations
of opinion. Johnson. = 46:) — more competitors^ — ] That is,
more opponents to us, or rather, associates with them. =
47:) — they must be told.] This was the language of Shak-
speare's time, when the word neirowas often considered as
plural. ■= 48:) — while we reason here,] i. e. while we talk
here. = 4<:) — Sir Christopher Ursteick.] The person, who
is called Sir Christopher here, and who has been styled so
in the Dramatis Personce of all ihe impressions, was Chris-
topher Lrswick, a bachelor in divinity, and chaplain to the
countess of Richmond, who had intermarried with the lord
Stanley. This priest, the history tells us, frequently went
backwards and iorwards, unsuspected, on messages betwixt
the countess of Richmond, and her husband, anu the young
earl of Richmond, whilst he was preparing to make his
descent on England. He was afterwards almoner to king
Henry VII., aniT retired toHackney, where he died in 1521.=:

ACT v. =1:) Is the determined respite of my wrongs.^
Ilanmer has rightly explained it, the time to which the jju-
nishment of his wrongs was respited. Wrongs in this line
means wrongs done, or injurious practices. = 2:) Lies now — ]
i.e. sojourns. := 3:)— sound direction:] True judgment; tried
military skill. = 4:) Limit—] i. e. appoint. = 6:) — *cep» Aw
regiment ;] i. c. remains with it. = 6:) — make some good
means—] i. e. adopt some convenient measure. = /:) It a
nine o'clock.] 1 think, we ought to read — six instead of
nine, as in the quarto edition. A supper at so late an hour
as nine o'clock, in the year 1485, would have been a pro-
digy. Stkbvkns. Mr. Malone reads six, and '/"" supper
time." =r 8:)— OtVe me a watch:] A watch has many signi-
fications, but I should believe Ihat it means in ihis place

V.

1004

NOTES.

[Pl:25.] Tu.S.

not a sentinel, which would be regularly placed at the king's
tent; nor an in.sirumeut to measure time, which was not
used in that age; but a watch-light, a candle to burn by
him; the light ihat afterwards burnt blue. Johnson. =H:)
Look- that inij staves — ] Staves are the wood of the lances.
= 10:) — the melancholy lord Northumberland'^] Itichard
calls him melancholy, because he did not .join heartily in
his cause. = 11:) Cock-shut time,] i. e. twilight. ^12:) "So,
1 am satislied." — Malone. = 16:) "Set it down." — Ma
i,0KiE.= 14:) "Ratclitt, bid my," A:c. — Malone. A reading
which he censured in his first edition. = lo:) — by attor-
ney,} Hy deputation. = 16:) — rnorfoZ-staring war.} 1 sup-
p<i»e, by mortal-staring war is meant— aiar that looks big,
or stares fatally on its victims. STEEVE^s. = 17:) /, as I

may, || Wtt/t best advantage will deceive the time,} 1

will take the best opportunity to elude the dangers of this
conjuncture. ^= 18:) — peisc me down tu-morrow,] To pei'^e,
i. e. to weigh down, from peser, Frenvh. = 19:) f/arry, that
prophecy' d thou should' st be king,] 'J he prophecy, to which
thi.s alldsiun is made, i.s uttered in one of the parts of
Henry the Sixth. = 20:) And fall thy edgeless sword;} Fall,
in the pre.-ient instance, is a verb active, signifying to drop,
or let lall.= 21:) 7 died for hope,] i. e. 1 died for wishing
well lo you. =22:) Give me another horse,} There is in
thi.-, as in many of our author's speeches of passion, some-
thing very trilling, and something very striking. Richard's
debate, wliether he should quarrel with himsejt, is too long
continued, but the subnequent exaggeration of his crimes is
truly tragical. Johnsois. :=2 3:) "Alack! 1 love myself." —
Mai.oke. = 24:) Of England's chair,} England's cAair, means
England's tArone. =2o:) — quit — ] i.e. requite. = 20:) — the
ransom of my bold attempt — ] 'I'he fine paid by me in
atonement for my rashness shall be my dead corse. =2 7:)
God, and Saint George!] Saint George was the common
cry of the English soldiers when they charged the enemy.
=: 28:) — brav'd the east—} i. e. made it splendid. = 2i<:)
Mr. Malone omits ourself. = 30:) This, and Saint George
to boot!} fiis protection over and above. =31:) — Uickon
thy master, kc.} Dickon is the ancient familiarization of
Richard. In the words — bought and sold, there is some-
what proverbial. = 32:) A sort of vagabonds,} i. e. a com-
pany, a collection. = 33:) "adventure-i" — Malone. = 34:)
''bring to you unrest;"— Malone. = 35:)^?na2e the welkin
with your broken staves.'} That is, fright the skies with the
shivers of your lances. Joihn.'<on. = 36:) "Olf with his son,"
A.C. — Malone. = 3 ,:) Mr. Malone omits /irst. ^ 3 8:) Abate
the edge — ] To abate, is to lower, depress, subdue. = 3 9:)
—reduce — ] i. e. bring back ; au obsolete sense of the word. =

XXV. KL\G HENRY VIII.

ACT I. =: 1:) such a show || As fool and fight is,}

This is not the only passage in which Shakspeare has dis-
covered his conviction of the impropriety ot battles repre-
sented on the stage. He knew that live or six men with
swords, gave a very unsatisfactory idea of an army, and
therefore, without much rare to excuse his former practice,
he allows that a theatrical light would destroy all opinion
of truth, and leave him never an understanding friend.
Magnis ingeniis et multa nihilominus habituris simplex
cOnvenit erroris confessio. Yet 1 know not whether the
coronation shown in this play may not be liable to all that
can be objected against a battle. J(»HNsoji. p= 2:) {To make
that only true we now intend,)} To intend, in our author,
has sometimes the same meaning as to pretend, but this
line is somewhat ob8cure. = o:) — Guynes and Arde:} Guy-
iies then belonged to the English, and Arde to the French:
they are towns in I'icardy, and the valley of Ardren lay
between them. Arde isArdres, but both Hall and Holinshed
write it as Shakspeare does. = 4:) All clinquant,] All glit
tering, all shining. Clarendon uses this word in his des-
cription of the Spanish Jwgo de Toros. = 5:) Durst wag
his tongue in censure.] Censure for determination, of whicii
had the noblest appearance, r^^ 6:) That Bevis was believ'd.}
The old romantic legend of Bevis of Southampton. = 7:) —
the tract of every thing, iic..} Tlie course of these triumphs
and pleasures, however well related, must lose in the des-
cription pan of that spirit and energy which were expressed

in the real action. = «:) the office did \\ Distinctly his

full function.] 'J'he commission for regulating this festivity
was well executed, and gave exactly to every particular
person and action the proper place. Johnson. =-^ y:) — ele-
ment—} iVo initiaiion, no previous practices. Elements are
the first principles of things, or rudiments of knowledge.
The word is here applied, not without a catachresis, to a
person. = 10:) — fierce vanitiesy] Fierce is here, I think,
used like the French fier for proud, unless we suppose an
allusion to the mimical ferocity of the combatants in the
tilt. Johnson. = 1 1:) That such a kecch— ] A keech is a solid
lump or mass. A cake of wa\ or tallow formed in a mould,
is called jet in some places, a keech. There may, perhaps,
be a singular propriety in this term of contempt. fVolsey
was the son of a butcher, and in The Second fart of King
Henry IV. a butcher's wife is called — Goody Keech. ~~ 12:)
— the file— } Tliat is, the list.r=l'6:) Mutt fetch him in he
papers.] He papers, a verb; his own hater, by his own sin-
gle authority, and without the concurrence of the council,
must fetch him iu whom he papers dowii.= 14:) What

did this vanity, || But minister, Lc.} What effect had this
pompous show, but the production of a wretched conclusiou.
Johnson. =: 15:) The ambassador is sileuc'd?] I understand
this of the French ambassador residing in England, vtho,
by being refused an audience, may be said to be silenc'd.
Johnson. = It:) A proper title of a peace;} A line name of
a peace. Ironically. Johnson. = 1 7:) Our reverend cardinal
carried.} To carry a business was at this time a current
phrase for lo conduct or manage it. = 18:) — butcher's cur — ]
VVolsey is said to have been the son of a butcher. = 19:)

A beggar's book \\ Out-worths a noble's blood.} That is,

the literary qualifications of a bookish beggar are more
prized than the high descent of hereditary greatness. This
is a contemptuous exclamation very naturally put into the
mouth of one of the ancient, unlettered, martial nobility.
Johnson. = 20:) y^e biires me with some trick:} He stabs or
wounds me by some artifice or fiction. ^=21:) — from a mouth
of honour — J 1 will crush this base-born fellow, by the due
influence of my rank, or say that all distinction of persons
is at an end. Johnson. = 2'2:) — sincere motions,)} Honest
iudignation. =2o:) — suggests -y] Suggests, for excites. =:

24:)^ he were \\ Something m'\)ita.iiKu in't.} Tliat is, that

he were something different from Mliat he is taken or sup-
jiosed by you to be. = 25:) —practice.] i. e. unfair stratagem.
= 2b:) "de la Car,"— Malone. = 27:) -m?/ life is spaiiu'il
already:} My time is measured, the^length of my life is
now determined. = 2 8:)— and the best heart of it,} heart
is not here taken for the great organ of circulation and life,
but, in a common and popular sense, for the most valuable
or precious part. = 2&:) — stoorf Vthe level — ] To stand in
the level of a gun is to stand in a line ivith its mouth, so
as to be hit by the shot. = ^0:) — front but in that file—}
i. e. 1 am merely on a level with the rest, and step in the
same line with tuem. = 31:) You know nomore than others:
k.c.} That is, jou know no more than other counsellors, but
you are the person who frame those things which are after-
wards proposed, and known equally by all. =32:) — tractable
obedience, kc..} i. e. things are now in such a situation,
that resentment and indignation predominate in every man's
breast over duty and allegiance. = 3 3:) There is no primer

business.] No matter of state more urgent. = 3 4:) "If

1 am II Traduced by ignorant tongues," &C. — Malone. ^35:)
jy e must not stint — ] To stint is here to sto]>, to retard.
= 3 6:) To cope—] To engage with, to encounter. The word
is still used in some counties. =r 3 7;) — once weak ones,}
Once is here used for sometime, or at one time or other.
= 38:) — or not allow'd;] Not approved. = 39:) — — what
worst, as oft, || Hitting a grosser quality,} The worst actions
of great men are commended by the vulgar, as more ac-
commodated to the grossness of iheir notions. Johnson. =
40:) From every tree, lop,] Lop is a substantive, and signi-
fies the branches. =il:) And never seek for aid out of him-
self.] Beyond the treasures of his owu mind. = 42:) The
duke being at the Rose, &c.] This house was purchased about
the year 1561, by Richard Hill, sometime master of the
Merciiant Tailors' company, and is now the Merchant Tai-
lors' scnool, in SulTolk-laue. ^43:) — so rank'?] Rank weeds,
are weeds grown up to great height and strength. What,
says the king, was he advanced to this pitch i^ Johnson. =
44:) — by day and night,} This, I believe, was a phrase
anciently signifying — at all times, every way, completely.
The king's words, however, by some critics have been con-
sidered as an adjuration. 1 do not pretend to have de-
terniined the exact force of thein. Steevens. =^ 4 5:) Js it
possible, the spells of France should juggle || Men into
such strange mysteries'?] i. e. those fantastic manners and
fashions of the French, which had operated as spells or
enchantments.^: 46:) A fit or two o' the face ;} A fit of tiie
face is what we now term a grimace, an artificial ca.-it of
the countenance. = 4 7:) A springhalt—] The stringhalt, or
springhalt, \s a disease incident to horses, which gives them

a convulsive motion in their paces. = 48:) leane these

remnants || Of fool, and feather,] An allusion to the feathers
which were formerly worn by fools iu their caps. = 4!-:) —
blister'd breeches,} i. e. breeches pulTd, swell'd out like
blisters. The modern editors read — bolster'd breeches,
which has the same meaning. =50:) "Hold" — Malone: but
held in his first edition. = 61:) — My barge stays;} 'I'he
speaker is now iu the king's palace at Uridewell, from
which he is proceeding by water to York-plare, (cardinal
Wolsey's house) now Whitehall. = 52:) — Chambers dis-
charged.} A chamber is a gun which stands erect on its
breech. Such are used only on occasions of rejoicing, and
are so contrived as to carry great charges, and thereby to
make a noise more than proportioned to their bulk, 'i'hey
are called chambers, because they are mere chambers lo
lodge powder; a chamber being the technical term for that
cavity in a piece of ordnance which contains the combusti-
bles. Some of them are still fired in the Park, and at the
places opposite to the parliament-house when the king goes
thither. -— 53:)— take it.} That is, take the chief place.=
5*:) — unhappily.} That is, unluckily, mischievously. ^=
55:) / were unmannerly, to take you out, ]| And not to kiss
you.} A kiss was anciently the established fee of a lady's
partner. =

ACT II. = 1:) "To have brought," — Malonb. =2:) — —
710 black envy \\ Shall make my grave.} Siiakspeare, by this
expressioli, meant no more than to make tiic duke say, iVb
action exprosaivo of malice shall conclude my life. The

Th.S.[Pl:25.]

N O T E S.

1005

sense will then be, (whether quaintly or poeticaliy expressed,
let the reader determine) no malicious action shall close
my grave, i. e, attend the conclusion of my existence, or
terminate my life ; the last action of it shall uut be un-
charitable. ISteeve>3. = 3:) strong /a/tA—] Is great lidclity.
— 4;) 7;ifo what pitch Ae please.] The mass mu^t be la-
shioned into pitch or Ae/^Af, as well as into particular form.
The meaning is, that the cardinal can, as he pleare.", make

higli or low. =5:) Aare great core || / be not found a

talker.] 1 take the meaning to be. Let care be taken that
my promise be performed, that my professions of welcome
be not found empty talk. Johs.'0>.= 6:) — so sicu though,]
That is, so sick as he is proud. =7:) "one have at him." —
Malowe. := 8:) Have their free voices;] The construction
is, have sent their frte voices; the word sent, which occurs
iu the next line, being understood here. ^ 6:) Kept him a
foreign man still;] Kept him out of the king's presence,
employed in foreign embassies. = 10:) To give her the
avaunt !] To send her away contemptuously ; to pronounce
against her a sentence of ejection. =; 11:) Yet, »/rAat quarrel,
fortune,] Perhaps for quarreller. ^ 12:) — stranger now
again.] Again an alien; not only no longer queen, but no
longer an Englishwoman. Johnson. ^= 13:) — our best hav-
ing.] That is, our best possession. = 14:) — cheverif — ] is
kia skin, soft leather. = 15:) — P/ucfc olf a little; ti.c.] i. e.
let us still further divest preferment of its glare, let us
descend yet lower, and more upon a level with your own
quality. = 16:) Morethanmy all t» nothing; Jcc.J.Vtore than
my all is nothing, for my prayers and wishes are of no
value, and yet prayers and wishes are all 1 have to return.
= 17:) 1 shall not fail, ice] 1 shall not omit to strengthen,
by my commendation, the opinion which the king has formed.
= 18:) — 1» it bitter 'f forty pence, no.] Forty pence was, iu
those days, the proverbial expression of a small wager, or
a small sum. Money was then reckoned by pounds, marks,
and nobles. =^19:} For all the mud in Egypt:] The fertility
of Egypt is derived from the mud and slime of the ^ile.
:=2 0:) — Sennet,] Dr. B\irney (whose General History of
Music has been so highly and deservedly applauded) under-
took to trace the etymology, and discover the certain mean-
ing of this term, but without success. Mr. Malone thinks
it was no more than a flourish, or sounding. = 21:) — pil-
lars;] Fillars were some of the ensigns of dignity carried
before cardinals. = 22:) — and make my challenge,] Chal-
lenge is here a law term. The criminal, when he refuses a
juryman, says — I challenge him. Abhor and refuse are also
law terms. = 2i:) ^ gainsay — ] i. e. deny. = 24:) You sign
your place and calling,] To sign here is to show, to de-
note. By your outward meekness and humility, you show
that you are of an holy order, but, i.Vc. = 23:) — eou/rf speak
thee out,)] had tongues capable of speaking out thy merits;
i. e. of doing them extensive justice. = 26:) — ^although
not there \\ At once and fully satisfied,)] The sense, which
is encumbered with words, is no more than this — 1 must be
loosed, though when so loosed, 1 shall not be satisfied fully
and at once ; that is, I shall not be immediately satislied.
Johnson. = 2 7:) "that might" — Malone. = 28:) TAe pas-
sages made toward it:] i.e. closed, or fastened. = 'Z'^:)

hulling in \\ The wild sea — ] That is, floating without guid-
ance; tossed here and there. =^

ACT III. = 1:) tf^'ait in the presence.] i. e. in fAe pre-
sence chamber. = 2:) Envy and base opinion set against
them,] 1 would be glad that my conduct were iu some pub-
lic trial confrouted with mine enemies, that envy and cor-
rupt judgment might try their utmost power against me.
Johnson. ^3:) For her sake that 1 have been, kc] For tue
sake of that royalty which I have heretofore possessed. =
4:) — superstitious to him'f] TliKt is, served him witii super-
stitious attention; done more than was required. r= 5;) if I
have us'd myself — ] i. e. behaved myself. = 6:) And force
them — ] Force is enforce, urge. = '/:) — contrary proceed-
ings— ] Private practices opposite to his public iirocedurc.
= 8:) Trace the conjunction!] To trace, is to follow. = 9:)
In it be memorized.] To memorize is to make memorable.
= 10:) He is returned, in his opinions;] Cranmer, says
SutTotk, is returned in his opinions, i.e. wiili the same .«eu-
timents which he entertained before he went abroad, which
(sentiments) Aot-e satisfied the king, together with all the
famous colleges referred to on the occasion — Or perhaps
the passage (as Mr. Tyrwhitt observes) may mean — He is
return d in ell'ect, having gent his opinions, i.e. the opinions
of divines, ice. collected by him. = 11:) \et, lil'd with my
abilities:] My endeavours, though less than my desires,
have fil'd, that is, have gone an equal pace with my abili-
ties. = 12:) — notwithstanding that your bond of duty,]
Besides the general bond ot duty, by which you are
obliged to be a loyal and obedient subject, you owe a
particular devotion of yourself to me, as your particular
benefactor. = 13:) —that am, have, and will be.] Perhaps
the meaning is, tAot, or, such a man, 1 am, have been, and
will ei-er be. = 14:) — against the chiding flood,] i. e. the
resounding flood. = 15:) To Asher-Aouse,] Asher was the
ancient name of £sAer. = 1 6:) — m y lord of Winchester's,]
Shakspeare forgot that VVolsey was himself bishop of Win-
chester, unless he meant to say, you must confine yourself
to that house which you possess as bishop of VVinchester.
Asher, near Hampton-Court, was one of the houses belong-
ing to that bishoprick. = 17:) "That in the way," Lc —
Malome, = 18:) To be thus jaded— ] To be abused and ill

treated, like a worthless Jiorse: or perhaps to be ridden by
a prieu; — to have him mounted above u>. =:^ 1 fr:) y<nd dare
us with his cap, like larks.] It is well known that the hat
of a cardinal is scarlet; and that one of the methods of
daring larks was by small mirrors fastened on scarlet cloth,
which engaged the attention of these birds while the fowler
drew his net over them. = 20:) Worse than the sacriu^
bell,] The little belt which is rung to give notice of the
JJost approacning when it is carried in procession, as also
in other oflices of the Romish church, is called the sacring
or consecration bell; from the French word, aacrer. = 21:)
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.] Tnis was
certainly one of the articles exhibited against VVolsey, but
ratiier with a view to swell the catalogue, than from any
serious cause of accusation; inasmuch as the archbishops
Cranmer, Baiiibrigge, and Warnham, were indulged with
the same privilege. =22:)— to tAe mere undoing—] Mere
is absolute. =23:) — o/ a praimuuire,] It is almost unneces-
sary to observe that prmmunirc is a barbarous word used
instead of jir<Emonere.=: 2 4:) — and tAetr ruin,] TAeir ruin
is their displeasure, producing the downfall and ruin of
him on whom it lights. = 25:) — in open,} i. e. in a place
exposed on all sides to view. = 26:) — make use— J i. e.
make interest. == 27:) Had 1 but serv'd my God, ke.] This
sentence was really uttered by VVolsey. But it was a strange
sentence for him to utter, who was disgraced for the basest
treachery to his king iu the atfair ot the divorce: but it
shows how naturally men endeavour to palliate their crime*
even to themselvei. =

ACT IV. =1:) "So are vou." — Malosk. = 2:) — this
day—] i. e. *ucA a day as this, a coronation day. = 3:) —
tAe late marriage — ] i. e. the marriage lately considered
as a valid one. = 4:) Mr. Malone omits And.^t:) "and" is
omitted by Mr. Malone. = 6:) — like rams — ] That is, like
buttering rams. = 7:) "But, what follow-'d'^' — Malomj. =
8:) Scene IJ.] This scene is above any other part of Shak-
speare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene of any
other poet, tender and pathetic, without gods, or furies, or
poisons, or precipices, without the help of romantic cir-
cumstances, without improbable sallies of poetical lamenta-
tion, and without any throes of tumultuous misery. Johnsok.

= !=:) Ae stepp'd before mc, happily, || For my example.]

Happily means, on this occasion, fortunately. = 10:) — with
easy roads,] i. e. by short stages. = 11:) Of an unbounded
stomach,] i. e. of unbounded pride or haughtiness. =: 12:)

one, that by suggestion || Ty'd all the kingdom :] i. e.

he was a man of an unbounded stomach, or pride, ranking
himself with princes, and by suggestion to the king and the
pope, he ty'd, i. e. limited, circumscribed, and set bouuda
to the liberties and properties of all persons in the king-
dom. =13:) jf'Ae model of our chaste loves,] Model is image,
or representative, =

ACT v. = 1:) — at primero — ] Primero and Prima-
vista, two games at cards, H. 1. Primcra, Primavista. La
Primiere, G. prime, f. Prime veuc. Primum, et primuia
visum, that i», lirst, and lirst seen: because he that cau
show such an order of cards lirst, wins the game. Minsheu's
Guide into Tongues, col. 373. = 2:) Some touch of your late
business:] Some hint of the business that keeps yoaawako
so late. = 3:) — mine own way;] Mine own opinion in reli-
gion. = 4:) Stands in the gap and trade of more prefer-
ments,] Trade is the practised method, the general course.

= 6:) 1 Aoie II Inccns'd tAe lords o'the council, that he

is, kc. II A most arch heretic,] This passage, according to
the old elliptical mode of writing, may mean — I have iu-

j cens'd the lords of the council, for that he is, i.e. because.

i =r 6:) — broken u'itA tAe king;] They have broken silence:
told their minds to the king. = 7:) He be conveuted.] Con-
vented is summoned, convened. = 8:) "Would not," ^c. —
Mai.ose. = ^':) — You a brother of us, kc] Vou being one
of the council, it is necessary to imprison you, that the
witnesses against you may not be deterred. = 10:) — in-
durance,] i. e. conlinement, or perhaps', delay, procrastina-
tion.^: 11:) I weigh not,] i. e. have no value for. =12:) —
and not ever—] Aot ever is an uncommon expression, and
does not mean never, but not a/u'o»/«. = 13:)— Ween «/ou o/
better luck,] To ween is to think, to imagine. Though now
obsolete, the word was common to all our ancient writers.
^14:) — at a Window o6ore,] The suspicious vigilance of
our ancestors contrived windows which overlooked the iu-
sides of chapels, halls, kitchens, passages, kc. Some of
these convenient peepholes, may still be found in colleges,
and such ancient houses as have not suffered from the re-
formations of modern architecture. = 15:) They had parted.
kc] We should now say — They had shared, .Vc. i. e. had
so much honesty among them. = lo:) — draw the curtain
close;] i. e. the curtain of the balcony, or upper stage,

where the king now is. = 17:) and capable i; Of our flesh,

few are angels: kc] If this passage means any thing, it
may mean, few are perfect, while they remain in their mor-
tal capacity; i.e. while they are capable [m a condition]
of being invested with flesh. — Mr. Malone reads thus: "la
our own natures, frail, incapable: || Of our flesh," &c. = 18:)
TAe upper Germany, kc] Alluding to the heresy of Thomas
Munlzer, which sprung up in Saxony in the years 1521 and
1522. = 1 9:) — a single Aeort,] A heart void of duplicity or

1006

NOTES.

[Pl:26.] Tit.S.

guile. = 20:) — your painted gloat, &c.] Those that under-
stand you, under this painted gtots, this fair outside, dis-
cover jour empty tallc and your false reasoning. =21:) This
ii the king's ring.] It seems to have been a custom, begun
probably in the darlc ages, before literature _wa8 generally
diffused, and before the regal power experienced the res-
traints uf law, for every monarch to have a ring, the tem-
porary possession of which invested the holder with the
same authority as the owner himself could exercise._ Tlie
production of it was sufficient to suspend the execution of
the law; it procured indemuity for olfenccs committed, and
imposed acquiescence and submission on whatever was dune
under its authority. Instances abound in the history of al-
most every nation. = 22:) Than but once think his place
becumea thee not.~i Who dares to suppose that the pl.ice or
situation in which he is, is not suitable to thee also'f who
supposes that thou art not as fit for the office of a privy
counsellor as he is'f = 23:) You mutt be godfather,^ Our
prelates formerly were often employed on the like occasions.
Cranmer was godfather to Kdward VI.; archbishop War-
ham to Henry's eldest son by queen Katharine: and the
bishop of Winchester to Henry himself. = 24:) — you'd
tpare your tpoont ;'] It was the custom, long before the time
of Shakspeare, fur the sponsors at christenings to offer gilt
spoons as a present to the child. These spoons were called
apottle tpoons, because the figures of the apostles were
carved on the tops of the handles. Such as were at once
opulent and generous, gave the whole twelve; those who
were either more moderately rich or liberal, escaped at the
expence of the four evangelists; or even sometimes con-
tented themselves with presenting one spoon only, which
exhibited the figure of any saint, in honour of whom the
child received its name. = 25:)— Parit-gardenf^ This ce-
lebrated bear-gardeu on the bankside was so called from
Robert de Parit, who had a house and garden there in the
time of King Richard H.= 26:) — gaping.} i.e. thouting or
roaring; a sense which this word has now almost lost. ■=
27:) — sir Guy, nor Culbrand,] Of Guy of tVarwick every
one has heard. Colbrand was the Danish giant, whom Guy
subdued at Winchester. Their combat is very elaborately
described by Drayton, in his Polyolbion. = 28:) — Moor-
fieldt to muster in?J The train-bands of the city were exer-
cised in Moorfields. = 29:) — he should be a brazier by hit
face,'i A brazier signifies a man that manufactures brass,
and a reservoir for charcoal occasionally healed to convey
warmth. Both these senses are understood. Johnson. ^=30:)
— The fire-drake—] A fire-drake is both a serpent, an-
ciently called a brenning-drake, or diasps, and a name
formerly given to a tf^ill o'the ^Fitp, or ignis fatuut. A
fire-drake was likewise an artificial j?re-u»orit. = 31:) — till
her pink'd porringer fell off her head,] Her pink'd por-
ringer is her pink'd cap, which looked as if it had been
moulded on a porringer. = 32:) —the meteor—] The lire-
drake, the brazier. = 33:) — who cried out clubs!] Clubs!
was the outcry for assistance, upon any quarrel or tumult
in the streets. =8 4:) — loose shot,] i. e. loose or random
«&ooter«. = 35:) — tAe work:] A term of fortification. Stee-
YKNs. = 36:)— tAe Tribulation of Tower hill, or the limbs
of Lime-house,] Alliteration has given rise to many cant
expressions, consisting of words paired together. Here we
have cant names for the inhabitants of those places, who
were notorious puritans, coined for the humour of the alli-
teration. In the mean time it must not be forgotten, that
"precious limbs'' was a common phrase of contempt for the
puritans. = 37:) — in Limho Fatrum,'] He means, in confine-
ment. In limbo, continues to be a cant phrase, in the same
sense, at this day. The Limbus Patrum is, properly, the

Klace where the old fathers and patriarchs are supposed to
e waiting for the resurrection. =:38:) — running banquet o/
two beadles,} A public whipping. A banquet, in ancient
language, did not signify either dinner or supper, but the
desert after each of them. = 39:)— here ye lie baiting of
bumbards,] A bumbard is an ale-barrel ; to bait bumbards
is to tipple, to lie at the spigot. ^=iO:) — I'll pick you o'er
the pales else.] To pick is to pitch. ^= 41:) The Palace.] At
Greenwich, where this procession was made from the church
of the Friars. =42:) — standing-bowls—] i. e. bowls elevated
ou feet or pedestals. =43:) //cawen, /rom thy endless good-
ness, iiC] These words are not the invention of the poet,
having been pronounced at the christening of Elizabeth. =
44:) [A'or shall this peace sleep with her: Sic] These lines,
to the interruption by the king, seem to have been inserted
at some revisal of the play, after the accession of king
James. If the passage, included in crotches, be left out,
the speech of Cranmer proceeds in a regular tenour of pre-
diction, and continuity of sentiments: but, by the interposi-
tion of the new lines, he first celebrates Elizabeth's suc-
cessor, and then wishes he did not know that she was to
die; first rejoices at the consequence, and then laments the
cause. Uur author was at once politic and idle; he resolved
to flatter James, but neglected to reduce the whole speech
to propriety; or perhaps intended that the lines inserted
should be spoken in the action, and omitted in the publica-
tion, if any publication was ever in his thoughts. Mr. Theo-
bald has maoe the same observation. Johnson. = 45:) — such
a one we thow'd them;] In the character of Katharine.
Johnson. = 4tj:| — If they tmile, &.C.] Though it is ver^
difficult to decide whether short pieces be genuine or spuri-
ous, yet I cannot restrain myself from expressing my sus-
picion that neither the Prologue nor Epilogue to this play
is the work of Shakspeare; non vultut, non color It ap-

pears to me very likely that they were supplied by the
friendship or officiousness of Jonson, whose manner they
will be perhaps found exactly to resemble. There is yet
another supposition possible: the Prologue and Epilogue
may have been written after Shakspeare's departure from
the stage, upon some accidental rivival of the play, and
there will then be reason fur imagining that the writer,
whoever he was, intended no great kindness to him, this
play being recommended by a subtle and covert censure of
liis other works. There is, in Shakspeare, so mucli of fool

and fight ; " the fellow, i["ln a long motley coat, guarded

with yellow,'' appears so often in his drama, that 1 think
it not very likelv that he_ would have animailverted so se-
verely on himself. All this, however, must be received as
very dubious, since we know not the exact date of this or
the other plays, and cannot tell how our author might have
changed his practice or opinions. =

XXVI. TROILUS AND CRESSlDA.

ACT I. = 1:) The primet orgulous,] Orgulous, i. c.
proud, disdainful. Orgutilleux, Fr. = 2:) — fulfilling 6o/t«,]
To fulfill, in this place, means to fill till there be no room
for more. In this sense it is now obsolete. = 3:) Sperr up
the sons of Troy.] To tperre, or spar, from the old Teu-
tonic word tperen, signifies to shut up, defend by bars, ic.
= 4:) A prologue arm'd,] 1 come here to speak the prologue,
and come in armour; not defying the audience, in confidence of
either the author's or actor's abitities, but merely in a cha-
racter suited to the subject, in a dress of war, before a
warlike play.=5:) — tfte vaunt—] i. e. the ova/jt, what went
before. r=o:) — my varlet,] This word anciently signified a
servant or footman to a knight or warrior. =7:) —/owrfer—]
i. e. more weak, or foolish. = 8:) Doth lesser blench—] To

blench is to shrink, start, or fly olf. =S:) and spirit of

sense \\ Hard as the palm of ploughman.^ In comparison
with Cressida's hand, says he, the spirit of sense, the ut-
most degree, the most exquisite power of sensibility, which
implies a soft hand, since the sense of_ touching, as Sca-
liger says in his Exercitatioiis, resides chiefly in the lingers,
is hard as the callous and insensible palm of the plough-
man. =10:) — she has the mends — ] She may make the best
of a bad bargain. This is a proverbial saying. = 11:) —
sorts,] i. e. lits, suits, is congruous. = 12:) — husbandry in
war,] Husbandry means economical prudence. Troilus al-
ludes to Hector's early rising. = 1 3:) — tAetr particular ad-
ditions ;] Their peculiar and characteristic qualities or de-
nominations. =14:)— lAat his valour is crushed into folly,]
i'o be crushed into folly, is to be confused and mingled
■with folly, so as that they make one mass together. = 15:)

— against the hair:] Is a phrase equivalent to another now
in use — against the grain. The French say — a contrepoil.
= 16:) — a merry Greek,] Greecari, among the Konians,
signified to play the reveller. The expression occurs iu
many old English books. =: 1 7:) — compassed window,] The
compassed window is the same as the bow window. = 18:)

— so old a lifter?] The word lifter is used for a thief. We
still call a person who plunders shops, a shop lifter. Hliftut,
iu the Gothic language, signifies a thief. = 1 1.:) -r- tiiat it
passed.] i. e. that it went beyond bounds. = 20:) — tAe rich
shall have 7nore.] The allusion is to the word /lorfrfj/, which,
as now, did, in our author's time, and long before, signify
a silly fellow, and may, by its etymology, signify likewise
full of nods. Cressida means that a noddy shall have more
nods. Of such remarks as the.se is a comment to consist !
Johnson. = 21:) — wo date in the pye,] To account for the
introduction of this quibble, it should be remembered that
dates were an ingredient in ancient pastry of almost every
kind. = 2 2:) —at what ward you lie.] A metaphor from tfie
art of defence. = 23:) Achievement is command; ungain'd,
beseech:] The meaning of this obscure line seems to be —
"Men, alter possession, become our commanders: before
it, they are our suppliants." = 2 4:) — mt; heart's content-]
Content for capacity, or perhaps for consent. = 25:) —af-
fin'd—] i. e. joined by affinity. = 26:) — Nestor shall ap-
ply—] Perhaps IVestor means, that he will attend parti-
cularly to, and consider, Agameuiiion's latest words. = 27:)

— by the brize,] The brize is the gad or horse-fly. ■= 28:)
Awl flies fled under shade,] i. e. And flies are fled under
shade. = 29:) — tAe thing of courage,] It is said of the tiger,
that iu storms and high winds lie rages and roars niost
furiously. = 30:) Returns to chiding—] Chiding is noisy,

clamorous. r= 31:) speeches, — which were such, l\_yis

Agamemnon and the hand of Greece || Should hold up high
in brass; and such again, \\ At venerable Nestor, hatch'd

in silver, \\ Should with a bond of air || knit all the

Greekith ears || To his experienc'd tongue,] Ulysses begins
his oration with praising those who had spoken before him,
and marks the characteristic excellencies of their different
eloquence, — strength, and sweetness, which he expresses
by the different metals on which he recommends them to
be engraven for the instruction of posterity. The speech
of Agamemnon is such that it ought to be engraven in brass,
and the tablet held up by him on the one side, and Greece
on the other, to show the union of their opinion. And Nes-
tor ought to be exhibited in silver, uniting all his audience
in one mind by his soft and gentle elocution. Brass is the
common emblem of strength, and silver of gentleness. Wc

V.

r^.S.[PL:26.]

NOTES.

1007

call a soft voice a tilver voice, and a persfiiasive tongue, a
$ilver tonpiie. To hatch is a term of art lor a particular
method of engraving. Marker, to cut, Fr. Joh:«80?i. The
eooimentators differ io some respects from this explanation.
^= 32:) — expect —1 Expect for expectation. ■=33:) The spe-
cialty of rule — ] The particular rights of supreme author-
ity. = 34:) tFhen that the general is not like the hive,']
The meaning is, — H^hen the general i» not to the army
like the hive to the bees, the repository' of the stock of
every individual, that to which each particular resorts with
whatever he has collected for the ^ood of the whole, what
honey i» expected 'f what hope of advantage'^ The sense is
cltar, the expression is confused. Johnson. ^= 35:) — the
planets, and this center,] Uy this center, Ulysses means
the earth itself, not the center of the earth. According to
the system of Ptolemy, the earth is the center round wuicb
the planets move. = 3tj:) — deracinate — ] i. e. force up by
the roots. = 37:) — brotherhoods in cities,'] Corporations,
companies, con/rafernifies. ^38:) — dividable shores,'] i.e.
divided. = 39:)— mere— ] Mere is absoluie. = 40;) That by

a pace — ] 'I'hat goes backward step by step. = il:) irith

a purpose '[It hath to climb.] With a design in each man
to aggrandize himself, by slighting his immediate superior.
= 4-2:) — bloodless emulation:] An emulation not vigorous
and active, but malignant aud sluggish. = 4 3:) — our power— ]
i. e. our army. = 44:) TAy topless deputation — ] Topless \a
that which has nothing topping or overtopping ii; supreme;
sovereign. ^=45:) 'JV'ijrt his stretched footing and the scaf-
foldage,] The galleries of the theatre, in the time of our
author, were sometimes termed the scaffolds. = i&.) — o^er-
wrested seeming—] i. e. wrested beyond the truth. = 47:)

— unsquar'd,] i. e. unadapted to their subject, as stones are
unfitted to the purposes of architecture, while they are yet
unsqaar'd. ^ 4 8:) ^ — —as near as the extremest ends ;j Of
parallels:] The parallels to which the allusion seems to be
made, are the parallels on a map. As like as east to west.

= »9:) bears his head} In such a rein,] That is, holds

up his head as haughtily. We still say of a girl, she bri-
dles ^=50:) — whose gall coins slanders like a mint,)] i. e. as
fast as a mint coins money. = 51:) Mow rank soever rounded
in with danger.] A rank weed'ta a high weed. = 52:) — by
measure — ] i. e. "6»/ means of their observant toil. "=53:)
A stranger to those most imperial looks — ] Aud yet this
was the seventh jear of the war. Shakspeare, whoso won-
derfully preserves character, usually confounds the customs
of all nations, and probably supposed that the ancients (like
the hemes of chivalry) fought with beavers to their helmets.
So, in the fourth Act of this play Nestor says to Hector:
"But this thy counteuance, still lock'd in steel, { "I never
saw till now." Shakspeare might have adopted this error
from the wooden cuts to ancient books, or from the illu-
minators of manuscripts, who never seem to have enter-
tained the least idea of habits, manners, or customs more
ancient than their own. There are books in the British Mu-
seum of the age of King Heury VT. ; and in these the he-
roes of ancient Greece are represented in the very dresses
worn at the time when the books received their decorations.
= 34:) — they have galls, kc] This is not very intelligible,
but perhaps the speaker meant to say, that when they have
the accord of Jove on their side, nothing is so courageous
at the Trnjans._r=oa:) "follows" — Malone, and so in Stee-
vens' last edition, but, 1 suspect, erroneously. C. ^= 56:) —
long-continued truce ^] Of this long truce there has been
no notice taken ; in this very Act it is said, that .-Ijax coped
Hector yesterday in the battle. Here we have another proof
of Shakspearc's falling into inconsistencies, by sometimes
adhering to, and sometimes deserting, his original. =57:)

— more than in confession,] Confession for profession. =
58:) And in my vantlirace — J An armour for the arm, avant-
bras. = 59:) Be you my time, kc] i. e. be you to my pre-
sent purpose what time is in respect of all other schemes,
viz. a ripener and bringer of them to maturity. =60:) jfnd,
in the publication, make no strain,] i.e. make no difficulty,
DO doubt.= t)l:) — scantling — ] that is, a measure, propor-
tion. The carpenter cuts his wood to a certain scantling.
-= 62:) — small pricks — ] Small points compared with the
volumes, or perhaps indexes, which were, in Shakspeare's
time, often prefixed to books. =63:) — our main opinion — ]
is, our general estimation or character. = 64:) The sort—]
i. e. the lot. = 65:) — under our opinion — ] Here again
opinion means character. =: 66:) Must tarre the mastiffs
on,] Tarre, an old English word, signifying to provoke or
urge ou, =

ACT II. = 1:) Act II.] This play is not divided into
Acts in any of the original editions. =: 2:) Cobloaf !] A crusty,
uneven, gibbous loaf, is in some counties called by this '
name. = 3:) — puu thee into shivers — ] Fun is in the mid- i
land counties the vulgar and colloquial word for — pound. '<
= 4:) Thou stool for a witch!] In one way of trying switch, I
they used to place her on a chair or stool, with her legs '
tied across, that all the weight of her body might rest upon ;
her seat; and by that means, after some time, the circula- ;
tion of the blood would be much stopped, and her sitting
would be as painful as the wooden horse. Gkey. = 5:) —an >
assinego— ] A he-ass. ■= 6:) — thou art bought and sold—]
This was a proverbial expression. = 7:) — If thou use to
beat me,] i. e. if thou continue to beat me, or make a prac- :
tie* of beating me.=:8:) — Aes pia mater, ic] The pia ma- \
ter ia a mefflbraue that protects the subsUnce «f the brain.

= 9:) — is beaten voluntary;] i. e. voluntarily. Shakspeare
often uses adjectives adverbially. = 10:) — irAen Achitlet"
brach bids me,] The commentators are not agreed on the
meaning of this word, some referring it to a species of dog,
and some to an ornament called a brochc, or iroarA. = 11:)

— many thousand disuii-y,] Uisme, Fr. is the tithe, the tenih.
^=12:) The fsuftproportiun of his infinite/] i.e. that great-
ness to which no measure bears any proportion.^= 13:) ■

reason and respect ,j Make livers pale, \c.] Respect is cau-
tion, a regard to consequences. ^=14:) And the will dotes^
that is attributive—] i. e. the will dotes that attributes or
gives the qualities which it affects ; that first causes ex-
cellence, and then admires it. = 15:) — unrespective sieve,]
that is, unto a common voider. -= 16:) Your breath with
full consent—] Vour breaths all blowing together; jour
unanimous approbation. = 17:) And, for an old aunt,] Priam's
sister, Hesione, whom Hercules, being enraged at Priam's
breach of faith, gave to Telamon, who by her had Ajax.
= 18:) And do a deed that fortune never rfirfj] i. e. act
with more inconstancy and caprice than ever did fortune.

— 19:) Our fire-brand brother, Kc] Hecuba, when pregnant
with Paris, dreamed she should be delivered of a burning
torch. = 20:) — distaste — ] ('orrupt; change to a worse state.
= 2 1:) To make it gracious.] i. e. to set it off; to show it
to advantage. = 22:) — convince of levity—] This word,
which our author frequently employs in the obsolete sensO'
of — to overpower, subdue, seems, in the present instance,
10 signify — convict, or subject to the charge of levity. =
23:) — your full consent — ] Your unanimous approbation. =
24:) //are gloz'd,] Have com/nented. ^ 25:) — Aristotle — ]
Let it be remembered, as often as Shakspeare's anachro-
nisms occur, that errors in computing time were very fre-
quent in those ancient romances which seem to have formed
Ihe greater part of his library. ^= 2t:) — of partial indul-
gence— ] i.e. through partial indulgence. = 27:) — benumbed
wills,] That is, inflexible, immoveable, no longer obedient
10 superior direction. = 2 8:) Is this, in way of truth ;] Though
considering truth and justice in this question, this is my
opinion; yet as a question of honour, 1 think on it as you.
Johnson. — 29:) — the performance of our heaving spleens,']
the execution of spirit and resentment. = 30:) — canonize
us:] The hope of being registered as a saint, is rather out
of its place at the Trojan war. ■= 31:) — emulation— ] that
is, envy, factious coutentiou. Emulation is now never used
in an ill sense; but Shakspeare meant to employ it so. =
32:) — tAeserpentiue craft of thy Caduceus ;] I'he wand of
Mercury is wreathed with «erpent«. = 33:) — without draw-
ing their massy ir»ns,] That is, without draaing the swords
to cut their web. They use no means but those of violence.
Johnson. =34:) iiet thy blood be thy direction — ] Thy blood
means, thy passions; thy natural propensities. =35:) — de-
cline— ] Deduce the quesliou from the first case to the last.
= 36:) He sheut our messengers ;] i. e. rebuked, rated. =
37:) — no6/e state,] i. e. the stately train of attending no-
bles whom you bring with you. := 38:) — breath.] Breath,
in the present instance, stands for breathing, i. e. exercise.
= 39:) — tend the savage strangeness — ] i. e. shyness, dis-
tant behaviour. To tend, is to attend upon. = 40:) — un-
derwrite— ] To subscribe, in Shakspeare, is to o6eu. = 41:)

— in an observing itind— ] i.e. in a mode religiously atten-
tive. ^42:) — allowance give—] Allowance is approbation.
=: 43:) — tAe death tokens of it—] Alluding lo the decisive
spots appearing ou those infected by the plague. = 44:) —
with his own seam;] Swine-seam, in the North, is hog^s-
lard.^iS:) That were to enlard, kc] This is only the well-
known proverb — Grease a fat sow, ke. in a more stately
dress. = 46:) — Vll pash him — ] i. e. strike him with vio-
lence.= 47:) — pheeze Am pride:'] To pheeze is to comb or
curry. = 48:) X^ot for the worth—] Not for the value of
all for which we arc fighting. = 49:) "He will be the" —
M.*LONE. ^=60:)— /orce Aim— ] i. e. stuff him. Farcir, Fr.
=^ 51:) He is not emulous,] Emulous, in this instance, and
perhaps in some others, may well enough be supposed to
signify — jealous of higher authority. = 52:) — that shall
palter-] That shall juggle with us, or fly from his engage-
ments. =55:) Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield—] i.e.
yield his titles, his celebrity for strength. Addition, in le-
gal language, is the title given to eacn party, showing his
degree, occupation, kc. as esquire, gentleman, yeoman, mer-
chant, kc. Our author here, as usual, pays no regard to
chronology. Milo of Crotou lived lon^ after the Trojan
war. = 54:) — like a bourn,] A bourn is a boundary, and
sometimes a rivulet dividing one place from another. =

ACT HI. r= U) — in fits.]) i. e. now and then, by fits;
or perhaps a quibble is intended. A fit was a part or divi-
sion of a song, sometimes a strain in music, and sometimes
a measure in dancing. =^ ?:)— you are wide;] i. e. wide of
your mark ; a common exclamation when an archer missed
his aim.= 3:) "To-day," — Steevkns, edit. 1793, 15 vol. =
4:)— I'fAe fills.] That is, in the shafts. Fill is a provincial
word used in some counties for thills, the shafts of a cart or
waggon. = 5:)— So, so; rub on, and kiss tAe mistress] 'ihe
allusion is to bowling. What we now call lAe jack, seems,
in Shakspeare's time, to have been termed the mistress. A
bowl that kisses tAe jack, or mistress, is in the most ad-
vantageous situation. Rub on is a term at the same game.
^= 6:) — The falcon as the tercel,] Pandarus means, that
he'll match his niece against her lover for any bett. The
tercet is the male hawk ; by the falcon we generally under-

stand thu female. = 1:) — hit addition <Aa// 6e humble.l We
will give him no higli or pompon^ titlett. Joukson. = 8:) —
what envy can say worst, shall be a mor.k for his truth;]
i. e. shall be only a mock lor his truth. Even uiulice (lor
such is the uieauiug of tiie Mord envy) shall not be able to
impeach his truth, or attack him in any other way, except
by ridiculing him for his constancy. =9:) Might be atfronted
with the match — J I wish "uiy integrity might be met and
matched with such equality and force of pure unmingled
love." JoHNs_ON._= 10:) /Ind simpler than the infancy of
truth.'] 'This is line; and means, "Ere truth, to detcr.d it-
self against deceit in the commerce of the world, had, out
of necessity, learned worldly policy." = 11:) — compare,]
i. e. comparison. := 12:) ^s truth's authentic author to be
cited,] Troilus shall crown the verse, as a man to be cited
as the authentic author of truth, as one whose protesta-
tions were true to a proverb. ^13:) — crown uj)— ] i. e. con-
clude it. =14:) — such a wrest — ] IFrest is au instrument
for tuning the harp by drawing up the strings. = 15:) In
most accepted pain ] i. e. Her presence, says Olchas, shall
strike off, or recompense the service 1 have done, even in
those labours which were most accepted. JoH^soN. r= 16:)
"riches, and favour,"— Mai,o>e. = 17:)^Aou) dearly ever
parted,] However excellently endowed, with however dear
or precious parts enriched or adorned. = 18:) — in his cir-
cumstance,] in the detail or circumduction of his argument.
= 19:) The unknown j4jax.] Ajax, who has abilities, which
were never brought into view or use. Johnson. = iO:) And
give to dust, that is a little gilt, || 31ore laud than gilt
o''er- dusted.] Dust a little gilt means, ordinary perform-
ances ostentatiously displayed and magniiied by the favour
of friends and that admiration of novelly which prefers
"newborn gawds" to "things past." Gilt o'er -dusted means,
splendid actions of preceding ages, tlie remembrance of
w;hich is weakened by time. = 21:) Made emulous mis-
sions— ] This means the descent of deities to combat on
either side; an idea which fhakapeare very probably ad-
opted from Chapman's translation of Homer, in the lifth
liook, Uiomcd wounds Mars, wJio on his return to heaven
is rated by Jupiter lor having interfered in the battle, i'his
disobedience is the faction which I suppose Ulysses would
describe. Steevens. = 22:) — one of Priam's daughters.]
Pulyxena, in the act of marrying whom, he was afterwards

killed by Paris. = 23:) {which whom relation \\ Durst

never meddle) — ] There is a secret administration of af-
fairs, which no history was ever able to discover. Johnson.
= 24:) Omission to do,lLc.] By neglecting our duty we com-
mission or enable that danger of dishonour, which could
not reach us before to lay hold upon us. Johnson. = 26:) —
with a politic regard,] With a sly look. = 2 6:)— to make
catlings on.] \ catling signilies a small lute-striug made of
catgut. = 2 7:) — the more capable creature.] Tue more
intelligent creature. =

ACT IV. ^=1:) Vuring all question—] Question means
intercourse, interchange of conversation. = 2:) His purpose
meets you;] 1 bring yuu his meaning and his orders. John-
son. = 3:) — a flat tamed piece;] i. e. a piece of wine out
of which the spirit is all flown. = 4:) lioth merits pois'd,
kc] The sense appears to be this: the merits of either are
sunt in value, because the contest between them is only
for a strumpet. = 5:) "capocchio !" — Malone. = 6:) .Vlr. Ma-
lone gives part of this dialogue as prose. = 7:) — matter is
to rash:] My business is so hasty and so abrupt. = 8:) I
know no touch of consanguinity ;] Touch of cousanguiuity
is sense or feeling of relationship. ^9:) — great morning ;]
Grand jour ; a Gallicism. = 10:) — cousigu'd A:ts«6s—] Con-
signed means sealed; from consigno, Lat. = 11:) Distasted
with the salt of broken tears.] i. e. of tears to which we
are not permitted to give full vent, being interrupted and
suddenly torn from each other. The poet was probably
thinking of broken sobs, or broken slumbers. = 12:) — what
wicked deem — ] Deem (a word now obsolete) signilies, opin-
ion, surmise, ^IZ:) For 1 will throw my glove to death — ]
That is, 1 will challenge death himself in defence of thy
fidelity.=:14:) — ffee high lavolt,] The lavolta was a dance.
= 16:) — cafcrt tnere simplicity ;] The meaning, 1 think, is,
while others, by their art, gam high estimation, 1, by ho-
nesty, obtain a plain simple approbation. Johnson. = 16:)
At the port,] The port is the gate. = 17:) — possess thee
what she is.] 1 will make thee fully understand. This sense
of the word possess is frequent in onr author. = 18:) — my
lust:] Lust is inclination, will. ■:= 19:) '■'I tell thee, Uiomed,''
— Malone. = 20:) — in appointment—] Appointment is pre-
paration = 2U) — bias cheek—] Swelling out like the bias
of a bowl. The idea is taken from the puify cheeks of the
winds, as represented in ancient prints, maps, <.Vc. = 22:)
I'll make my match to live,] Perhaps this means — I'll lay
my life. = 2 3:) — motive — J Motive, lor part that con-
tributes to motion. =-■ 2 i:) That give a coasting welcome ere
it comes,] \ coasting welcome, is a conciliatory welcome ;
that makes silent advances before the tongue has ittlered
a word. = 25:) — sluttish spoils of opportunity,] Corrupt
wenches, of whose chastity every opportunity may make a
prey. Johnson. = 26:) f'alour and pride excel themselves
in Hector;] Shakspeare's thought is not exactly deduced.
Nicety of expression is not his character. The meaning is

filain: "Valour (says Ainea.») is in Hector greater than va-
our in other men, and pride in Hector is less than pride
{u other oieu. So that Hector is distinguished by the ex-

cellence of having pride less than other pride, and valour
more than other valour." Johnson. = 27:) This Ajax is
half made of Hector's -blood:] Ajax and Hector were cou-
sin-gtruians. = 28:) — a breath;] i. e. a breathing, a slight
exercise of arms. = 29:) — stints—] i. e. stops. = 30:) —
deedless in his tongue;] i. e. no boaster of his own deeds.
= 31:) — an impair thought—] A thought unsuitable to
the dignity of his character. = 32:) Hector sub-
scribes— j that is, yields, gives ma^/. = 33:) — thus translate
him to me.] Thus explain his character. = Si:) My sacred
aunt,j it is remarkable that the Greeks give to the uncle
the title of Sacred, ,9iioi. And this circumstance may tend
to establish the upiiiion, that this play was liot the entire
composition of Shakspeare, to whom the Grecism before
us was probably unknown. rT= 35:) A great addition-^] i. e.
denomination. = 36:) A'ot A'eoj>fo/emu«—] My opinion is,
that by IVeoptnlemus the author meant Achilles himself;
and remembering that the son was Pyrrhus >eoptolemu8,
considered Neoptolemus as the nomen gentilitium, and
thought the father was likewise Achillea iNeoptolemus. John-
son. = 3 7:) . — most imperious — ] Imperious and imperial
had formerly the same signification. =38:) — the untraded
oath;] A singular oath not in common u = e. = 3y:) — the de-
clin'd;] The declin'd is the fallen. ^^iO:) — thy grandsire,]
Laoint'dou. = 41:) yind quoted joint by joint.] To quote is
to observe. = 42:) — that stithied Mars his helm,] A stith
is an anvil, and from hence the verb stithied is formed. =:

43:) the general state, I fear, || Can scarce entreat you

to be odd with him.] Ajax treats Achilles with contempt,
and means to insinuate that he was afraid of lighting with
Hector. .''Vou may every day (says he) have enough of
Hector, if you choose it; but 1 believe the whole state of
Greece will scarcely prevail on you to engage with him."
= 44:) — pelting wars,] i. e. petly, inconsiderable ones. =
45:) — convive— ^J To convive is to feast. = 46:) Beat loud
the tabouriues,] Tabourines are small drums. =

ACT "V. =1:) The surgeons box,] In this answer Thcr-
siles quibbles upon the word tent. =2:) If^ell said, Advers-
ity !] Adversity, in this instance, signilies contrariety. The
reply of Thersites has been studiously adverse to the drift
of tue question urged by Patroclus. = 6:) — thou idle imma-
terial skein of sleive silk,] All the terms used by Thersites
of Palroclus, are emblematically expressive of flexibility,
compliance, and mean ofliciousuess. = 4:) Finch egg'.] A
linch's egg is remarkable gaudy; but of such terms of re-
proach it is difficult to pronounce the true signification. =
5:) — a litchew,] i. e. a polecat. = 6:) — spirits and fires!]
This Thersites speaks upon the lirst sight of the distant
lights, = 7:) "sweet lord Menelaus." Mai.onk. ^-= 8:) — he
will spend his mouth, and promise, like II ruble r the hound;]
If a hound gives his mouth, and is nut upon tlie scent of
the game, he is by sportsmen called a babler or brabler.
= f :) — prodigious,] i.e. portentous, ominous. = 10:) — her
cliff;] that is, her key. Clef, French. = i\.:)— palter.] i.e.
shuffle, behave with duplicity. = 12:) — keep this sleeve.]
The custom of wearing a lady's sleeve for a favour, is of
ancient date, but the sleeve given in the present instance
was the sleeve of Troilus. it may be supposed to be an
ornamented cuff, such, perhaps, as was worn by some of
our young nubility at a tilt, in Shakspeare's age. = 13:) "It
is no matter," — Malone. = 14:) By all Diana's waiting-
women yonder,] i.e. the stars which she points to. == 15:)/
cannot conjure, Trojan.] that is, 1 cannot raise spirits in
the form of Cressida. = 16:) — for womanhood.'] i. e. for
the sake of womanhood. = 1 7:) To stubborn critics—] Critic
has here, probably, the signification of cynic. = 18:) If there
be rule in unity itself,] if it be true that one individual
cannot be two distinct persons. = I f^:) — — where reason can
revolt II Without perdition, and loss assume all reason ||
l^ithout revolt;] The words loss and perdition are used
in their common sense, but they mean the loss or perdition
of reason. = 20:)- a thing inseparate—] i. e. the plighted
troth of lovers. Troilus considers it inseparable, or at least
that it ougut uever to be broken. = 21:) — Anot, Jive -finger-
tied,] A knot tied by giving her hand to Diomed. = 22:)
May worthy Troilus—] Can Troilus really feel, on this
occasion, half of what he utters* A question suitable to the
calm of Ulysses. Johnson. = 23:) — concupy] A cant word,
furmt^d by our author from concupiscence. = 2*:) — and wear
a castle o» thy head.'] i. e. delend thy head with armour
of more than common security. = 25:) — dear petition,] Dear,
on this occasion, seems to mean, important, consequential.
^=2^:)— peevish— ] i.e. foolish. =: 27:) It is the purpose,]
The mad prophetess speaks here with all the coolness and
judgment of a skilful casuist. "The essence of a lawful
vow, is a lawful purpose, and the vow of which the end is
wrong, must not oe regarded as cogent." Johnson. = 28:)
— dear man—] Valuable man. = 29:) IFhich better fits a
lion,] The traditions and stories of the darker ages abounded
with examples of the lion's generosity, llpon tbe supposi-
tion that these acts of clemency were true, Troilus reasons
not improperly, that to spare against reason, by mere in-
stinct of pity, became rather a generous beast than a wise
inan. = 30:) You bid them rise, and live.] Shakspeare seems
not to have studied the Homeric character of Hector, whose
disposition was by no means inclined to clemency. = 31:) —
with fiery Iruocheon— ] We have here but a modern Mars.
Antiquity acknowledges no such ensign of command asatrun-
cAeon. The spirit of the passage, however, is such as might

V,

Th.S.[Pi^'27.]

NOTES.

1009

atone for a greater impropriety. = 3 2;) — «Aamere«pecr,]'. e.
disffrace the respect 1 o\»e jou, by acting iu opposition to
your conimaiiils. = 33:) — cursed,^ i. e. uiiiler ihe influence
of a malediction, such as uii.-chievuus beings have bet-u bup-
posed to pronounce upon those who had otfeiided iheui.
Stekvkn8.=34:) "of a sleeveless," AiC — .Mai,one. = 35:) —
to proclaim barbarism,^ To set up the authority of igno-
rance, to declare that they will be governed by policy no
longer. = 36:) — waving his beam,] i. e. his lauce like a
weaver's beam, as Goliath's spear is described. = 37:) —
poshed — ] i. e. bruised, crushed. =38:) — scaled sculls—']
SculU are great numbers of lishes swimming together.
Scaled means here di-persed, put to flight. = 39:) — the
mower's s\»ath:] Swath is the quantity of grass cut down
by a single stroke of the mower's scythe. =40:) — Aoj qiiel-
ler,] i.e. murderer of a boy.=:41:) — i will not look upon.]
That is, (as we should now speak,) 1 will not be a looker-on.
= 42:) — you cogging OreeLs ;~i This epithet has no parti-
cular propriety iu this place, but the author had heard of
(ircEcia niendax. Joh!«jso>. Surely the epithet had propriety^

whisperings of officious servility, the incense of the wor-
shipping parasite to the patron as to a god. = 19:) through

him ! Drink the free air.] That is, breathe only with his
permijisiun. = 20:) .4 thpusand moral paintings I can show,]
SShakspeare seems to intend in this dialogue (u express some
competiiiou between the two great arts of imitation. What-
ever the pott dedans h'mself to have shown, the painter
thinks he could have shown better. = 21:) "blows of for-
tune's"— Malone. = 22:) — mean eyes—] i. c. inferior spec-
tators.^ 23:) Vlr. Malone omits to him.= 24:)— your ho-
nour!] The common address to a lord in our author's time
was your honour, which was indifferently used with your
lordsnip. = 25:) TAere/ore he will be, Timon:] The thought
is closely expressed, and obscure: but this seems the mean-
ing: "if the man be honest, mv lord, for that reason he
will be so in this; and not endeavour at the injustice of
gaining my daughter without my consent." \VARBLKTO!>i.=
•i6:) — —Never may [{That state or fortune fall into my
keeping, || IFhich is not ow'd to you!] The meaning is, let

_. _ . . . . ^ me never henceforth consider any thing that 1 possess, but

iu respect of Uiomedes at least, who had defrauded liiui of \\ as owed or due to you; held for your service, and at your
his mistress. Troilus bestows it on boih, unius ob culpam. \\ disposal. Joii>so?i. = 27:) — unclew me quite.] To unclew ia
A fraudulent man, as 1 am told, is still called, in the iNorlh, ' to unwind a ball of thread. To unclew a man, is to draw
a gainful Greek. Cicero bears witness to this character out (he whole mass of his fortunes. = 28:) Are prized by
of ihe ancient Greeks: "Testimouiorum religiunem et lidem i their masters:] are rated according to the esteem in which
niin(|uam ista natio coluit." Again: "Graecorum ingeuia ad ; their possessor is held. Joh>"so>'. = 29:) "the wearing it."
falleiidum parata sunt." Stekvens. = 43:) — carry him;] | Malone. = 30:) "Slay Ihou for thy good morrow;" — Ma-
i. e. prevail over him. = 44:) lUl frush it,] Tiie word /ru«A !| lone. = 31:) PFhen thou art Timon's dog,] Apemantus
I never found elsewhere, nor understand it. Sir T. Hanmer ji means to say, that Timon is not to receive a gentle good

morrow from him till that shall happen which never will
happen; till Timon is transformed to the shape of his dog,
and his knavish followers become honest men. Stay for thy
good morrow, says he, till 1 be gentle, which will happen
at the same time when thou art Timon's dog, Vc. i. e. never..
= 32:) Not so well us plain-dealing,] Alluding to the pro-
verb: "I'lain dealing is a jewel, but they that use it die
beggars." =33:) — all of companionship.] This expression
does not mean barely that they all belong to one company,
but that they are all such as Alcibiades honours with his
acquaintance, and sets on a level with himself. = 34:)
The strain of man's bred out \\ Into baboon and mon-
key.] Man is exhausted aad degenerated ; his strain or li-
neage is worn down into a monkey. Johnson. ^==3 5:) — no
meed,] Meed, which in general signifies reward or recom-
pense, in this place seems lo meaa desert. ^3t):) All use of
quittance.] i.e. all the customary returns made in discharge
of obligations. = 37:) "it hath plcas'd the gods to remem-
ber" — .VI ALONE. = 3i:':) — Faults that arc rich, are fair.]
The faults of rich persons, and which contribute to the in-
crease of riches, wear a plausible appearance, and as the
world goes arc thought fair, but they are faults notwith-
standing. = 3&:) Mr. Malone omits that. = 40:) "thine ap-
peril," — Malone. = 41:) / scorn thy meat; 'twould choke
me, for I should ;| Ne'er flatter thee.] The meaning is, — I
could not swallow thy meat, for 1 could not pay for it with
flattery ; aiid what was given me with au ill-will would stick

in my throat. Johnsok. t=42:) so many dip their meat

II In one man's blood ;] The allusion is to a pack of hounds
trained to pursuit by being gratified with the blood of an
animal which they kill, and the wonder is that the animal
on which they are feeuing cheers them to the chase. John-
son. = 43:) My lord, in heart;] That is, my lord's health
with sincerity. ^= H:) A corruption of dit for do it. =45:)
— for ever perfect.] Arrived at the perfection of happiness.
= 46:) — that charitable title — ] Charitable signitics, dear,
endearing. = 47:) — / confirm you.] I lix your characters
firmly in my own mind. ^= 48:) — O joy, e'en made away
ere it can be born!] Tears being the effect both of joy and
grief, supplied our author with au opportunity of conceit,
which he seldom fails to indulge. Timon, weeping with a
kind of tender pleasure, cries out, 0 joy, e'en mane atcay,
destroyed, turned to tears, before it can be born, before it
can be fully possessed. Johnson. ^:= 49:) Like madness is the
glory of this life, || As this pomp shows to a little oil, and
root.] Apemantus means to say, that the glory of this life !
was just as much madness in the eye of reason, as the
pomp appeared to be, when compared to the frugal repast
of a philosopher. = 50:) — of their friends' gifts'] Given
them by their friends. ^=51:) — mine own device;] The mask
appears to have been designed by Timon, to surprize his
guests. =52:) — even at thebest.] i.e. "You have conceived
the fairest of us." = 53:) — he'd be cross'd then, an he
could.] i. e. he will then too late wish that it were possible
to undo what he had done: he will in vain- lament that I
did not Icross or] thwart him in his career of prodigality.
= 54:) — had not eyes behind;] To see the miseries that
are following her. Johnson. ^55:) —/or his mind] For no-
bleness of soul. Johnson. = 56:) — — to I| Advance this jewel;]
To prefer it; to raise it to honour by wearing it. Johnson.
= 57:) "O, I beseech you," — Malone.= &8:) All to }_ou.]
i. e. all good wishes, or all happiness to you. = 59:) Serv-
ing of becks,] Beck means a saluMtion made with the head.
To serve a beck is to offer a salutation. =60:) /f»/t give
away thyself in paper shortly:] i. e. be ruined by his secu-
rities entered into. =61:) Thy heaven—] By his Aeavet;
he means good advice^ the only thing by which he could
be saved. =

explains it, to break or bruize. Johnson. = 45:) — execute
your arms.] To execute their arms is to employ them; to
put them to use. = 4c:) And, stickler-/jAe,l Sticklers are
arbitrators, judges, or, as called in some places, sidesmen.
At every wrestling in Cornwall, before the games begin, a
certain number of sticklers are chosen, who regulate the
pioceedings, and determine every dispute. Stickler (stic-
kle-er) is immediately from the verb stickle, to interfere,
to take part with, to busy one's self in any matter. = 47:)

pight — ] i. e. pitched, Ijxed. The obsolete preterite and j

participle passive of to pitch. ^= 48:) with comfort go: |

I Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.] This cou- |
plet affords a full and natural close of the play ; and though !
1 once thought differently, 1 must now declare my Arm be- i
lief that Shakspeare designed it should end here, and that
what follows is either a subsequent and injudicious restora-
tion from the elder drama, mentioned in the Prelim. He-
marks, pageLlI, or the nonsense of some wretched buffoon,
w lio represented Pandariis. When the hero of the scene was
not only alive, but on the stage, our author would scarce
have trusted the conclusion of his piece to a subordinate
character, whom he had uniformly held up to detestation.
It is still less probable that he should have wound up his
story with a stupid outrage to decency, and a deliberate
insult on his audience. — But iu several other parts of this
drama I cannot persuade myself that 1 have been reading
Shakspeare. Steevens. =

XXVII. TDIO.N OF ATHENS.

ACT I. =1:) Phrynia,] (or, as this name should have
been written by Shakspeare, Phrync,) was an Athenian
courtezan so exquisitely beautiful, that when her judges were
proceeding to condemn her for numerous and enormous of-
fences, a sight of her bosom (which, as we learn from Quin-
tilian, had been artfully denuded by her advocate,) disarmed
the court of its severity and secured her life from the sen-
tence of the law. Stekvens. ^2:)— brealh'd, as it were,]
Breathed is inured by constant practice; so trained as not
to be w earied. To breathe a horse, is to exercise him for "*
the course. Johnson. = 3:) He passes.] i. e. exceeds, goes
beyond common bounds. = 4:) — touch the estimate:] Come
up to the price. = 5:) When we for recompense, ice] We
must here suppose the poet busy in reading iu his own work;
and that these three lines are the introduction of the poem
addressed to Timon, which he afterwards gives the painter

au account of. \N aublrton. =6:) and, like the current,

flies II Each bound it chafes.] This jumble of incongruous
images seems to have been designed, and put into the mouth
of Ihe poetaster, that the rtauer might appreciate his ta-
lents: his language therefore should not be considered in
the abstract. = 7:) Mr. Malone omits And.= 8:) — artificial
strife — ] Strife is the contest of art with nature. =9:) //a/t«
not particularly,] My desigu does not stop at any single
character. Johnson. = 1 0:) Jn a wide sea of wax:] Anciently
they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron style. = 11:) —
no levcll'd malice, Kc] To level is to aim, to point the
shot at a mark. Shakspeare's meaning is, my poem is not
a satire written with any particular view, or levelled at any
single person; 1 fly like an eagle into the general expanse
of life, and leave not, by any private mischief, the trace of
my passage. = 12:) iV/ unbolt—] I'll open, I'll explain.
Johnson. = 13:)— ^/a»«-/ac'd batterer-] Thatshows in his
look, as by reflection, the looks of his patron. Johnson. =
14:) — rank'd with all deserts,] Cover d with ranks of all
kinds of men. Johnson. = 15:) To propagate their states:]
To advance or improve their various conditions of life.
Johnson. = 16:) — conceiv'd to scope.] Properly imagined,

appositely, to the purpose. Johnson. = 17:) Jn our condition,] j ACT II. = 1:) no reason !] Can found his state in

Condition for art. = 18:) Bain sacrificial whisperings—] i.e. I safety.] Reason cannot find his fortuue to have any *nfe i

V.

64

1010

NOTES

[Pl:27.] Th.S.

solid foundation. = 2:)— be not ccas'il— ] i. e. stopped. =
8:) All nestling birds, in quite an unfledged state, are so

callt'd iu Cheshire, ami, perhaps, elsewhere. = 4:)-; Never

mind || Jf^as to be so unwise, to be so A-tnrf.] Nothing can be
worse, or more obscurely expressed; and all for the sake
of a wretched rhyme. Hut of this mode of expression conversa-
tion affords many examples: "1 was always to be blamed,
whatever happened." "1 am in the lottery, bull was always
to draw blanks." = 5:) Good even,] Good even, or, as it is
sometimes less accurately written, 6foorf den, was the usual
salutation from noon, the moment that good morrow became
improper. r=: 6:) — we'll forth again,^ i. e. to hunting, from
which diversion, we Jiiul by Flavius's speech, he was just
returned. It may be here observed, that in our author's
time it was the custom to hunt as well after dinner as be-
fore. = ■/:) That with your other noble -parts you'll suit,']
i.e. that you will behave on this occasion in a manner con-
sistent with your other noble qualities. = 8:) "date-bro-
ken bonds," — MALo^E.-P:) Enter Apemantus and a Fool.]
1 suspect some scene to be lost, in which the entrance ot
the fool, and the page that follows him, was prepared by
some introductory dialogue, in which the audience was in-
formed that they were the fool and page of I'hrynia, Ti-
mandra, or some other courtezan, upon the knowledge^ of
which depends the greater part of the ensuing jocularity.
Johnson. = 10:) — juade your minister,'] The construction
is: — Jind made that unajttness your minister. = 11:) Re-
turn so much,] He does not mean so great a sum, but a
certain sum, as it might happen to be. Our author frc<iuently
uses this kind of expression. = 12:) "My lov'd lord," —
Malone. = 13:) Though you hear now, (too late!) yet now s
a time,] i. e. Though 1 tell you this at too late a period,
perhaps, for the information to be of any service to you,
yet late as it is, it is necessary that you should be ac-
quainted with it. It is evident, that the steward had very
little hope of assistance from his master's friends. = 14:)

and at length \\ liow goes our reckoning'^] How will

you be able to subsist in the time intervening between the
payment of the present demands (which your whole sub-
stance will hardly satisfy) and the claim of future dues, for
which you have no fund whatsoever; and finally on the
settlement of all accounts in what a wretched plight will
yon be'i = 16:) — our offices—] i.e. the apartments allotted
to culinary purposes, the reception of domestics, kc. = lt):)
— a wasteful cock,] Of the various explanations of the com-
meutatorsj the following appears most intelligible.^ waste-
ful cock IS what we now call a waste pipe; a pipe which
is continually running, and thereby prevents the overflow
of cisterns, and other reservoirs, by carrying off theirsuper-
fluous water. This circumstance served to keep the idea of
Tiuiou's unceasing prodigality in the mind of the stewanl,
while its remoteness from the scenes of luxury within the
house, was favourable to meditation. = 17:) iVo villainous
bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; || Unwisely, not ignobly,
have 1 given.] Every reader must rejoice in this circum-
stance of comfort which presents itself to Timon, who, al-
though beggar'd through want of prudence, consoles himself
with reflection that his ruin was not brought on by the pur-
suit of guilty pleasures. Steevens. = lb:)ylnd try the ar-
gument—] The licentiousness of our author forces us often
upon far-fetch'd expositions. Arguments may mean' cora-
tents, as the arguments of a book; or evidences and proofs.
Johnson. = 19:) — crown'd,] i. e. dignified, adorned, made
respectable. = 20:) Mr.Malone omits Ao.' = 21:) "Lord JLu-
cullusT' — Mr. Malone omits lord. = 22:) — 1 knew it the
most general way,)] General is not speedy, but compendious,
the way to try many at a time. = 23:) — at fail,] i. e. at
an ebb. =24:) — intending—] is regarding, turiung their
notice to other things. Johnson. = 25:) — and these hdud
fractions,] Flavius, hy fractions, means broken hints, inter-
rupted sentences, abrupt remarks. = 26:) — half-caps,] A
half-cap is a cap slightly moved. -=27:) — ingeniously — ]
Ingenious was ancieutly used instead of ingenuous. =- Zb:)
— /ree — ] is liberal, not parsimonious. =

ACT III. =1:) — verj/ respectively — ] i. e. respectfully.
= 2:) — honesty is his;] Honesty here means liberality. ==
3:) — three solidares— ] 1 believe this coin is from the mint
of the poet. Steevens. = 4:) ^nrf we alive, that lia'd'!'] i.e.
And we who were alive then, alive now. As much as to say,
in so short a tmie. = 5:) It turns in less than two nights ir]
Alluding to the turning or acescence of milk. Johnson. =
6:) — passion.'] i. e. suffering. = 7:) Unto his honour,] 'J'he
modern editors read — Unto this hour, w bich seems prefer-
able. = 8:)— his hour!] i. e. the hour of sickness. Jiis for
its. = 9:) JFe know him for no less,] To know, iu the pre-
sent, and several other instances, is used by our author for

— to acknowledge. = 10:) If his occasion were not virtuous,]
i. e. if he did not want it for a good use. ^= 11:) — half so
faithfully.] Faithfully for fervently. -= 12:) — m respect of
his,] In respect of his fortune: what Lucius denies to Ti-
mon is in proportion to what Lucius possesses, less than
the usual alms given by good men to beggars. Johnson. ^^^
13:) I would have put my wealth into donation, \\ And the
best half should have return'd to him,] i. e. the best half
of m^ wealth should have been the reply 1 would ha^'c made
to Timon: 1 would have answered his requisition with the
best half of what 1 am worth. =14:) They hare all been
touch'd,] That is, tried, alluding to the touchstone. = 16:)

— —Jiis friends, like physicians, || Thrive, give him over;]

i. e. "His friends, like physicians, thrive by his bounty and
fees, and either relinquish, and forsake him, or give his
case up as desperate." = 16:) — such a courage — ] Such an
ardour, snch an eager desire. = 1 7:) The devil knew not
what he did, when he made man politic; he crossed him-
self by't: and I cannot think, but, in the end, the villainies
of man will set him clear.] Of the various conjectures on
this passage, the following seems most probable: — The de-
vil did not know what he was about [how much his reputa-
tion for wickedness would be diminished] when he made
man crafty and interested ; he thwarted himself by it; Lby
thus raising up rivals to contend with him in iniquity, and
at length to surpass him ;] and I cannot but think that at
last the enormities of mankind will rise to such a height,
as to make even Satan himself, in comparison, appear
(what he would least of all wish to be) spotless and inno-
cent. Malone. = 18:) — keep his house.] i. e. keep within
doors for fear_ of duns. = 19:) I am weary of this charge,]
That is, of this commission, of this employment. ^=') Else,
surely, his had equaWd.] The meaning of this passage may
be, lour master, it seems, had more confidence m lord
Timon than mine, otherwise his (i. e. my master's) debt
(i. e. the money due to him from Timon) would certainly
have been as great as your master's (i. e. as the money
which Timon owes to your master) ; that is, my master
being as rich as yours, could and would have advanced
Timon as large a sum as your master has advanced him,
if he (my master) had thought it prudent to do so. =
20:) "If 'twill not serve," — Malone. = 21:) Enter Ser-
vilius.] It may be observed that Shakspeare has unskil-
fully filled his Greek story with Romau names. Johnson.
= 22:) "Derive much," — Malone; who prints this speech
as prose. = 23:) Xnoct me down with 'em:] Timon quibbles.
They present their written bills ; he catches at the word,
and alludes to the bills or battle-axes, which the_ ancient
soldiery carried, and were still used by the watch in Shak-
speare's time. = 24:) "llllorxa all:" — Malone; who does
not explain the. meaniiig of this strange word.= 25:) — set-
ting his fate aside,] i. e. putting this action of his, which
was pre-determined by fate, out of the question. = 26:) And
with such sober and unnoted passion || He did behave his
anger, ere 'twas spent, K.C.] The sense of this passage, (how-
ever perversely expressed on account of rhyme,) may be
this: "He managed his anger with such sober and unnoted
;)as«/oj/ [i. e. su^ertn^, forbearance,] before It was spent, [i.e.
before that disposition to endure the insult he had received,
was exhausted,] that it seemed as if he had been only en-
gaged in supporting an argument he had advanced in con-
versation. =27:) — You undergo too strict a paradox,] You
undertake a paradox too hard.= 28:) — that man can breathe ;]
i. e. can utter. = 29:) — —what make we \\ Abroad 'f]
What do we, or what have we to do in the field'f = 30:)
"the fellow," — Malone. =: 31:) — sin's extremest gust;]
Gust means rashness. The allusion may be to a sudden
gust of wind. So we say, it was done in a sudden gust of
passion. =:32:) — by mercy, 'tis most just.] i. e. I call mercy
herself to witness, that defensive violence is just. Johnson.
= 3 S:) — I should prove so base,] Base for dishonoured. =
3 4:)yi«d, not to swell our spirit,] i. e. not to put ourselves
into any tumour of rage, take our definitive resolution. =
35:) Mr. Malone omits fta.'=:36:) Upon that were my thoughts
tiring,] A hawk, 1 think, is said to tire, when she amuses
herself with pecking a pheasant's wing, or any thing that
puts her in mind of prey. To tire upon a thing, is there-
fore, to be idly employed upon it. Johnson. = 37:) — your
better remembrance.] i. e. your g-oorf memory : the com-
parative for the positive degree. ^=58:) Here's a noble feast
toward.] i. e. in a state of readiness. = 39:)— the common
lag—] The fag-end of a web of cloth is, in some places,
called the lag-eud.=:^0:) Is your perfection.] Your perfec-
tion is the highest of your excellence. =^^h) — time's flies,]
Flies of a season. Johnson. =^42:) — 7nin//tejocA:8,] A inin-
utcjaek is what was called formerly a Jack of the clock
house; an image whose office was the same as one of those
at St. Dunstan's church, in Fleet-street. = 43:) — the in-
finite malady—] Every kind of disease incident to man
and beast. =

ACT IV. r=\:) — general filths— ] i.e. common sewers,
-r^ 2:) — confounding contraries,] i. c. contrarieties whose
nature it is to ivaste or destroy each other. = 3:) — yet con-
fusion—~] Sir Thomas llaumer reads, let confusion. =^4:) —
liberty—] Liberty is here used for /jAerfinisnj. = 5:) — mul-
tiplying banns!] i. e. accumulated curses. Multiplying tor
multiplied: the active participle with a passive signilica-
tion. -= 6:) Enter Flavins,] \othing contributes more to the
exaltation of Timon's ciiaracter than the zeal and fidelity
of his servants. Nothing but real virtue can be honoured
by domestics; nothing but impartial kindness can gain af-
fection from dependants. = 7:) — O, the fierce wretched-
ness— ] Fierce is here used for hasty, precipitate. ^=^ 8:) —
Strange, unusual blood.] Strange, unusual blood, may mean
strange, unusual disposition. =9:) — 6e/ou) thy sister's orb—]
that is, the moon's, this sublunary world. = 10:) — — Not
nature, || To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great for-
tune, 11 But by contempt of nature.] Mr. M. Mason observes,
that this passage "but by the addition of a single letter may
be rendered clearly intelligible; by merely reading nature*
instead oi nature." The meaning will then be- "Xot even
beings reduced to the utmost extremity of wretchedness, can

V.

TH,S.[Ph:2S.]

NOTES.

1011

bear good fortune, without contemning their fellow-crea-
tures. = 11:) "Ueny't that lord ;" — Malosk. := 12:)— for
every grize of fortune— ^ Grize for step or degree. = 13:)
— fang mankind .'] i. e. seize, gripe. = 1 4:) — no idle votarist.]
No insincere or inconstant supplicant. Gold will uot serve
me instead of root».^= 15:) — i/ou clear heavens!] This may
mean either ye cloudless skies, or ye deities exempt from
guilt. = lb:) To the April day again] The Jpril day does
uot relate to the widow, but to the other diseased female,
who is represented as the outcast of an hospital. SUe it is
whom gold embalms and spices to ibcjiprit day again: i.e.
gold restores her to all the freshness and sweetness ot
youth. = 17:) Do thy right nature.'] Lie iu the earth where
nature laid thee.^=18:)— TAouVf quick,] Thou hast lile and

motion in thee.= 19:) i/j| Thou wilt not promise, iic]

that is, however thou may'st act, since thou art a man, hated
man, I wish thee evil. = 20:) "But set them down"— Ma-
hofis. -=2 I:) — bastard,] An allusion to the tale of (Edipus.
= 22:) Swear against objects;] Jgainst objects is, agaiust
objects of charity- and compassion. = 23:) iV/ trust to your
conditions:] I will trust to your inclinations, or rather fo-
cations.=z2i:) Nor sound his quillets shrilly:] Quillets are
8ubtiltie8. = 25:) — hoar the jlamen,]'lhis may mean, — Give
the tlamen the hoary leprosy. = 2b:)— that his particular
to foresee,] The metaphor is apparently incongruous, but
the sense is good. To foresee his particular, is to provide
for his private advantage, for which he leaves the right
scent of public good. = 27:) And ditches grave you all!]
To grave is to entomb. The word is now obsolete, though
sometimes used by Shakspeare and his coutcmporary au-
thors. = 28:) ;f7*o«e—in/«mte breast,] means whose bound-
less surface. =^ 29:) — eyeless venom' d worm,] The serpent,
which we, from the smallness of his eyes, call the blind-
worm, and the Latins, ctecilia. = 30.) — below crisp heaven — ]
i. e. curled, bent, hollow. =31:) X^ry up thy marfows, i;»ne«,
and plough-torn leas;] The sense is this: 0, nature! cease
to produce men, cnseartky womb; but if thou wilt continue
to produce them, at least cease to pamper them: dry up
thy marrows, on which they fatten with unctuous morsels,
thy vines, which give them liquorish draughts, and thy
piowHorn leas. ■= 32:)— the cunning of a carper.] i. e. the
insidioas art of a critic. =:33:) ff'hat! a knave too/] 'iimon
had just called Apemantus fool, in consequence of what he
had known of him by former acquaintance; but when Ape-
mantus tells him that he comes to vex him, Timon de-
termines that to vex is either the office of a villain or a
fool; that to vex by design is villainy, to vex without de-
sign is folly. He then properly asks Apemantus whether
he takes delight in vexing, and when he answers, yes, Ti-
mon replies,- IF hat! a knave toof I before only knew thee
to be a fool, but now I find thee likewise a knave. John-
so>. ^= 34:) — t» crowned before:] Arrives sooner at Aign
with ; that is, at the completion of its wishes. Johnson. =
35:) f^'orse than the worst, content.] Best states contentless
have a wretched being, a being w orse than that of the worst
states that are content. Johnson. = 86:) — by his breath,]
By his breath means in our author's language, by his roice
or speech, and so iu fact by his sentence, shakspeare tre-
queutly uses the word in this sense. It has been twice used
in this play. = 37:) Hadst thou, like us,] There is in this
speech a sullen haughtiness, and malignant dignity, suitable
at once to the lord and the manhater. The impatience with
which he bears to have his luxury reproached by one that
never had luxury within his reach, is uatural and gracelul.
Johnson. =38:)— yjr»t swath,] From infancy. Swath is the
dress of a newborn child. ==39:) — passive drugs of it—]
or drudges. := 40:) — precepts of respect,] "The icy pre-
cepts of respect" mean the cold admonitions of cautious
prudence, that deliberately weighs the consequences of every
action. =4 1:) — than I could frame employment ;] i. e. Irauie
employment /or. Shakspeare frequently writes thus. = 42:)
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.] Urydcn has quoted
Iw o verses of Virgil to show how well he could have writ-
ten satires. Shakspeare has here given a specimen of the
same power by a line bitter beyond all bitterness, in w_hich
Timon tells Apemantus, that he had not virtue enough tor
the vices which he condemns. 1 have heard Mr. Burke com-
mend the subtilty of discrimination with which Shakspeare
distinguishes the present character of Timon from that of
Apemantus, whom to vulgar eyes he would now resemble.
Johnson. = 43:) — /or too mucA curiosity ;] i.e. for too much
finical delicacy.r=44:) — tAe unicorn, &:c.] The account given
of the unicorn is this: that he and the lion being enemies
by nature, as soon as the lion sees the unicorn he betakes
himself to a tree: the unicorn in his fury, and with all the
swiftness of his cour.-ie, running at him, sticks his horn fast
iu the tree, and then the lion falls upon him and kills him.
= 45:) — irere reinoiion;] i. e. removal from place to place;
or perhaps, remofeness. = 46:) TAou art the cap, iic] The
top, the principal. The remaining dialogue has more malig-
nity than wit. Johnson. = 47:) — 0 lAou touch of hearts!]
Touch, for touchstone. = 48:) In limited professions.] Re-
gular, orderly professions. = 49:) — by a couiposture — ]
1. e. composition, compost. = 60:) What an alteration of
honour has \\ Desperate want morfe.'] An alteration of ho-
nour, is an alteration of an honourable state to a state of
disgrace. :^ 51:) Woio rarely does it meet—] How curiously,
how happily. = 5 2:) Jf^hen man was wish'd — ] i. e. recoin
tnended. ■= 53:) Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo ;|
Those that would mischief me, than those that do !] It is
plain, that in this whole speech friends and enemies are

taken only for those who profess friendship and profesM
enmity; for the friend is supposed not to be more kind, but
more dangerous than the enemy. The sense is, Let me
rather woo or caress those that would mischief, that profess
to mean me mischief, tAan rAo«e that really do me mischief,
under false professions of kindness. 'I'he Spaniards, 1 think,
have this proverb: Defend me from my J r lends, and from
my enemies I will defend myself. This proverb is a sufti-
cient comment on the passage. Johnson. =r 54:) "Thou'rl a
man," — Malonk. =55;) — it almost turns \\ My dangerou*
nature wild.] To turn wild, is to distract. An appearance
so unexpected, says Timon, almost turns my savageness to
distraction. ^=56:) "\'ou perpetual," Kc. — Malonk. =^ 57:)
— from men;] Away from human habitations. = 58:) "Debts
wither them to nothing:" — Mai<onk.=

ACT V. =1:) — the deed of saying is quite out of use.'\
The doing of that which we have said wc would do, the ac-
complishment and performance of our promise, is, except
among the lower classes of mankind, quite out of use. ■==
2:) — a counterfeit — ] A portrait was so called in our an
thor's time. = 3:) — a made-up villain.] That is, a villain
that adopts qualities and characters not properly belonging
to him; a hypocrite; or a made-up villain may mean, a
complete, sl finished villain. = 4:) — in a draught,] That is,
in the jakes. = 6:) — with one consent of love,] With one
united voice of affection. = 6:) — sorrowed render,] Mender
is confession. = 7:) Than their offence can weigh down by
the dram;] The speaker means, a recompense (hat shall
more than counterpoise their offences, though weighed with
the most scrupulous exactness. =r 8:) Allow 'd tcith absolute
power,] uillowed is licensed, privileged, uncontrolled. -=9:)
There's not a whittle — ] A whittle is still in the midland
counties the common name fur a pocket clasp knife, such
as children use. Chaucer speaks of a Sheffield thwittell.
= 10:) — My long sickness — ] The disease of life begins to
promise me a period. ^=11:) — bruit — ] i.e. report, rumour.
= 12:) — in the sequence of degree,] Methodically, from
highest to lowest. = 13:) "VVhom once" — Malonb. = 14:)
— embossed froth — ] Embossed froth, is swollen froth; from
bosse, Fr. a tumour. = 15:) In our dear peril.] Dear, in
Shakspeare's language, is dire, dreadful, but may, in the
present instance, signify immediate, or imminent. = 1 6:) I
cannot read ; i-c] 'I'licre is something elaborately unskilful
in the contrivance of sending a soldier, who cannot read,
to take the epitaph in wax, only that it may close the play
by being reau with more solemnity in the last scene. John-
son. = 17:) — trayers'd arms,] Arms across. = 18:) — tAe
time is flush,] A bird is flush when his feathers are grown,
and he can leave the not. Flush is mature. r= 19:) Shame,
that they wanted cunning, in excess \\ Hath broke their
hearts.] Shame in excess, (i. e. extremity of shame) that
they wanted cunning, (i. e. that they were not wise enough
not to banish you) hath broke their hearts. = 20:) — not
square,] Xot regular, uot equitable. =: 21:) "altogether."
Malone. = 22:) —uncharged ports;] uncharged means un-

attacked. = 23:) ■ to atone your fears \\ ff^ith my more

noble meaning,] i. e. to reconcile them to it. = 2-i:)

not a man {| Shall pass his quarter,] Not a soldier shall quit
his station, or be let loose upon you; and. if any commits
violence, he shall answer it regularly to tne law. = 25:) —
our brain's flow,] Our brain's flow is our tear*. = 2t>:) —
leech.] i. e. physician. =

XXVIII. CORIOLAKUS.

ACT I. = 1:) 1 Cit. Jre are accounted poor citizens ;
the patricians, good:] Good is here used iu the mercantile
sense. = 2:) — but they think, we are too dear:] They think
that the charge of maintaining us is more than we are worth.
= 3:) Let us revenge this with our pikes^ ere we become
rakes:] It is plain that, in our author's tine, we had the
proverb, as lean as a rake. Uf this proverb the original is
obscure. Rake now signifies a dissolute man, a man worn
out with disease and debauchery. But the signification is,
I think, much more modern than the proverb. Rcekel, in
Islandic, is said to mean a cur-dog, and this was probably
the first use among us of the word rake: as lean as a rake
is, therefore, as lean as a dog too worthless to be fed. =

4:) / iri7/ venture Ji To scale't a little more.] To scale

is to disperse. The word is still used in the North. The
sense of^the old reading is. Though some of you have heard
the story, 1 will spread it yet wider, and diffuse it among
the rest. ^5:) — disgrace jcitA a tale:] Disgraces are hard-
ships, injuries. = 6:) — where tAe ofAcr instruments — ]
Where for whereas -= 7:) — participate,] Hi-re means par-
ticipant, or participating. = 8:) Which ne'er came from
the lungs,] With a smile not indicating pleasure, but con-
tempt. = 9:)— even so most fitly—] i. e. exactly. = 10:) —
fAe cranks and offices of man,] Cranks are windings. = 1 1:)
TAe one side must have bale.] Bale is an old Saxon word,
for misery or calamity. = 12:)—— Your virtue is, || To make
hint worthy, whose offence subdues him, || And curse that
justice did it.] i. e. Your virtue is to speak w ell of him
whom his own offences have subjected to justice; and to
rail at those laws by which he whom you praise was pa-

64

1012

NOTES

[Pl:28.] Tir.S.

nished. r= 13:) — tAetr ruth,] i. e. their pity, compassion.
Fairfax aud Spenser often use the word. Hence the ad-
jective—rufAless Mhich is still current. = 14:) — I'd make
a quarry — ] Mr. Steeveus asserts, that quarry means game
pursued or killed, and supports that opinion by a passage
in Massinger's Guardian: and from thence, perhaps, the
word was used to express a heap of s]au>rhtered persons.
= 15:)— pick my laiicej] i. e. pitch it. = 16:) — the heart
of generosity,] 'I'o give the linal blow to the nobles. Gene-
rosity is high birth. = 11:) Shouting their emulation.'] Emu-
lation, in the present instance, perhaps, signilies faction.
Shouting their emulation, may mean, expressing the tri-
umph of their faction by shouts. Emulation, in our author,
is sometimes used in an unfavourable sense, aud not to im-
ply an honest contest for superior excellence. = 18:) £'or
insurrection's arguing.] For insurgents to debate upon. =
19:) Right worthy you priority.] \ou being right worthy
of precedence. = 20:) Your valour puts well forth:] That
i«, You have in this mutiny shown fair blossoms of valour.
= 21:) — to gird — ] To sneer, to gibe. ^22:) The present
wars devour him: he is grown !| Too proud to be so va-
liant.] He is grown too proud to be so valiant, may signify,
his pride is such as not to deserve the accouipanimeut of
so much valour. = 2 3:) Of his demerits rob Cominius.]
Merits and demerits had anciently the game meaning. ==
24:) More than in singularity, kc] After what fashion, be-
side that in which his own singularity of disposition invests
him, he goes into the field. = 2 5:) "whatever have been"
— Malone. = 26:) To lake in many towns,] To take in is
here, as in many other places, to subdue. = 27:) — when
youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his ivay ;] i. e. at-
tracted the attention of every one towards him. = 28:) —
brotvs bound with oak.] The crown given by the Romans
to him that saved the life of a citizen, which was accounted
more honourable than any other. = 29:) ff^ith his mail'd
hand then wiping,] i. e. his hand covered or armed with
mail. = 30:) — yi Ji/je spot,] This expression, (whatever may
be the precise meaning of it,) is still in use among the vul-
gar; "You have made a fine spot of work of it," being a
common phrase of reproach to those who have brought them-
selves into a scrape. =31:) — mammocked it.'] 'I'o mammock
is to cut to pieces, or to tear. = 32:) ^ crack, marfam.] Crack
signifies a hoy child. = 33:) — liclded friends!] i. e. our
friendij who are in the field of battle. =34:) ff^ ho, sensible,]
Sensible is here, having sensation. = 35:) "(), 'tis Mar-
cius:" — MaIjONE. = 36:) — confound an hour,] Confound
is here used not iu its common acceptation, but in the sense
of — to expend. Conterere tempus. *= 37:) "every meaner
man." — Mai.oke. = 38:) Ransoming him, or pitying,] i. e.
remitting his ransom. = 39:) And that you nut delay the
present;] Delay, for let slip. = 40:) "select from all :"_ —
Malone. = 41:) Those centuries—] i. e. companies consisting
each of a hundred men.= 42:) That was the whip of your
bragg'd progeny,] fVhip might anciently be used, as crack
is now, to denote any thing peculiarly boasted of; as — the
crack house in the county — the crack boy of a school, &c.
Modern phraseology, perhaps, has only passed from the

whip to the cracfc of it. Steevens. = 43:) you have

sham'd me || In your condemned seconds.] i. e. You have, to
my shame, sent me help, which I must condemn as intru-
sive, instead of applaudifig it as necessary. ^= 44:) And,
gladly quak'd,] i. e. thrown into grateful trepidation. =
45:) jflere is the steed, we the caparison:] This is an odd
encomium. The meaning is, this man performed the action,
and we only filled up^ the show. Johnson. ::^ 46:) — a char-
ter to extol — ] A privilege to praise her own son. = 47:)
He that hath but effected his good will, || Hath overta'en
mine act.] That is, has done as much as 1 have done, inas-
much as my ardour to serve the state is such that I have
never been able to effect all that 1 wish'd. = 48:) Should
they not,] That is, not be remembered.= i9:) To undercrest
your good addition, || To the fairness of my power.] 1 un-
derstand the meaning to be, to illustrate this honourable
distinction you have conferred on me by fresh deservings
to the extent of my power. To undercrest, I should guess,
signifies properly, to wear beneath the crest as a part of
a coat of arms. The name or title now given seems to be
considered as the crest; the promised future achievements
as the future additions to that coat. Heath. = 50:) The
best,] The chief men of Corioii. = 51:) — with whom we
may articulate,] i.e. enter into articles. = 52:) — I'll potch
at him some way;] Mr. Heath reads —poacA; but potch.. to
which the objection is made as no English word, is used in

the midland counties for a rough, violent push. =: 53:)

for him || Shall fly out of itself;] To mischief hiui, my va-
lour should deviate from its own native generosity. John-
son. = 54:) nor sleep, nor sanctuary, &c. || Embarque-

ments alt of fury, &c.] The word, in the old copy, is spelt
embarquements, and, as Cotgrave says, meant not only an
embarkation, but an embargoing. The rotten privilege and
custom that follow, seem to lavour this explanation, and
therefore the old reading may well enough stand, as an
embargo is undoubtedly an impediment. Stkevkns. = 55:)
At home, upon my brother's guard,] In my own house, with
my brother posted to protect him. = 56:) — attended — ] i.e.
waited for. = 57:) (Tt« south the city mills,)] Mr.Tyrwhitt
would read for mills, a mile, but Mr. Steevens observes
that iShakspeare is seldom careful about such little impro-
prieties. Coriolanus speaks of our divines, and Menenius
of graves in the holy churchyard. It is said afterwards,
that Coriolanua talks like a knell; aud drums, and Hob,

and Dick, are with as little attention to time or place, in-
troduced in this tragedy. =

ACT II. = 1:) "poor in," — Malone. = 2:) — towards
the napes of your necks,] With allusion to the fable, which
says, that every man has a bag hanging before him. in
whicii he puts his neighbour's faults, aud another behind
him, in which he stows his own. Johnson. = 8:) — one that
converses more, &.C.] Rather a late Her down than an early
riser. Johnson. = 4:) — bisson conspectuities — ] Bisson, blind.
= 5:) — for poor knaves' caps and legs;] Thtt is, for their
obeisance showed by bowing to you. = 6:) — you wear out a
good, Aic] It appears from this whole speech that Shak-
spcare inistook the office of prcefectus urbis for the tri-
bune's office. = 7:) — possessed of this'f] Possessed, in our
author's language, is fully informed. = 8:) ff'hich being ad-
vanc'd, declines;] Volumnia, in her boasting strain, says,
that her son to kill his enemy, has nothing to do but to lift
his hand up aiid let it fall. Johnson. := 9:) My gracious si-
lence, hail!] i. e. "My beauteous silence," or my "silent
grace." Gracious seems to have had the same meaning
formerly that graceful has at this day. = 10:) Into a
rapture — ] Rapture, a common term at that time used for
a lit, simply. So, to be rap'd, signified, to be in a fit. =
11:) — the kitchen inalkin — ] Malkin is properly the dimi-
nutive of Mai (Mary) ; as Wilkin, Tumkin, ic. In Scotland,
pronounced Maukin; it signifies a hare. Grey malkin (cat-
ruptly grimalkin) is a cat. The kitchen malkin is just the
same as the kitchen Madge or Bess: the scullion. Ritson.
= 12:) Her richest lockram, &c.] Lockram, was some kind
of cheap linen. = 13:) — her reecliy neck,] Reechy is greasy,
sweaty. = 14:) — seld-shown flaniens—] i. e. priests who
seldom exhibit themselves to public view. Seld is often
used by ancient writers for seldom. = 15:) — a vulgar sta-
tion:] 1. e. a common standing-place, such as is distinguished
by no particular convenience. = 16:) From where he should
begin, dLixA end;] Our author means, though he has expressed
himself most licentiously, he cannot carry his honours tem-
perately from where he should begin to where he should
end. 'Ihe word transport includes the ending as well as
the beginning. He cannot begin to carry his honours, and
conclude his journey, from the spot where he should begin,
and to the spot where he should end. = 11:) As he is proud
to do't.] Proud to do, is the same as, proud of doing. As
means here, as that. = 18:) The napless vesture—] Hy
napless, Shakspeare means threadbare. = 19:) Jt shall be
to him then, as our good wills ;] The w ord — tvills is here
a verb; and as our '■'■good wills" means, "as our advan-
tage" requires. = 20:} — suggest the people,] i. e. prompt
them. = 21:) — to his potver,] i.e. as far as his power goes,
to the utmost of it. = 2 2:)— their provand— ] So the old
copy, and rightly, though all the modern editors read pro-
vender. =2Z:) Matrons flung their gloves— \\ Ladies — their
scarfs—] Here our author has attributed some of the cus-
toms of his own age to a people who were wholly unac-
quainted with them. Few men of fashion in his time ap-
peared at a tournament without a lady's favour upon his
arm: and sometimes when a nobleman had tilted with un-
common grace and agility, some of the fair spectators used
to fling a scarf or glove "upon him as he pass'd." Mr.
Malone reads "flung gloves.'' = 24:) — he waved—] That
is, he would have waved indifferently. = 26:) — their op-
posite.] That is, tfaeir^adversary. = 26:) — as tAo*e— ] That
IS, as the ascent of those. = 27:) — supple and courteous to
the people, bonnetted, iic] Bonnetter, Fr. is to pull off
one's cap. So, in the academic style, to cap a fellow, is
to take off the cap to him. := 28:) "to have" — Mai.one.=
29:) — — and make us think, \\Rather our state's defective
for requital, || 2'han we to stretch it out.] i. e. Rather say
that our means are too defective to afford an adequate re-
ward for his services, than suppose our wishes to stretch
out those means are defective. = SO:) Your loving motion
toward the common body,] Your kind interposition with the
common people. =r3 1:) That's off, that's off;] That is, that
is nothing to the purpose, =32:) — how can he flatter,] The
reasoning of Menenius is this: How can he be expected to
practise flattery to others, who abhors it so much, that he
cannot hear it even when offered to himself? = 33:) When
Tarquin made a head for Rome,] When Tarquin, who had
been expelled, raised a power to recover Home. = 34:) —
his Amazonian chin — ] i. e. his chin on which there was no
beard. ^^ 35:) And struck him on his knee:] This does not
mean that he gave Tarquin a blow on the knee, but gave
him such a blow as occasioned him to fall on his knee. =
3 6:) When he might act the woman in the scene,] It has
been more than once mentioned, that the parts of women
were, in Shakspeare's time, represented by the most smooth-
faced young men to be found among the players. But here
is a great anachronism. There were no theatres at Rome
for the exhibition of plays for about two hundred and fifty
years after the death of Coriolanus. :=37:) He lurch'd alt
swords o'the garland.] To lurch, in Shakspeare's time, sig-
nified to win a inaiclen set at cards, Acc. "To lurch all
swords of the garland," therefore was, to gain from all
other warriors the wreath of victory, with ease, and in-
contestable superiority. = 38:) "as weeds before" — Ma-

liONE. = 39:) every motion \\ Was timed with dying

cries:] The cries of the slaughtered regularly followed his
motion, as music and a dancer accompany each other. =
40:) The mortal gate—] The gate that was made the scene

Tjj. S. [Pl:28.]

NOTES.

1013

of death. = 41:) He cannot but tpith measure fit the ho-
nours— ] That 18, no honour >till be too great for him; he
Hill tthow a aiiiiii equal to any elevation. =42:) Than mi-
sery— ] Misery for avarice; because a miser siguilies ava-
ricious. = 43:) Mr. Maloiie omits for. = 44:) Your honour
with -^ out form.'] \our form, may mean the form which
custom prescribes to you. ^45:) ff^'e recommend to yoiL, tri-
bunes of the people, \\ Our purpose to them;] We entreat
you, tribunes of the people, to recommend and enforce to
the plebeians, what we propose to them for their approba-
tion; namely, the appointment of Coriolanus to the consul-
ghip. = 46:) "for once we stood up," A.c. — Malo>e. = 47:)
i would they would forget me, like the virtues || H'hich our
divines lose by them.] i.e. 1 wish they would forget me as
they do those virtuous precepts, which the diviues preach
up to them, and lose by them, as it were, by their neglect-
ing the practice. = 48:) 1 will not seal your knowledge—]
1 will not strengthen or complete your knowledge. The seal
is that which gives authenticity to a writing. =49:) Mr.
Maluue omits then. ^ 60:) — ignorant to see't/"] If' ere you
ignorant to see it, is, did you waut kuowledgc to discern
il^^ 51:) lyould think upon you — ] Would retain a grate-
ful remembrance of you, tVc. =62:) — free contempt,] That
is, with contempt open and unrestrained. = 53:) — Enforce
his pride.] Object his pride, and enforce the objectiou. =
64:) — his present portance,] i. e. carriage. =r 65:) "Most
gibingly," — Maloisk. = 5ti:) "twice censor," — Malo>e.=
67:) bvaliiig his present bearing with his past,] That is,
weighing his past and present behaviour. ^= 6 b:) — by our
pulling on:J i. e. iiicitatiou. = 69:)— observe and answer ||
The vantage of his anger.] Mark, catch, and improve the
opportunity, which his hasty anger will ali'urd us. =

ACT III. =U) On safe-guard he came to me;] i.e. with
a convoy, a guard appointed to protect him. = 2:) — prank
them in authority,] I'lume, deck, dignify themselves. = 3:)

This palt'ring li becomes not Rome ;^ That is, this trick

of dissimulation; this shullling. = 4:) — rub, laid falsely,

4:c.] Falsely for treacherously. ^= b:) let them \\ Regard

me as I do not flatter, and ,| Therein behold themselves:]
Let them look in the mirror which 1 hold up to them, a
mirror which does not flatter, and see themselves. Johnson.
= b:) The cockle of rebellion,] Cockle is a weed which
grows up with the coru. = 7:) — njea-c^«,] Mesell is used in
J^ierce Plowman's f ision, for a /ejper. = 8:) — minnows'f] A
minnow is one of the smallest river fish, called in some
counties a pink. =^9:) 'Twas from the canon.] \>a8 contrary
to the established rule; it \«a,s a turm ot speech to whicli
he has no right; but Mr. Mason thinks these words imply
the very reverse. = 10:) Then vail your ignorance:] // this
man has power, let the ignorance that gave it him vail or
bow down before him. = 1 1:) iou are plebeians, |j // they
be senators: and they arc no less, \\ IFhen, both your voices
blended, the greatest taste j| Most palates theirs.] i'erhaps
the meaning is, the plebeians are no less than senators,
when, the voices of the seuaie and the people being blended
together, the predominant state of the compound smacks
more of the populace than the senate. = 12:) They would
not thread the gates:] That is, pass them. We yet say, to
thread an alley. = lis:) — cou/rf never be the native — ] iVa-
tti-e is here not natural birth, but natural parent, or cause
of birth. Johnson. = 14:) — this bosom multiplied—] This
multitudinous bosom ; the bosom of that great monster, the
people. = 15:) More than you doubt the change oft;] To
doubt is to fear. The meaning is. You whose zeal predo-
miuaies over your terrors; you who do not so much fear
the danger ol violent measures, as wish the good to which
they are' necessary, the preservation of the original consti-
tution of our guverumeni. = 16:) To jump a body—] Thus
the old copy. To jump ancientiv signified to jo/£, to give
a rude cuucussiuu to any thing. To jump a body may there-
fore mean, to put it inlo a violent agitation or commotion
= 17:) One time will owe another.] 'I'he meaning seems to
be. One time will compensate for another. Our time of
triumph w- 11 come hereafter: time will be in our debt, will
owe us a good turn, lor our present disgrace. Let us trust
to futurity. = 18:) Before the tag return^] The lowest and
most despicable of the populace are still denominated by
those a little above them. Tag, rag, and bobtail = Ifc:)
":»ir, sir," — Malone. = 2 0:) Towards her deserved chil-
dren—] Deserved, for deserving. = 21:) This is clean kam ]
i. e. Awry. So Cotgrave interprets. Tout va a contrepoil.
All goes clean kam. Hence a cambrel for a crooked slick,
or the bend in a horse's hinder leg. The Welsh word for
crooked is Aom. =22:) Merely awry:] i.e. absolulely. = 23:)
Mr. Malone places a full point here, yet allows that an in-
terrogation is implied. = 24:) 1 muse,] that is, / wonder, 1
am at a loss. = 25:) — my ordinance—] My rank. = 26:)
Iou are too absolute; l\ Though therein you can never be
too noble, il But when extremities speak.] Kxcept in cases of
urgent necessity, when your resolute and noble spirit, how-
ever commendable at other times, ought to yield to the oc-
casion. = 27:) IVhy force you—] Why urge you. = 28:)
"prompts you," — Malonk. = 29:) bastards, and syl-
lables II Of no allow ance, to your bosom's truth.] 1 read :
"0/ no alliance;" therefore bastards. Yet allowance may
well enough stand, as meaning legal right, established rank,
or settled authority. Johnson. = 30:) Than to take in a
town—] To subdue or destroy. r= 31:) — our genera/ lowts—]
Uur common clowns. = 32:) — th<U waut — ] The want of

their loves. = 33:) Mr. Malone omits all. = 34:) — my ui|>
barb'd «concei^] Lnbarbed sconce is untrimmed or unshavhh
head. = 35:) — single plot — ] i.e. piece, portion; applied to
a piece of earth, and here elegantly transferred to the body,
carcase. =36:) fy'hich quired with my drum,] Which played
in concert with my drum. = 37:) Tent in my cheeks;] To
tent is to take up residence. ^= 3S:) — ^ let \\ Thy mother
rather feel thy pride, than fear || Thy dangerous stoutness;^
This is obscure. Perhaps, she means: — Go, do thy worst;
let me rather feel the utmost extremity that thy pride cau
bring upon us, than live thus in fear of thy dangerous ob-
stinacy. Johnson. =39:) — owe—] i.e. own. = 40;) — cnrt/— ]

i. c. malice, hatred. = 41:) and to have his worth n Of

contradiction:] lie has been used to have his worth, or (as
we should now say) his pennyworth of contradiction; his

full quota, or proportion. = 42:) which looks Iff'ith ut

to break his neck.] The tribune seems to mean — The senti-
ments of Coriolanus's heart are our coadjutors, and look
to have their share in promoting his destruction. = 43:) —
If ill bear the knave by the volume.] i. e. w ould bear being
called a knave as often as would till out a volume. = 44:)
Rather than envy you ] Rather than import ill w ill to you.
= 45:) — seasoned office,] All office established Auii settled by
time, and made familiar to the people by long use. =46:) —
c/utcA'd— ]i.e. grasp''d. = 47:) "To the rock; to the rock with
him!" — Malonk. =48:) Envied against the people,] i.e.
behaved with signs of hatred to the people.^ 4 9:) "And it
shall be so." — Mai.onb. = 60:) My dear wife's estimate,]
1 love my country beyond the rate at which 1 value my dear
wife. .=:^51:) You common cry of curs.'] Cry here signiliea
a troop or pack. = 62:) Have the power still To banish
your defender* ; till, at lengthy i| lour ignorance, (which
Jinds not, till it feels,) ic] Still retain the power of ba-
nishing your defenders, till your undisceruing full}', which
can foresee no consequences, leave none in the city but your-
selves, who are always labouring your own destruction. It
is remarkable, that, among the political maxims of the spe-
culative Harrington, there is one which he might have bor-
rowed from this speech._ The people, says he, cannot see,
but they can feel. It is not much to the honour of the
people, that they have the same character of stupidity from
their enemy and their friend. Such was the power of our
author's mind, that he looked through life in all its relations
private and civil. Johnson. =53:) Aliated captives,] Abated
is dejected, subdued, depressed in spirit. =

ACT IV. =: 1:) "extremities was"- Malone. = 2:)

fortune's blows, Ji When most struck home, being gentle
wounded, craves 'j A noble cunning;] 'I'his is the aiicicnt
and authentic reading. The sense is, when fortune striLesi
her hardest blows, to be wounded, and yet continue calm,
requires a generous policij-. He calls this calmness cunning,
because it is the etfect of reflection and philo90|ihy. Per-
haps the lirst emotions of nature arc nearly uuifo'rm, and
one man ditfers from another in the powers of endurance,
as he is better regulated by precept and instruction. " Tbe^
bore as heroes, but they felt as men." Johnson. = 3:) 'Tit
fond — ] i.e. 'tis foolish. =4:) — cautelous — ] Cautelous^ in
the present instance, signifies — insidious. = 5:) My tirst
son,] first, i. e. noblest, and most eminent of men. = 6:)
More than a wild cxposture— ] 1 know not whether the
word cxposture be found in any other author. If not, 1
should incline to read exposure. Malone. =7:) My friends
of noble touch,] i. e. of true metal unallayed. Metaphor
from trying gold on the touchstone = 8:) Had'st thou fox-
ship—] Had'st thou, foul as thou art, mean cunning enough
to banish Coriolanus'' = S:) — but your favour is well ap-
peared by your tongue.] i. e. Your favour is fully mani-
fested, or rendered apparent, h^ your tongue. = 10:) — al-
ready in the entertainment,] 'I hat is, though not actually
encainped, yet already iu pay To entertain an army is to
take them into pay. = 11:) In being Coriolanus.] i. e. in
having derived that surname from the sack of Corioli. =
12:) — that he gives entrance to such companions"?] Com-
panion was formerly used in the same sense as we now use
the w ord fellow. = 1 3:) — a good memory,] Memory for
memorial. ^=\i:) A heart of wreak I'n tAee,] A heart of re-
sentment. ^15:) maims 11 Of shame — ] '1 hat is, disgrace-
ful diminution of territory. = 16:) iritA tAe spleen || Of

all the under fiends.] Shakspeare, by imputing a stronger
degree of inveteracy to subordinate fiends, seems to in-
timate, and very justly, that malice of reveuge is more
predominant in the lower than the upper classes of society.
This circumstance is repeatedly exemplified in the conduct
of Jack Cade and other heroes of the mob. Stkkvkns. =
17:) And scar'd fAe moon—] that is, frightened But Mr.
Malone reads scarr'd. = 18:) — Here I clip — ] To clip is,
to embrace.^ 19:) TAou Aast beat me out|, Twelve se-
veral times,] Out here means, full, complete. = 20:) "no
other quarrel" — M\LONE. = 21:)— sancti/ies himself with's
hand,] Perhaps the allusion is (however out ol place) to
the degree of sanctity anciently supposed to be derived
from touching the corporal relic of a saint or a martyr. =
22:) — He'll sowie tAe -] Skinner says this word is de-
rived from sow, i. e. to take hold of a person by the ears,
as a dog seizes one of these animals. ^= 23.) — his passage
polled.] That is, bared, cleared.=2i:'l—full of veut.] Full
of rumour, full of materials for discourse. =2 6:) — ;nu//cd,]
i. e. softened and dispirited, as wine is when burnt and
sweetened. = 26:) Hi* remedies are tame Cthe presetU

V.

1014

NOTES

[Pl:29.] Tit.S.

peace—"] i. e. ineffectual in times of peace like these. =
27:) "Coriolanus is not," &c. — Malonk. = 28:) affect-
ing one sole throne, \\ Without assistance.'] That is, without
assessors; without any other suflrage. = 29:) — stood for
Home,} i. e. stood up in its del'eucc. ==30:) — reason with
the fellow,] That is, have some talk with him. In this sense
Shakspeare often uses the word. = 31:) "come in,"— MAIi0^E.
= 32:) some news is come, \\ That turns their coun-
tenances.] i. e. that renders their aspect sour. ^ S3:) — can
no more atone,] To atone, in tlie active sense, is to recon-
cile, and is so used by our author. _ To atone here, is in
the neutral sense, to come to reconciliation. To atone is
to MTiJte. = 34:) Upon the voice of occupation,] Occupation
is here used for mechanics, men occupied in daily business.
= 35:) j4s Hercules, kc] A ludicrous allusion to the apples
of the Hesperides. :^36:^ J)o smilingly revolt;] To revolt
smilingly is to revolt with signs of pUasure, or with marks
of contempt. = 37:) — you and your cry!] Alluding to a pack
of hounds. So in Hamlet, a company of players arc con-
temptuously called a cry of players. = 38:) jJs is the os-

prey— ] Osprey a kind of eagle, o.isifraga. = S9:) w?ie-

ther 'twas pride, || Which out of daily fortune ever taints
II The happy man; whether, &c.] Aulidius assigns three pro-
bable reasons of the miscarriage of Coriolanus; pride, which
easily follows an uninterrupted train of success*^ unskilful-
ness to regulate the consequences of his own victories; a
stubborn uniformity of nature, which could not make the
proper transition from the casque or helmet to the cushion
or chair of civil authority ; but acted with the same des-
potism in peace as in war =40:) {j4s he hath spices of them
all, not all,] i.e. not all complete, not all in their full ex-
tent.r= 41:) he has a merit, || To choke it in the utter-
ance.] He nas a merit, for no other purpose than to destroy
it by boasting it. = 42:) "founder," — Malone. =

ACT V. =1:) — coj/'d — ] i. e. condescended unwillingly,
with reserve. = 2:) — that have rack'd— ] To rack means
to harass by exactions. = 3:) — memory !] for memorial. =
4:) Mr. Malone omits the personal pronoun /. = 5:) He teas
not taken well; he had not din'd: &c.] This observation is
not only from nature, and finely expressed, but admirably
befits the mouth of one, who in the beginning of the play
had told «s, that he loved convivial doings. =:d:) / tell you.
he does sit in gold:] He is enthroned in all the pomp and
pride of imperial splendour. = 7:) Bound with an oath, to
yield to his conditions;] What he would do, i, e. the con-
ditions on which he ottered to return, he sent in writing
after Cominius, intending that he should have carried them
to Menenius. What he would not, i. e. his resolution of
neither dismissing his soldie rs, nor capitulatiTig with Rome's
mechanics, in case the terms he prescribed should be re-
fused, he bound himself by an oath to maintain. If these
conditions were admitted, the oath of course, being grounded
on that proviso, must yield to them, and be cancelled. :^
8:) — lots to blanks,] A lot here is a prize.=:9:) jPor 1 have
ever verified my friends, \\ ivith all the size that verity, Aic]
To verify, is to establish by testimony. One may say with
propriety, he brought false witnesses to verify his title.
Shakspeare considered the word with his usual laxity, as
importing rather testimony than truth, and only meant to
say, I bore witness to my friends with alt the size that
verity would suffer. == 10:) — upon a subtle ground,] Subtle
means smooth, level, perhaps, deceitful. = 11:)—; — and in
his praise \\ Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing:] i. e. given
the sanction of truth to my very exaggerations. = 12;) —
easy groans—] i. e. slight, inconsiderable. = 13:) — a de-
cayed dotant — ] Thus the old copy. Modern editors have
read — dotard. = 14:) — a Jack guardant— ] This term is
equivalent to one still in use — a Jack in office; i. e. one
Mho is as proud of his petty consequence as an excise-man.

= 15:) Though I owe \\ My revenge properly,] Though

I have a peculiar right in revenge, in the pov\er of for-
giveness the Volscians are conjoined. = 16:) — for 1 lov'd
thee,] i.e. because. = 17:) — how jceareshent — ] '\.e. shamed,
disgraced, made ashamed of ourselves. Mr. Malone says,
rebuked, reprimanded, ("ole, in his Latin Diet. lb7P, ren-
ders to shend, increpo. It is so used by many of our old
writers. ^=1 8: ) — 6y himself,] i.e. by his own hands. = 19:)

how plainly \\ I have borne this business.] That is, how

openly, how remotely from artilice or concealment. = 20:)
The sorroiv, that delivers us thus changed, \\ Makes you
think so.] \ irgilia makes a voluntary misinterpretation of
her husband's words. He says, These eyes are not the same,
meaning that he saw things with other eyes, or other dis-
positions. She lays hold on the word eyes, to turn his at-
tention on their present appearance. Johtsson. ^=21:) Now
by the jealous queen of heaven,] That is, by Juno. = 2 2:)
— on the hungrv beach — ] The hungry beach is the sterile
uuprolific bcacn. =23:) "curdied" — Malonk. =24:)jl!/ifre
a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,] I'hat is, every gust,
every «form. = 25:) That, if you fail in our request,] That
is, if you fail to grant us our request; if you are found
failing or deficient in love to your country, and affection
to your friends, when our request shall have been made to
you. the blame, &c.=^ 26:) These wars determine:] i.e. con-
clude, end. = 27:) — the fine strains—] The niceties, the re-
finements. •= 28:) And yet to charge thy sulphur—] The
meaning of the passage is. To threaten much, and yet be
merciful. =29:) i/ite one ihhe stocks.] Keeps ine in a stale
of ignominy talking to no purpose. = 30:) Voea reason our

petition — ] Does argue for us and oar petition. = 8 1:)
"«aj/" is omitted by Mr, Malone, who considers heard as a
dissyllable. = 32:) — a former fortune.] i. e. restore myself
to my former credit and power. = 3b:) To have a temple
built you:] Plutarch informs us, that a temple dedicated to
the Fortune of the Ladies, was built on this occasion by
order of the senate. = 34:) — stay upon execution.] i.e. stay
but for it. = 36:) He sits in his state, kc] His «tote means
his cftoir of state. = 36:) He wag'd me with his counten-
ance,] This is obscure. The meaning, 1 think, is, he pre-
scribed to me vith an air of authority, and gave ine his
countenance tor my wages; thought me sufficiently rewarded
with good looks. Johnson. ^= A 7:) For which my sinews shall
be stretcWd — ] This is the point on which 1 will attack him
with my utmost abilities. = 38:) — — answering us \\ With
our own charge;] That is, rewarding us with our own ex-
penc.es; making the cost of war its recoinpence.= 39:) For
certain drops of salt,] For certain tears. = 40:) Anf. No
more.] By these words Aulidius does no^ mean to put a stop
to the altercation ; but to tell Coriolanus that he was no

more than a "boy of tears." = 41:) his fame folds in ||

This orb o'the earth.] His fame overspreads the world. =
42:) — Judicious hearing.] Perhaps judicious, in the present
instance, signifies judtct'a/; such a iiearing as is allowed to
criminals in courts of Judicature. Thus imperious is used
by our author for imperial. = 43:) — —that ever herald {j
Ifid follow to his urn.] 'I'his allusion is to a custom un-
known, 1 believe, to the ancients, but observed in the pub-
lic funerals of Knglish princes, at the conclusion of which
a herald proclaims the style of^ the deceased. Stekve!i(s.=
44:) — a noble memory.] Memory for memorial. =

XXIX. JULIUS CiESAR.

ACT I. = 1:) See, whe'r — ] whether. =2:) — decFd with
ceremonies.] Ceremonies are honorary ornaments; tokens
of respect. = 3:) This person was not Uecius, but JJecimut
Brutus. The poet (as Voltaire has done since) confounds
the characters of Marcus and Decimus. JJecinius Brutus
was the most cherished by Ccesar of all his friends, while
Marcus kept aloof, and declined so large a share of his
favours and honours, as the other had constantly accepted,
= 4:) Sennet.] 1 have been informed that sennet is derived
from senneste, an antiquated French tune formerly used in
the army ; but the dictionaries which I have consulted exhibit
no such word. It may be a corruption from sonata, Ital.
Steevkns. = 5:) — strange a hand — ] Strange, is alien, un-
familiar, such as might become a stranger. :^ 6:) — passions
of some difference,] vVilh a fluctuation of discordaut opin-
ions and desires. = 7:) — your passion;] i. e. the nature of
the feelings from which you are now suffering. = 8:) To stale
with ordinary oaths my love,lkc.] To invite every new pro-
tester to my affection by the stale or allurement of custom-
ary oaths. = 9:) — feeble temper—] i. e. temperament, con-
stitution. = 10:) There was a Hrutus once,] i. e. Lucius Ju-
nius Brutus. ^=11:) — aim;] i.e. g-ue««. = 12:) — chew upon
this;] Consider this at leisure; ruminate on this. = 13:) —
ferret — ] A ferret has red eyes. = 14:) — no true man.] No
honest man. = 15:) — a man of any occupation,] Had I been
a mechanic, one of the plebeians to whom he offered his
throat. = 16:) Thy honourable metal may be wrought || From
that it is dispos'd:] The best metal or temper may be
worked into qualities contrary to its original constitution.
= 17:) — doth bear pie hard:] i. c. has an unfavourable
opinion of me. = 1 8:) If 1 were Brutus now, and he were
Cassias, || He should not humour me.] The meaning, I think,
is this : Ccesar loves Brutus, hut if Brutus and I were to
change places, his love should not humour me, should not
take hold of my affection, so as to make me forget my prin-
ciples. Johnson. = 19:) — Wrought you Cirsar home/] Did
you attend Caesar home"? r= 20:) — sway of earth—] The
whole weight or momentum of this globe. =^2 1:) "gaz'd" —
MAtoNE. =22:) Clean from the purpose — ] Clean, is altoge-
ther, entirely. =23:)— thunder-stone:] A stone fabulously
supposed to be discharged by thunder. = 24:) Why birds,
and beasts, from quality and kind; ii.c.] that is, Why they
deviate from quality and nature. := 2 6:) — ami children cal-
culate:] Calculate here signifies to foretel or prophesy. =
26:)— prodigious grown,] jfrodigious is portentous. ^= 27:)
Have tnewes and limbs — ] Thewes is an obsolete word im-
plying nerves or muscular strength. = 28:) My answer must
be made:] 1 shall be called to account, and must answer as
for seditious words. = 29:) — Hold my hand:] is the same
as. Here's my hand. ^=30:) Be factious for redress—] Fac-
tious seems here to mean active. = 31:) Is favour'd,] To
favour is to resemble ; but Mr. Malone reads "In favours,"
which was suggested by Dr. Johnson, i. e. in looks, appear-
ance.-t, iViC. =

ACT IX. =1:) Remorse from power:] Remorse is pity,
tenderness. = 2:) — common proof,] Common nroo/ means a
matter proved by common experience. = 3:) — base de-
grees—J Low steps. = 4:) — as his kind,] c. i. like the rest
of his species. ^= 6:) Mr. Malone omits then. ^=6:) "slate of
a man," — Mai.one. = 7:) — anv mark of favour.] Any dis-
tinction of countenance. = 8:) ^W if thou path, with native
semblance on,] If thou walk iu thy true f orin. = 9:) iVo, not

Ti/.S.[Pl:29.]

NOTES.

1015

an oath: If uot the face of men, &c.] Dr. Warbiirtoii would
read fate of men ; but hiM elaborate emendatioa is, I think,
erroueous. The lace o/ r/ien is tiie countenance, the regard,
tlic cgteeni ot° the public; in otfacr terms, honour and re-
putation; or the face of men may mean the dejected look
of the people. Johnsom. = 10:) Till each man drop by lot-
tery.] I'erhaps the poet alluded to the custom ol decima-
tion, i c. the selection by lot of every tenth soldier, in a
general mutiny, for punishment. = 11:) ^ind will not palter '0
And will not shuffle or fly from his eiigaReraents ? = 12:) —
cautclouf,] Is here coutiou*, sometimes insidious. ■= i3:)
The even virtue of our enterprise,'] The calm, equable,
temperate spirit that actuates us. = 14:) — opinion,] i. e.
character. = 15:) — and envy afterwards:] Envy is here, as
almost always in Shaks^peare's plays, malice. = 16;) — take
thought,] that is, turn uielancholy. = 17:) — company.] Com-
pany is here used in a disreputable sense. = 18:) Quite
from the main opinion he held once || Of fantasy, of dreatns,
and ceremonies:] Main opinion, is nothing more than lead-
ing, fixed, predominant opinion. Fantasy was in our au-
thor's time commonly used for imagination. Ceremonies
means omens or signs deduced from sacrilices, or other ce-
remonial rites. = 19:) That unicorns may be bet ray' d with
trees, || And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,]
Unicorns are said to have been taken by one who, run-
ning behind a tree, eluded the violent push the animal was
making at him, so that his horn spent its force on the
trunk, and stuck fast, detaining the beast till he was de-
spatched by the hunter. Bears are reported to have been
surprised by means of a mirror, which they would gaze on,
alTording their pursuers an opportunity of 'taking the surer
aim. Elephants were seduced into pitfalls, lightly covered
with hurdles and turf, on which a proper bait to tempt
them, was espO'<ed. = 20:) — by him ;] that is, by his house.
= 21:) Let not our looks — ] Let not our faces put on, that
is, wear or show our designs. = 22:) — on your condition,]
On your temper; the disposition of your mind. ^23:) TAou,
like an exorcist,] Here, and in all 'other places where the
word occurs in Shakspcare, to exorcise meaus to raise
spirits, not to lay them; and perhaps he is singular in his
acceptation of it. =24:) Ceesar, 1 never stood on ceremo-
nies,] i. e. never paid a ceremonious or superstitious regard
to prodigies or omens. = 25:) The noise of battle hurtled !
in the air,] 'I'o hurtle is to clash, or move with violence j
and noise. = 2b":) "do neigh," —Mai.onb. =27:) — in shame 1
of cowardice :] The ancients did uot place courage but wis- j
dom in the heart. Johkson. =: 28:) "statue," — JVl alone. = j
29:) "warnings and portents,"— Mai.ose. = 30:) For tine- ^
tures, stains, relics, and cognisance.] This speech, which
is intentionally pompous, is somewhat confused. There are
two allusions; one to coats armorial, to which princes
make additions, are give new tinctures, and new marks of
cognizance; the other to martyrs, whose relics are pre-
served with veneration. But iMessrs. iVlalone and Steevens
think that tinctures has no relation to heraldry, but means
merely handkerchief;:, or olher linen, tinged with blood. At
the execution of several of our ancient nobility, martyrs,
&:c. we are told that handkerchiefs were tinctured with
their blood, and preserved as atfcctiouate or salutary me-
morials of the deceased. =31:) .4nrf reason, &.c.] And reason,
or propriety of conduct and language, is subordinate to my
love. = 32:) — emulation.] Here, asonmany other occasions, i
this word is used in an unfavourable sense, somewhat like I
— factious, envious, or malicious rivalry. = 33:) —tAe /ate« I
with traitors do contrive.] The fates >oin with traitors in ;
contriving thy destruction. =

ACT m. ^= 1:) He is address'd :] i. e. he is ready. = |
2:) And turn pre-ordinance,] Fre-ordinance, for ordinance
already established. = 3:) — apprehensive;] i.e. intelligent,
capable of apprehending. = 4:) Unshak'd of motion:] i. e.
l.nshak'd by suit or solicitation. = 6:) Go to the pulpit, |
Brutus.] We have now taken leave of Casca. Shakspeare j
for once knew that he had a sufficient number of heroes on !
his hands, and was glad to lose an individual in the croud. |
It may be added, that the singularity of Casca's manners i
would have appeared to little ad\ aiitage amidst the sue- '
ceeding varieties of tumult and war. Stbevkss. = ti:) \or i
to no Roman else:] This use of two negatives, not to make ]
an affirmative, but to deny more strongly, is common to i
Chaucer, Spenser, and other of our ancient writers. Dr. i
Hicks observes, tliat in the Saxon, even four negatives are j
sometimes conjoined, and still preserves a negative signi- !
lication. = 7:) Stoop then, and wash,] To wash does not j
mean here to cleanse, but to wash over, as we say, washed '
with gold; for Cassius meaus that they should steep their i
hands in the blood of Caesar. = 8:) — who else is rank:]
Who else may be supposed to hive overtopped his equals, I
and grown too high for the public safety. = 9:) Our arms,
in strength of malice,] i. e. To you (says Brutus) our swords
have leaden points: our arms, strong in the deed of ma-
live, they have just performed, and our hearts united like
those of brothers in the action, are yet open to receive
you with all possible regard. r= lO:) — crimson' d in thy le-
the.] Lethe is used by many of the old translators of novels, '
for death. = 11:) — in f Ae tide of times.] that is, in the I
course of times. =: 12:)— let slip—] This is a term belong- |
ing to the chase. Slips were contrivances of leather by
which greyhounds were restrained till the necessary mo- '
meut of their dismissiou. Bj the dogs of war, -a* Mr. Toilet '

has observed, Shakspcare probably meant fire, sword, and
famine. = 13:) — as I slew my best lover—] This term,
which cannot but sound disgustingly to modern ears, as
here applied, Mr. Malone considers as the language of Shak-
speare 8 time; but this opinion, from the want of contem-
porary examples to confirm it, may admit of a doubt. = 14:)
And none so poor — ] The meauest man is now too high to
do reverence to Caesar. = 15:) — /Acir napkins—] i. c. their
handkerchiefs. Napkin is the INorthern term for handker-
chief, and is still used in this sense in Scotland. = 16:) For
Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel :] This title of en-
dearment is more than once introduced in Sidney's Arcadia.
= 17:) IFhich all the while ran blood,] The image seems
to be, that the blood of Ca;sar flew upon the statue, and
trickled down it. = 18:) The dint of pity:] is the impres-
sion of pity. =^ 19:) "iVeither writ," itc. Malone. = 20:) —
seventy-five drachmas.] A drachma was a Greek coin, the
same as the Roman denier, of the value of four sesterces,
7d. ob. = 21:) — things unluckily charge my fantasy:] i. e.
circumstances oppress my fantasy with au ill-omened
weight. =

ACT IV. = 1:) Upon condition Publius shall not live,}
Mr. Upton has sufticieutly proved that the poet made a
mistake as to this character mentioned by Lepidus ; Lucius,
not Publius, was the person meant, who was uncle by the
mother's side to Mark Autony: and in consequence of this,
he concludes that Shakspcare wrote: You are his sister's
son, Mark Antony. The mistake, however, is more like the
mistake of the author, than of his transcriber or printer.
Stekves8.= 2:) — damn him.] i.e. condemn him. = 3:) — a
property.] i. e. as a thing quite at our disposal, and to be
treated as we please. :=; 4:) "our means stretch'a to the ut-
most;"— MAi,oNE. = 5:) — ot tAe stake,] An allusion to bear-
baiting. = t:)— your griefs — ] i. c. your grievances. = 7:)
"do you the like." Malose. =8:) — every nice offence — J
i. e. small, trifling olfence. = 9:) IVhat villain touched his
body, that did stab, i\And not for justice'^] This question
is far from implying that any of those who touch'd Caesar's
body were villains. On the contrary, it is an indirect way
of asserting that there was not one man among them who
was base euough to stab him for any cause but that of
justice. Malose. = 10:) "bait not me, \.c. Malose. ==11:)
To hedge me in ;] That is, to limit my authority by your
directiou or censure. = 12:) To make conditions.] 'Ihat is,
to know on what terms it is lit to confer the offices which
are at my disposal. = 1 3:) Bru. i do not, till you practise
(Acm on me.] The meaning is this : 1 do not look for your
faults, I only see them, and mention ibem with vehemence,
when you force them into my notice, by practising them on
me. JoH>so>'. = 14:) If that thou best a Roman, take it
forth;] 1 think he means only, that he is so far from avarice,
when the cause of his country requires liberality, that if
any map would wish for his heart, he would not need en-
force his desire any otherwise, than by showing that he was
a Roman. JoHSSOS. = 15:) — chides,] i.e. clamorous, scolds.
r==16:) Jf^'hat should the wars do with these jigging fools 'f]
i. e. with these silly poets. A jig- signified, in our author's
time, a metrical composition, as well as a dance. = 17:)
Companion,] Companion is used as a term of reproach in
many of the old plays; as we at present say — fellow. ^=
18:) — once,] i.e. at some time or other. = li>:) —in art—]
That is, in theory. = 20:) — tA.v leaden mace-] A mace is
the ancient term for a sceptre, rrz

ACT v. = 1:) — warn us — ] To warn is to summon.
r=2:) "O voa flatterers!" _M alone. = 3:) Defiance, traitors,
hurl we — J Hurl is peculiarly expressive. The challenger
in judicial combats was said to hurl down his gage, when
he threw his glove down as a pledge that he would make
good his charge against his adversary. = 4:) — our former
ensign — ] Former is foremost. ^=5:) The very last time we
shall speak together : W tf^'kat are you then determined to
do'^] i.e. I am resolved iu such a case to kill myself. What
arc you determined ot'l ;= b:) — ojf tAof philosophy,] There
is certainly au apparent contradiction between the seuti-
ments which Brutus expresses in this, and in his subsequent
speech; but there is no real inconsistency. Brutus had laid
dowu to himself as a principle, to abide every chance and
extremity of war; but when Cassius reNiinds him of the
disgrace of being led in triumph through the streets of
Rome, he ackuowledges that to be a trial which he could
uot endure. IVolhiug is more natural than this. We lay
down a system of conduct for ourselves, but occurrences
may happen that will force us to depart from it. = 7:) —
arming myself with patience, Aic] l)r. Warburton thinks,
that in this speech something is lost; but there needed only
a parenthesis to clear it. The construction is this : 1 am
determined to act according to that philosophy which di-
rected ine to b!ame the suicide ofCato; armiug myself with
patience, Vc. Johnson. = 8:) "give it thecT'- Malone. =
9:) — being Cato's son.] i. e. worthy of him.= 10:) "shall 1
do," Kc. — Malone. = 11:) Mr. Malone omits thee.^ 12:)
TAat thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true.] See p. 673.
^13:) — entertain them.] i.e. receive them into my service.
= 14:) Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you] To prefer
seems to have been the established phrase fur recommend-
ing- a servant. ^=z 15:) "Good Messala." — Malone. =

1016

NOTES.

[Pl: 30.] Th. S.

XXX. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

ACT I. =^1:)— rcnf^e*— ] Renounces. ^= 2:) The triple
pillar— J, Triple is here used improperly for third, or une
of three. One of the triumvirs, one of tlie three masters
of the \vorItl. = 3:) — iour/i— ] Bound or liniit.= 4:)— T/ie
sum.'] Be brief, sum thy husiuess in a few words. =5:) —
ISay, hear them,] i.e. the news. This word, in Shakspcare's
time, was considered as plural. = tJ:) Take in, kc] i.e. sub-
due, conquer. = 7:) fVhere'sFulvia's process <] Frocess liere
means summons. = 8:) — to sweet,] To know. = 9:) Aoic,
for the love of Love, and her soft hours^] For the love ol
liOve, means, tor the sake of the queen ot love. = 10:) Let's
not confound the time—] i. c. let us not consume the time.
^^11:) No messenger; but thine and all alone, kc] Cleo-
patra has said, "Call in the messengers;" and afterwards,
"Hear the ambassadors." Talk not to me, says Antony, of
messengers; 1 am now wholly thine, and you and I unat-
tended will to-night wander through the streets. =: 12:) That
he approves the common liar,] Fame. That he proves the
common liar, fame, in his case, to be a true reporter. =
13:) — change his horns with garlands I] i. e. be a triumpliant
cuckold; a cuckold who will consider his state as an ho-
nourable one. Mr. Malonc, and some other of the com-
mentators, think the word should be charge. = 14:) — to
whom Herod of Jewry may do homage:] Herod paid hom-
age to the Romans, to procure the grant of the kingdom of
Judea: but 1 believe there is an allusion here to the thea-
trical character of this monarch, and to a proverbial ex-
pression founded on it. Herod was always one of the per-
sonages in the mysteries of our early stage, on which he
was constantly icpresented as a lierce, haughty, blustering
tyrant, so that Herod of Jewry became a common proverb,
expressive of turbulence and rage. Thus, Hamlet says of
a ranting player, that he '■'■out-herods Herod.'' And,iu this
tragedy, Alexas tells Cleopatra, that "not even Herod of
Jewry dare look upon her when she is angry ;" i. e. not
even a man as lierce as Herod. According to this explana-
tion, the sense of the present passage will be ^ Charmian
wishes for a son who may arrive at such power and domin-
ion that the proudest and fiercest monarchs of the earth
may be brought under his yoke. Steeveiss.=: 15:) — J love
long life better than figs.] This is a proverbial expression.
= 16:) Then, belike, my children shall have no names:] It
I have already had the best of mj; fortune, then I suppose
J shall never name children, that is, 1 am never to he mar-
ried. However, tell me the truth, tell me, how many boys
and wenches'^ = 17:) // every of your wishes had a womb,

II /ind fertile every wish, a million.] U every one of your
wishes, says the soothsayer, had a womb, and each womb
invested wish were likew ise fertile, you then w ould have a
million of children. = 18:) "Here, at your service." Ma-
i,0NE.= 19:) Extended Asia from Euphrates;] To extend,
is a term used for to seize. = 2 0:) ^yhen our quick winds
lie still;] The sense is, that man, not agitated by censure,
like soil not ventilated by quick winds, produces more evil
than good. This is Dr. Johnson's opinion, but the expres-
sion has been controverted at great length by all the com-
mentators. Mr. Malone reads "quick mj'nrf*." = 2 I:)

the present pleasure, \\ By revolution lowering, does become

I! The opposite of itself:] 1 believe revolution means change
of circumstances. This sense appears to remove every dif-
liculty from the passage. — The pleasure of to-day, by re-
volutions of events and change of circumstances, often
loses all its value to us, and becomes to morrow a pain.
Steevens. ^22:) The hand could pluck her back, kc.] The
verb could has a peculiar signilication in this place; it does
not denote power but inclination. 'J'he sense is, the hand
that drove her off would now willingly pluck her back
again. ^= 23:) — poorer moment:] For less reason; upon
meaner motives. = 24;) The cause of our expedience—] Ex-
pedience for expedition. = 25:) And get her love to part.]
i. e. and prevail on her love to consent to our separation.
= 26:) — more urgent touches,] Things that touch me jnore
sensibly, more pressing motives. = 27:) — the courser's hair,
&c.] Alludes to an old idle notion that the hair of a horse
dropt into corrupted water, will turn to an animal. =28;)
I did not send you;] You must go as if you came without
my order or knowledge. = 29:) — tn our brows' bent;] i. e.
in the arch of our eyebrows, ■= 30:) — a race of heaven:]
i. e. had a smack or flavour of heaven. =31:) — »/to«/rf safe
my going,] i. e. should render my going not dangerous, not
likely to produce any mischief to you. = 32;) It does from
childishness: — Can Fulvia die'f] i. e. though age has not
exempted me from folly, I am not so childish, as to have
apprehensions from a rival that is no more. And is Fulvia
deail indeed'< = 33:) The garboils she awak'd;] i.e. the com-
motion she occasioned. The word is derived from the old
French garbouil, which ('olgreave explains by hurlyburly,
great «tir.^= 34:) 0 jnost false love! \\ IVherc be the sacred
vials thou should' st fill \\ l^ith sorrowful water'f] Alluding
to tlie lachrymatory vials, or bottles of tears, which the
Ilomans sometimes put into the urn of a friend. = 35;) So
Antony loves.] i. e. uncertain as the state of my health is
the love of Antony. := 36:) — to Egypt:] To me, the queen
of Egypt, t=r 37:) — Herculean Roman—] Antony traced his
descent from ^nlon, a son of Hercules. = 38:) O, my obliv-
ion is a very Antony, \\ And I am all forgotten.] Cleopatra
has something to say, which seems to be suppressed by sor-
row ; and after many attempts to produce her jneauiug, she

cries out: 0, this oblivious memory of mine is as false and
treacherous to me as Antony is, and I forget every thing.
Oblivion, is boldly used for a memory apt to be deceitful.
= 39:) But that your royalty \\ Holds idleness your subject,
I should take you || For idleness itself.] i. c. But that i know
you to be a queen, and that your royalty holds idleness in
subjection to you, exalting you far above its influence, I
should suppose you to be tlie very genius of idleness itself,
= 40:) S/nce my becomings kill me,] There is somewhat of
obscurity in this expression; perhaps she may mean — That
conduct which, in my own opinion, becomes me, as often
as it appears ungraceful to you, is a shock to my sensibil-
ity. =41:) "Sit laurel victory !"— Malone. = 42:) One
great competitor:] Competitor means here, as it docs where-
ever the word occurs in Shakspeare, associate or partner.
= 43:) — purchas'd;] Procured by his own fault or endea-
vour. = 44:) So great weight in his lightness.] The word
light is one of Shakspeare's favourite play-things. The
sense is — His trifling levity throws so much burden upon
us. := 45:) Call^ on him for't:] Call on him, is visit him.
Says Caesar — If Antony followed his debaucheries at a time
of leisure, I should leave him to be punished by their na-
tural consequences, by surfeits and dry bones. Johnson. =
46:) The discontents repair,] That is, the malecontents. =
47:) — lackeying the varying tide,] i. e. lloatiiig backwards
and forwards with the variation of the tidi', like a page, or
lackey, at his master's heels. = 48:) — which they ear — ]
To ear, is to plough. ^i9:) Lack blood to think on't,] Turn
pale at the thought of it. = 60:) — anrf flush youth—] Flush
youth is youth ripened to manhood ; youth whose blood is
at Ihe flow. =51:) — thy lascivious wassels.] Wassel is here
put for intemperance in general. = 52:) — gilded puddle—]
There is frequently observable on the surface ot' stagnant
pools that have remained long undisturbed, a reddish gold
coloured slime; to this appearance the poet here refers, =
53:) I knew it for my bund.] 'J'hat is, to be my boundeu
duty. = 54:) — mandragora.] A plant of which the infusion
was supposed to nrocur,e sleep. = 5 5:) "O, 'tis treason!" —
Malonk. = 56:) yi/irf burgonet of men.] A burgonet is a kind
of /le/OTPt, = 5 7:) — Broad-fronted Cwsar,] In allusion to

CsEsar's baldness. = 68:) that great medicine hath\\

With his tinct gilded thee.] Alluding to the philosopher's
stone, which, by its touch, converts base metal into gold.
The alchemists call the matter, whatever it be, by which
they perform transmutation, a medicine. Johnson. = 59:) —
termagant steed,] Termagant means furious; but Mr. Ma-
lone reads arm gaunt, or worn thin and lean in war. = 60:)

— so thick"?] i.e. in such quick succession. = 61:) — unpeople
Egypt.] By sending out messengers. =

ACT II, =1:) "all the charms," iic — Malone. = 2:)

— thy waii'd Up!] Shakspeare's orthography [or that of his
ignorant publishers] often adds a d at the end of a word.
Thus, vile is (in the old editions) every where spelt vild.
Laund is given instead of lawn; why not therefore wand
for wan here. ]f this however should not be accepted, sup-
pose we read w ith the addition only of an apostrophe, wan'd ;
\. e. waned, decline, gone olf from its perfection; comparing
('leopiiira's beauty to the moon past the full. Percy. =3:)
That sleep and Jeeding may prorogue his honour, || JEiVen
till a lethe'd dulness.] i. e. to a lethe'd dulness. Till was
sometimes used instead of to. To prorogue his honour, kc.
means to delay his sense of honour from exerting itself
till he is become habitually sluggish. = i:) — — since he
went from Egypt, 'tis \\ A space for further travel.] i. e.
since he quiiied Egypt, a space of time has elapsed in which
a longer journey might have been performed than from
Egypt to Home. = 5:) — don'd his helm — ] 'I'o don is to do
on, to put on. = &.) — Egypt's widow — ] Julius Ca;sar had
married her to young Ptolemy, who was afterwards drowned.
= 7:) I cannot hope, ^:c.] To hope, means to expect. =: 6:)

— square—] That is, quarrel. = 9:) — — Jt only stands \\ Our
lives upon, kc] i. e. to exert our utmost force, is (he only
consequential way of securing our lives. = 10:) This play
is not divided into Acts by the author or lirst editors, and
therefore the present division may be altered at pleasure.
1 think the lirst Act may be commodiously continued to this
place, and the second Act opened wilh the interview of the
chief persons, and a change^ of the state of action. Yet
it must be confessed that it is of small importance, where
these unconnected and desultory scenes are interrupted.
Johnson. = 1 1:) fVere I the wearer of Antonius'' beard, ||
/ would not shav't to-day.] I believe he means, 1 would
meet him undressed, without show of respect. Johnson. =
12:) Jf we compose well here,] i. e, if we come to a lucky
composition, agreement. = 1 d:) Nor curstness grow to the
matter.] liCt not ill humour be added to the real subject of
our difference. = 1 4:) Did practise on my state,] 'i"o practise,
means to employ unwarrantable arts or strat.igems. ^= 15;)

— question] i. e. my theme or subject of cnnversalioii. =

16:) their contestation jj tFas theme for you, you were

the word of war.] Was theme for you, probably, means
only, was proposed as an example for you to follow on a
yet more extensive plan ; as themes are given for a writer
to ililate upon; but this is much contested. = 1 7:) — true
reports,] Reports for reporters. r=r 18:) — 'fronted —] i. e,
opposed. = 19;) / would you had her spirit in such an-
other:] Antony means to say, 1 wish you had the spirit of
Fulvia, embodied in such another woman as her; 1 wish you
were married to such another spirited w oman ; and then

Tff.S.[PL:30.]

NOTES.

1017

you would find, that though jou can govern the third part
of the world, the inaiiugcmeiit of such a uomau is not au
easy matter. = 20:) 1 told him of myself;] i. e. told him
the condition I was in, when he had bis laist audience. =
21:) The honour''s gacred — ] The meaning appears to be
this: — "Caesar accuses Antony of a breach of honour iu
denying to send him aid when he required it, which waa
contrary to his oath.' Antony says, in his defence, that he
did not deny his aid, but, in the* midst of dissipation, ne-
glected to send it : that having now brought his torces to
join llim against Pompcy, he had redeemed thai error; and
that therefore the honour which Ca;>ar talked of, Mas tww
sacred and inviolate, supposing that he had been somewhat
deiicient before, in the performance of that e>igngemeut."

— 'I'he adverb now refers to if, not to talks on; and the
line should be pointed thus: Thus honours sacred that he
talks on, noir, ;| Supposing that 1 lavk'd it. M. Mason. =
22:) nor my power ]\ tf'ork without it;] Xor my great-
ness work without mine honesty. = 23:) '"Tis noble spoken."

— Malonk.^ 24:) The griefs—] i. e. grievances. = 25:) —
to atone you'] i.e. reconcile you. =2h:) — your considerate
stone.] Mr. Toilet explains the passage in question ihus :
"i will henceforth seem senseless as a stone, however 1
may observe and consider your words and actions." = 27:)
"would be tales," — Mai,o>k.^ 28:) //C»t my remembrance
suffer ill report;] Lest 1 be thought too willing to forget
benefits, 1 must barely return him thanks, and then 1 will
defy him. = 2P:) Of us, Kc] In the language of Shak-
speare's time, means — by us. ==30:) "Where lies heT' —
Malo>e. = 31:) — 6e square to her.] i.e. if report quadrates
with her, or suits with her merits. = 3i:) And ithat they
undid, did.] The wind of the fans seemed to give a new
colour to Cleopatra's cheeks, which they were employed to
cool; and trhat they undid, i. c. tnal warmth wliicti they
were intended to diminish or allay, they did, i. e. they seemed
to produce. = S3:) — tended her i'the eyes,] Peruaps this
expression may signify that the attendants on Cleopatra
looked observantly into her eyes, to catch her meaning,
without giving her the trouble of verbal explanation; or
only means, t.'iey performed their duty in the sight of their
mistress. ^3 4:) ^://irf made fAetr Aend« adorniugs:] The plain
sense, says Mr. Sleevens, of this contested passage seems
to be- — ttiat these ladies rendered that homage wUich their
assumed characters obliged them to pity to iueir queen, a
circumstance ornamental to themselves. Each inclined
her person so gracefully, that the very act of humiliation
was an improvement of her own beauty. =35:) That yarely
frame the office.] i.e. readily and dexterously perform the
task they undertake. = 3o:) — when she is riggish.] i. c.
wanton. = 31:) A blessed lottery — ] Lottery for allotment.
= 38:)i<ce't in \ My motion,] i. e. the divinitory agitation;
but Mr. Theobald reads, with some probabilit\, 1 see it in
my Tiof ion. = 39:) — his quails — ] The _ ancients used to
match quails as «e match cocks. = 40:) — iuhnop'd, at od(f«.]
Inhoop'd is inclosed, confined, that they may light. =41:)

— at mount — ] i.e. Mount iMi«enu/Ji.^i*2:) — music, moody
food — ] Moody, iu this instance, means melancholy. Cot-
grave explains moody, by the French words, morne aud
triste. = 43:) — let us to billiards:] This is one of the nu-
merous anachronisms there are found in these plays. = 44:)
Aot like a formal man.] i. e. a man in form, i. e. shape.
Von should come iu the form of a fury, and not in the form

of a man.^=: 45:) it does allay j 2'he good precedence ;]

i. e. abates the good quality of what is already reported.
= 46:) These hands do lack nobility, that they strike \\ A
meaner than myself;] Perhaps here was intended au indi-
rect censure of queen Elizabeth, for her uuprincely and un-
feminine treatment of the amiable Earl of Essex. The play
was probably not produced till after her death, when a
stroke at her proud and passionate demeanour to her cour-
tiers and maids of honour (for her majesty used to chastise
them too) might be safely hazarded. In a subsequent part
of this scene there is (as Dr. Grey has observed) an evident
allusion to Elizabeth's enquiries concerning the person of
her rival, Marj, queen of JScots. Mai.one. = 47:) — tpere
submerg'd,] Submerged is whelmed under water. = 48:)
"Thou art not what thou'rt sure of." — Malonb. = 49:) —
the feature of Octavia,] By feature seems to be meant the
cast and make of her face. Feature, however, anciently
appears to have signified beauty in general. =50:) Let Aim
for ever go:] She is now talking in broken sentences, not
of the messenger, but of Antony. Johnsos. = 51:) Thou canst
not fear us,] I'hou canst not atfright us with thy numerous
navy. = 62:) At land, indeed, j Thou dost o'ercount me of
my father s house;] At land, indeed, thou dost exceed me
in possessions, having added to thy own my father's house.
O'ercount seems to be used equivocally, and Pompcy per-
haps meant so insinuate that Antony not only out-numbered,
but had over-reached, him. =53:) But, since the cuckoo
builds not for himself, \.c.] Since, like the cuckoo, that
seizes the nests of oilier birds, you have invaded a house
which you could not build, keep it while you can. = 64:) —
this is from the present,)] i.e. foreign to the object of our
present discussion. = 55:) ff'hat counts harsh fortune casts,
itc] Metaphor from making marks or lines in casting ac-
counts in arithmetic. ^ 56:) — You and 1 have known, sir.]
i.e. been acquainted. = 57:) — conversation.] i.e. behaviour,
manner of acting in common life. =58:) — iritA a lianquct.]
A banquet, in our author's time, frequently signified what
we now call a dessert; and from the following dialogue the
word must here be understood iu that sense = 5 9:)— Some

o' their plants — ] Plants, besides its common meaning, is
here used for the foot, from the Latin. = 60:) They have
made him drink alms-drink.] A phrase, amongst good fel-
lows, to signify that liquor of another's share which his
companion drinks to ease him. But it satirically alludes to
Cxsar and Antony's admitting him into the triumvirate, in
order to take off from themselves the load of envy. = 61:)
— a partizan — ] A pike. = 62:) — tAemean,] i. e. the middle.
= 63:) Or foizoii, follow:] Foizon is a French word signify-
ing plenty, abundance. ^=64:') ~1 have heard, the Ptolemies^
pyramises arc very goodly things ;] Pyramis for pyramid
was in common use in our author's time. From this word
Shakspeare formed the English plural, pyramises, to mark
the indistinct pronunciation of a man nearly intoxicated,
whose tongue is now beginning to "split what it speaks.'
= 65:) — or sky iiiclips,] i. e. embraces. = Uti:) — competi-
tors,] i. e. confederates, partners. = 67:) — thy pall'd for-
tunes— ] Palled is vapid, past its time of excellence; palled
wine, is wine that has lost its original sprightliness. John-
son.^ 68:) — Strike the vessels,] i. e. chink the vessels one
against the other, as a mark of our unanimity in drinking,
as we now say, chink glasses. -=6- :) The holding every man
shall bear,] To bear the burden, or, as it is here called, the
holding of a song, is the phrase at this day. ^= 70:) — iritA
pink eyne:] Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, says a pink eye
IS a small eye, and quotes this passage for his authority.
Pink eyne, however, may be red eyes: eyes inflamed with
drinking, are very well appropriated to Bacchus. =

ACT III. = 1:)— Thy Pacorus, Orodes,] Pacorus was
the son of Orodes, king of Parihia. = 2:) "Better to leave,"
\lc. — Malone. = 3:) That without which a soldier, and hit
sword, II Grants scarce distinction.] Grant, for afford. It is
badly and obscurely expressed ; but the sense is this : TAou
Aost that, f'entidius, which if thou didst want, there would
be no distinction between thee and thy sword. You would
be both equally cutting and senseless. Mr. Malone reads
"without the which," and adds that to the preceding tine.
= i:) — Arabian bird!] The phoenix. = 6:) They are hit
shards, and he their beetle.] i. e. They are the wings that
raise this heavy lumpish insect from the ground. = 6:) —
as my furthest baud—] As I will venture the greatest pledge
of security, on the trial of thy conduct. Band and bond lu
our author's time, were synonvmous. = 7:) — therein cu-
rious,] i. e. scrupulous. = 8:) The elements be kind, \:c.]
This is obscure. It seems to mean. May the different ele-
ments of the body, or principles of life, maintain such
proportion and harmony as may keep you cheerful. = 9:)
.— were he a horse;] A horse is said to have a cloud in hit
face, when he has a black or dark-coloured spot in his fore-
head between his eyes. This gives him a sour look, and
being supposed to indicate an ill temper, is of course re-
garded as a great blemish. = 10:) — did confound — ] To
confound is to destroy. = 1 1:) Is she as tall as me'f \lc. &:c.
itc.J Tnis scene (says Dr. Grey) is a manifest allusion to
the questions put by queen Elizabeth to sir James Melvil,
concerning his mistress the queen of Scots. But Melvil's
Memoirs were not printed until 1683. = 12:) — Aer station — ]
Station, in this instance, means the act of standing. = 13:^
"her forehead as low" — Mai.one. = I4:) — so i harry'd
Aim.] To harry, is to use roughly, harass, subdue; or li-
terally, to hunt. Hence the word harrier. King James
threatened the Puritaus that "he would harry them out of
the land." =:15:) Mr. Malone omits the 0. = 16:) Or did
it from his teeth.] Whether this means, as we now say, in
spite of his teeth, or that he spoke through his teetb, so
as to be purposely indistinct, is uncertain. :=i 17:) .Mr. .Vla-
lone omits and.= 18:) — IF'ars Hwixt you twain would be,
iic] The sense is, tuat war between Caesar and Antony
would engage the world between them, and that the slaugh-
ter would be great in so extensive a commotion. ^ 19:) —
rivality ;] Equal rank. r=20:) — upon his own appeal,] I'o
appeal, in Shakspeare, is to accuse; Caesar seized Lepidus
without any other nroof than Caisar's accusation. = 21:) —
More, JJomitius ;] 1 have something more to tell yun, which
1 might have told at first, aud delay'd my news. Antony
requires your presence. = 22:) TAe iistent of our love,] for

— ostentation, which Mr. Malone uses. = 23:) — potent re-
giment — ] Begiment, is government, authority ; he puts
liis power and his empire into the hands of a false woman.
= 24:) — forspoke my being — ] To fori-peak, is to contra-
dict, to speak against, as Jorbid is to or<ler negatively. ■=
25:) "if not denounced against us," \.c.] — Malosb. ■=: 26:)

— merely lost;] i. e. entirely, absolutely lost. = 27:) Ana
take in Torynef] To take in, is to gain by conquest. ==28:)
For Ae dares us — ] i. e. 6eraii»e he dares us. Mr. .Malone
reads "For that he dares us." = 29:) "muliters,"- Mai.o>b,
the old spelling of muleteers. =^3Q:) Strange, that his power
should be.] It IS strange that his forces should be there. =
31:) — my Thetis.'] Antony may address Cleopatra by the
name of this sea-nymph, because she had just promised him
assistance in his naval expedition; or perhaps in allusion
to her voyage down the Cydnus, when she appeared like

rAeti», surrounded by the Xereids. = 32:) but his whole

action grows • \ot in the power on't;] i. e. His whole con-

! duct iu the war is not founded upon that which is his
greatest strength, (namely, his land-force,) but on the ca-
price of a woman, who wishes that he should light by sea.
1 =33:) Carries beyond belief.] Perhaps this phrase is from
I archery. = 34:) — rf(*tractto>i«,] Detachments, separate b«-

dies. = 35:) Mr. Maloiie omits for. = 36:) — and tiiroes
forth,'] i.e. emirs as in partul-ilioii. ==r37:) — f/a> jump,] i.e.
hazard. = 38:) The Jntoniad, ic] Whicli Plutarch says,
was thenameofClcopatra's ship.=^3P:) The greater cantXv:—]
A piece or lump, or rather a corner. Cajsar, in this play,
mentions the threenook'd world. Of this triangular world
every triumvir had a corner. = iO:) — token' d—] Spotted.
The_ death of those visited by tlie plague was certain, when
particular eruptions appeared on the skin; and these were
called God't tokens. = 41:) — Yon' ribald-rid nag — ] i. e.
Yon strumpet, who is common to every waiiton tcUow. =
42:) The brizc upon her,] The brize is the gad-fly. = 43:)
"on't," omitted by Mr. Malone. r= 44:)— being loofd,] To
loaf is to bring a ship close to the wind. = 45:) Thewounded
chance of Antony,] i. e. the broken fortunes of Antony. =
46:) — so lated in the world,] Alhiding to a benighted . tra-
veller. = 47:) — / have lost command,] i. e. 1 entreat you
to leave me, because I have lost all power to command

your absence. =: 48:) He, at Fhilippi, kept \\ His sword

even like a dancer ;] i. e. Csesar never offered to draw his
sword, but kept it in the scabbard, like one who dances with
a sword on,Mhich was formerly the custom in England =49:)
— — he alone \\ Dealt on lieutenantry,] i.e. fought by proxy,
made war by his lieutenants, or on the strength of his lieu-
tenants. = oO:) He is iinqualitied — ] Perhaps, unqualitied
signilies unmanned in general, disarmed of his usual fa-
eulties.=^i\:) — death will seize her; but — ] JSat has here,
as once before in this play, the force of except, or unless.
= 52:) How I convey my shame — ] How, by looking another
way, L withdraw my ignominy from your sight. = 53:) — ft'erf
by the strings,] That is, by the heart-string. -= 5i:) — his
schoolmaster:] The name of this person was Euphronius.
He was schoolmaster to Antony's children by Cleopatra. =;

65:)- as petty to his ends, \\ As is the morn-detu on the

myrtle-leaf )| I'o his grand sea.] His grand sea may mean
\\\s full tide of prosperity ; or it may mean the sea from
which the dew-drop is exhaled. Shakspoare might have con-
sidered the sea as the source of jlews as well as rain. His
is used instead of its. = 56:) — circle of the Ptolemies—]
The diadem; the ensign of royalty. = bl:)— friend,] 1. e.
paramour. ^=58:) — Aou' ^/ifony becomes his flaw ;] That is,
how Antony conforms himself to this breach of his fortune.
=• 69:) "What though" -Malone. =60:) Have nick'd his
captainship ;] i. e. set the mark of folly on it. = 61:)— —
he being \\ The raered question:] Mered is, 1 suspect, a word
of our author's formation, from mere: he being the sole,
the entire subject or occasion of the war. Mai-onk. = 62:)

his gay comparisons apart, \\ And answer me declin'd,j

I require of Ca!^ar not to depend on that superiority which
the comparison of our different fortunes may exhibit to him,
but to answer me man to man, in this decline of my age
or power. Johnson. = 63:) — fte stag'd to the show,] that is,
exhibited, like conflicting gladiators, to the public gaze.

^= 64:) are || A parcel of their fortunes;] i. e. as we

should say at present, are of a piece with them. = 65:) —
to sq[uare.] i. e. to quarrel. — 66:) Tell him, from his all-
obeying breath, kc] All-obeying breath is, in Shakspeare's
language, breath which all obey. Obeying for obeyed. So.
inexpressive for inexpressible, delighted for delighting, &c.J
=: 6 7:) — Give me grace—] Grant me the favour. =: 68:)

— the fullest man,] The most complete and perfect. = 69:)
Like boys unto a muss,] i.e. a scramble. ==70:) — a gem of
women,] Beautiful horses, rich garments, &c. in Chapman's
translations, arc frequently spoken of as gems. "A jewel
of a man," is a phrase still in use among the vulgar. = 71:)
By one that looks on feeders'?] A feeder, or an eater, was
anciently the term of reproach for a servant. One who looks
on feeders, is one who throws away her regard on servants,
such as Antony Mould represent Thyreus to be. ==72:) Lu-
xuriously pick d out:] Luxuriously means wantonly. r=TS:)
The horned herd.'] It is not without pity and indignation
that the reader of this great poet meets so often with this
low jest, which is too much a favourite to be left out of
cither mirth or fury. = 74:) ^ to quit me:] To repay me this
insult ; to requite me. =76:) IHth one that tics his points :<•]
I.e. with a menial attendant. Points were laces with metal
tags, with which the old trunkhose were fastened. =: 76:) —
«« «J iletermines,] That is, as the hailstone dissolves. = 7 7:)

— The next Ccesarion smite;] Caisarion was Cleopatra's
son by Julius (^asar. = 78:) — and fleet,] Float and fleet
were synonymous. = 79:) /and my sword will earn our chro-
nicle;] I and my sword will do such acts as shall deserve
to be recorded. = 80:) JTere nice and lucky,] Nice is trif-
ling.^=8U) — g!im]y night:] This is still an epithet bestowed
on feast days in the colleges of either university. Gaudy,
or Grand days in the inns of court, are four in the year,
Ascension day. Midsummer day, All-saints day, and Candle-
mas day. "I'he etymology of the word," says Dlount, in
his Dictionary, "may be taken from Judge Gawdy, who
(as some aflirm) was the lirst institiitor of those days, or
rather from {fandium, because (to say truth) they are days
of joy, as bringing good cheer to the hungry students. In
colleges they are most commonly called Gawdy, in inns of
court Grand days, and in some other places they are called
Collar days," Days of good cheer, in some of the foreign
universities, are called Gaudeamus days. =:

ACT IV. = 1:) make boot of—] Take advantage of.
-= 2:) "See it done." Malonk. =8:) —Take all.] Let the
Burrivor take all. JVo compoaition, victory or death. = 4:)

or if, \\A mangled shadow:] Or if you see me more,

you will see me a mangled shadow, only the external form
of what 1 was.=:5:)^;»rf the gods yield you for't.'] i.e. re-
ward you. = 6:) — onion-ej/'rf;] 1 have my eyes as full of
tears as it they had been fretted by onions. = 7:) Ant. Ho,
ho, ho.'] i. e. stop, or desist. Antony desires his followers
to cease weeping. =: 8:) "For I spake," iic. — Malonk. = 9:)
It signs well, kc] i. e. it is a good sign, it bodes mcU. .=
10:) Mr. Malone omits my. = 11:) JJricfly, sir.] That is,
quickly, sir. = 12:) To doff't— ] To doff is to do off, to put
off. = 13:) More tight at this, than thou:] Tight is handy,
adroit. = 14:) "Despatch: — Enobarbiis !" Malone. = 15:)
Our will is, Antony be took alive;] ]t is observable with
what judgment Shakspeare draws the character of Octavius.
Antony was his hero; so the other was not to shine: yet
being an historical character, there was a necessity to draw
him like.^ Jliit the ancient historians, his flatterers, had de-
livered him down so fair, that he seems ready cut and dried
for a hero. Amidst these difficulties Shakspeare has extri-
cated himself with great address. He has admitted all those
great strokes of his character as he found them, and yet
Jias made him a very uiiamiable character, deceitful, mean-
spirited, narrow-minded, proud, and revengeful. VVakbiik-
T0N.=_16:) Mr. Malone omits that. = l'i:) And feel I am so
most.] i. e. 1 am pre-eminently the first, the greatest vil-
lain of the earth. To stand alone, is still used in that
sense, where any one towers above his competitors. And
feel 1 am so most, must signify, / feel or know it myself,
more than any other person can or does feel it. Reed. =
18:) — This blows my heart:] This generosity, (says Eno-
barbus,) swells my heart, so that it will quickly break, if
thought break it not, a swifter mean.=^ 19:) — 6Mt thought
will do'tj 1 feel.] Thought, in this passage, as in many
others, signiiies melancholy. = 20:) — and our oppression — J
i. e. the torce by which we are oppressed or overpowered.
= 21:) — clip your wives,] To clip is to embrace. =22:) To
this great fairy — ] Mr. Upton has well observed, that /otry,
which Dr. VVarburton and Sir T. Hanmer explain by inchan-
tress, comprises the idea of power and beauty. Johnson.
= 2i:) — proof of harness — ] i. e. armour of proof. Har-
nois, Fr. Arnese, Ital. = 24:) The world's great snare—]
i. e. the war. = 25:) "our younger brown;" — Malone. =
2 6:) Get eoal for goal of youth.] At all plays of barriers,
the boundary is called a goal; to win a goal, is to be a
superior in a contest of activity. = 2 7:) Bear our hack d
targets like the men that owe them:] i.e. hack'd as much
as the men to whom they belong; or perhaps. Bear our
hack'd targets with spirit and exultation, such as becomes
the brave warriors that own them. = 28:) — taftourines;] A
tabourin was a small drum. It is often mentioned^ in our
ancient romances, ==29:) — the court of guard:] i. «. the'
guard-room, the place where the guard musters. The same
expression occurs again in Othello. ^='60:) "list him." ^ — Ma-
lone. = 31:) • — disponge u;)on me;] i.e. discharge, as a
sponge, when squeezed, discharges the moisture it had im-
bibed. Steevens. =32:) — Throw my heart — ] The pathe-
tic of Shakspeare too often ends in the ridiculous. It is
painful to lind the gloomy dignity of this noble scene des-
troyed by the intrusion of a conceit so far-fetched and iiu-
afl'ecting. Johnson. = 33:) "sleep." Malone. = 34:) The
hand of death hath raugbt him.] Raught is the ancient
preterite of the verb to reacA. =35:) Hark, the drums || De-
murely— ] Demurely for solemnly. = 36:) For "further on,"
Mr. Malone reads, or rather substitutes, "Let's seek a spot,"
&c. = 37:) Where their appointment we may best discover,
\\ And look on their endeavour.] i. e. where we may best
discover their numbers, and see their motions. = 3b:) Jlut
being charg'd, we will be still by land, || Which, as 1 take't,
we shall;] i. e. unless we be charg'd we will reiiialu quiet
at land, which quiet 1 suppose we shall keep. But being
charg'd was a phrase of that time, ec|uivaleiit to unless we
fie. = 39:)Triple-turn'd ivhore.'] She lirst belonged to Julius
Ca!sar, then to Antony, and now, as he supposes, to Augus-
tus. It is not likely that in recollecting her turnings, An-
tony should not have that in contemplation which gave him
most offence. = 4 0:) — this grave charm,] Hy this grave
charm, is meant, this sublime, this majestic beauty; or
rather, this deadly, or destructive piece of witchcraft. =
41:) — tvas my crownet, my chief end,] i. c. last purpose,
probably from finis coronal opus. z=i2:) Like a right gipsy,
hath, at fast and loose, || Beguil'd mc, he] There is a k ind
of pun in this passage, arising from the corruption of the
word Aigyptian into gipsy. 'Ihe old law-books term such
persons as ramble about the country, and preteiid skill in
palmistry and fortune-telling, Aigyptians. Fast and luoso
is a term to signify a cheating game, of which the follow-
ing is a description. A leathern belt is made up into a
number of intricate folds, and placed edgewise upon a table.
One of the folds is made to resemble the middle of the
girdle, so that whoever should thrust a skewer into it w ould
think he held it fast to the table; whereas, when lie has so
done, the person with whom he plays may take hold of both
ends, and draw it away. This trick is now known to the
common people, by the name oi' pricking at the belt or girdle,
and perhaps was practised by the gipsies in the time of
Shaksneare. Siii J. Hawkins. = 43:) — to the very heart of
loss.] I'o the utmost loss possible. =44:) — — most monster-
like, be shown || For poor'st diminutives, to dolts ;] i. e.
shown as monsters are, not only for the smallest piece of
money, but to the most stupid and vulgar spectators. Mr.
Maloiie reads "for doits," i.e. farthings. =<: 45:) Let me lodge

▼.

Th. S. [Pl:31.]

NOTES

1019

.^ir. i>iaioiie_ omu8 yei. = !3ti:) arte naa aisipos a witn ti
To liiftpose, in this iustance, perhaps siguilies to make i
to teltle mattert.^= 59:) "VVoe, woe are we," Lc. IM.i
r=60:) "O sun,"— Mai,one. = 61:) — rfarWinf — ] i. e.

Liehas on the horns o'the moon ;] This image our pocl may
have taken from Seneca's Hercules, who says Liehas being
launched into the air, sprinkled the clouds with his blood;
or more probably from Golding's vcrtiion of Ovid's :Wffa-
mor/iAose*. =4b:; Than Telainon for his shield ;'i i.e. than
^jax Telamon for the armour of Jchilles, the most valu-
able part of which was the shield. The boar of Thessaly
was the boar killed by Melca^er.^= 47:) JFas never so em-
boss'd.] A hunting term; when a deer is hard run, and foams
at the mouth, he is said to be im4o<tf. ==48:) TAcy are black
vesper* pageantsJ] The beauty boih of the expression and
the illusion is lost, unless we recollect the frequency and
the nature of these ."hows in Shakspeare's age. = 49:) The
rack dislimns ;] i. e. the fleeting aw ay of the clouds destroys
the picture. = 50:) "Inarm, Eros;" — Mai.osb. = 51:) — f/i»/
co;ittnenf.J i.e. the thing that contains thee. = 52:) — Seal
then, and all is done.} Metaphor taken from civil contracts,
where, when all is agreed on, the sealing Completes the
contract; so he hath determined to die, and nothing remained
but to give the stroke. ^63:) — p/earA'd arm*,] Arms folded
in each other. = 54:) His corrigible nec^t,] Corrigible for
correrted, and afterwards penetrative for penetrating. =
5S:)His baseness that ensued f] The poor conquered wretch
that' followed. Johnson. = oti:) — the worship of the whole
world — ] The worship is the dignity, the authority. ^= bl:)
Mr. Malone omits yet. ^= 56:) She had dispos'd with Ccrsar,]

terms,

ALONE.

darkling — ] i. e. with-
out light. = 62:) In this passage, says Mr. Steevcns, for
the sake of somewhat like metre, one word has been omitted
and others transposed. Mr. Malone arranges the passage

thus: "O Antony, Antony, Antony, 'I "Help, Charmian,

help, Iras, help; help, friends |1 "Below," Kc. = 6S:) Be
brnoch'd with me;] Be brooch' il, i. e. adorn'd. A brooch
was an_ ornament formerly worn in the hat. ^= 64:) — »ri7/
conclusion,] Sedate determination ; silent coolness of reso-
lution. =65:) Wfre's sport, indeed!] Cleopatra, perhaps, by
this affected levity, this phrase wuich has no determineiil
signilicalion, only wishes to inspire Antony with cheerful-
ness, and encourage those who are engaged in the melan-
choly task of drawing him up into the monument. =; 66:) —
tnfo heaviness,] Heaviness is here used equivocally for sor-
row and weight. =:l3'i\) Quicken with kissing;] That is, Re-
vive by my kiss. =r 6t:) The soldier's pole—] He at whom
the soldiers pointed, as at a pageant held high for observa-
tion. = 69:) — the meanest chares.] i. e. task-work. Heucc
our term chare-woman. =

ACT V. =1:) Being so frustrate,] Frustrate, for frus-
trated, w as the language of Shakspeare's time. = 2:) — thus
to us?J i. e. with a drawn and bloody sword in thy hand.

^= 3:)_ but it is a tidings '| To wash the eyes of kings.]

That isj May the gods rebuke me, if this be not tidings to

make kings weep. Mr. Malone omits a. = 4:) But we

do lance i Diseases in our bodies:] When we have any bo-
dily complaint, that is curable by scarifying, we use the
lan'cit; and if we neglect lo do so, we are destroyed by it.
Antony was lo me a disease; and by his being cut olf, I
am made whole. We could not liolh have lived in the world :
together. Mai,o\e. = 6:) — his thoughts—] His is here used j
for its. = 6:) Our cqualness to this.] That is, should have
made us, in our equality of fortune, disagree to a pitch like
this, that one of us must die. =^7:) — fortune's knave,] The
servant of fortune. = 8:) — And it is great, kc] The diffi-
cdlry of the passage, if any difficulty there be, arises only
from this, that the act of suicide, and the state which is
the effect of suicide, are confounded. Voluntary death, says
she, is an act which bolts up change; it iiroduces a state,
IVhich sleeps, and never palates more the dung, ij The beg-
gar's nurse and Cassar's. Which has no longer need of Ilie
gross and terrene sustenance, in the use of which Caesar
and the beggar are on a level. The speech is abrupt, but
perturbation in such a state is surely natural. Johsson.^=9:)
— that will pray in aid for kindness,] fraying in aid is a
term used for a petition made in a court of justice for the
calling in of help from another that hath an interest in the

cause in (j^uestion. = 10:) send him \\ The greatness he

hat got.] I. e. her crown which he has w on. = 1 1:) tForth
many babes and beggars!] Why, death, wilt thou not rather
8ei7.e_ a queen, than employ thy force upon babes and 6eg-
gars'* ^= \.2:) — trt7/ once be necessary,] Once may mean

sometimes. = 13:) Mr. Malone omits as. = 14:) Ai»

rcard arm !| Crested the world:] Alluding to some of the
old crests in heraldry, where a raised arm on a wreath
was mounted on the helmet. = 15:) As plates—] Mr. Stee-
vens justly interprets plates to mean silver money. It is a
term in heraldry. The balls or roundels in an escutcheon
of arms, according to their different colours, have different
names. If gules, or red, they are called torteauxes; if or,
or yellow, bezants; if argent, or white, plates, which are
buttons of silver w ithout any impression, but onlv prepared
tor the stamp. = 16:) To vie strange forms—] I'o vie was

a term at cards. = 17:) yet, to imagine \\ An Antony,

teere nature s piece 'gainst fancy, ]\ Condemning shadows
quite.] The word piece is a term appropriated to works of
art. Here nature and fancy produce each their piece, and
the piece done by nature had Ihe preference. Antony was
in reality past the si%e of dreaming ; he was more by na-
ture than fancy could present iu sleep. = 18:) i cannot

project — ] i.e. I CcMinot shape or form my cause, Ac. ==19:)

— seel my lips,] It means, close up my lips as effectually
as the eyes of a hawk are closed. To »ee/ hawks was the
technical term. = 20:) 0 rarely base!] i. e. base in an on-
coinnion degree. = 21:) Parcel the sum of my disgraces
by—] The meaning either is, "that this fellow should add
one more parcel or itetn to the sum of my disgraces,
namely, his own malice:" or, "that this fellow sliould tot vp
the sum of my disgraces, and add his own malice to the
account." = 25:) — modern /rtenrfd — ] Modern means here,
as it generally does in these plays, common or ordinary.
= 23:) V\ ith one — ] /f 7f A, in the present instance, has the
power of by. ^= 24:) Through the ashes of my chance:] Or
fortune. 'Ihe meaning is, Hcgone, or 1 shall exert that
royal spirit which I had in my prosperity, in spite tff the
imbecility of my present weak condition. ^=25:) /fe answer
others^ merits—] As demerits was often used, in Shak-
speare's time, as synonymous to merit, so merit might have
been used in the sense which we now affix to demerit; or
the meaning may be only, — we are called to account, and
to answer in our own names for acts, with which others,
rather than we, deserve to be charged. = 2b:) — and scald
rhymers—] Scald was a word of contempt, implying po-
verty, disease, and filth. = 27:) — tAe quick comedians — ]
The lively, inventive, juict-witted comedians. = 28:) — Aoy
my greatness — ] The parts of women were acted on the
stage by boys. = 29:) "What poor," &c. — , Malone. = 30:)

— noic fAe fleeting moon — ] Fleeting is inconstant. = 31:)

— fAe pretty worm of Nilus — ] Worm is the Teuionic word
for serpent; we have the blind-worm and slow-worm still
in our language, and the iVorwegians call an enormous mon-
ster, seen sometimes in the Northern ocean, the sea-worm.
= 32:) — will do his kind.] The serpent will act according
to his nature.= 33:) Yare, yare,] i. e. make haste, be nim-
ble, be ready. ^= 34:) Have 1 the aspick in my lips'/] are
my lips poison'd by the aspick, that inv kiss has destrny'd
thee"* r= 35:) — Dost fall'/] Iras must Le supposed to have
applied an asp to her arm while her mistress was settling
her dress, or 1 know not why she should fall so soon. Stee-
vBNs. = 36:) He'll make demand of her;] He will enquire
of her concerning me, and kiss her for giving him intelli-
gence. = 87:) "Come, thou mortal wretch," Kc. — Malone.
= 38:) ass |{l'npoIicied !] i. e. an ass without more po-
licy than to leave the means of death within my reach, and
thereby deprive his triumph of its noblest decoration. = 39:)

— Downy windows, close;] Charmian, in saying this must
be conceived to close Cleopatra's eyes; one of the lirst ce-
remonies performed toward a dead body. = 40:) — and then
play.] i. e. play her part in this tragic scene by destroying
herself: or she may mean, that haviug performed her last
Office for her mistress, she will accept the permission given
her before, to '■^play till doomsday." =: 41:) — »omelA»ng
blown:] The flesh is somewhat puffed or swoln.^=^2:) She
hath pursu'd conclusions infinite — ] '\'q pursue conclusions,
is lo try experiments. = i 3:) — shall clip—] i. e. infold. =:;

44:) their story is j A"o less in pity, than his glory, Acc]

i. e. the narrative of such events demands not less compas-
sion for the sufferers, than glory on the part of him who
brought on their sufferings. =

XXXI. CYMBELIXE.

ACT I. ^=1:) You do not meet a man, but frowns: our
bloods 'I iVo more obey the heavens, than our courtier* ; ||
Stilt seem, as does the king's.] This passage is so diflicult,
that commentators may differ concerning it without animos-
ity or shame. 1 am now to tell my opinion, which is, that
the lines stand as they were originally written, and that a
paraphrase, such as me licentious and abrupt expressions
of our author too frequently require, will make emendation
unnecessary. We do not meet a man but frowns ; our blood*
— our coiiiilenances, which, in popular speech, are said to
be regulated by the temper of the blood, — no more obey
the laws of heaven, — which direct us to appear what we
really are, — fAan our courtiers : — that is, than the blood*
of our courtiers; but our bloods, like theirs, — still seem
as doth the king's. Johnson. Mr. Malone reads "— — than
our courtiers ]\ Still seem," A:c. = 2:) You speak him far.]
i. e. yon praise him extensively. = 3:) — Tenantius,] was
the father of Cymbeline, and nephew of Cassibelan, being
the younger son of his elder brother Lud, king of ihe sou-
thern part of Britain ; on whose death Cassibelan was ad-
mitted king. Cassibelan repulsed Ihe Romans on their first
attack, but being vanquished by Julius Caesar on his second
invasion of Britain, he agreed to pay an annual tribute to
Rome. After his death, Tenantius, Lud's younger son (his
elder brother Androgens having fled to Rome) was estab-
lished on the throne, of which they had been unjustly de-
prived by their uncle. According to some authorities, Te-
nantius quietly paid the tribute stipulated by Cassibelan;
according to others, he refused to pay it, and warred with
the Romans. Shakspeare supposes the latter lo be the truth.
= 4:) Liv'd in court, [] {Which rare it is to do,) most

Srais'd, most lov'd:] This encomium is high and artful. To
e at once in any great degree loved and praised, is truly
rare. Johnson. = 5:) A glass that feated tAem ,] A glass
that formed them; a model by the contemplation and in-
spection of which they formed their maouers. Feat Min-

1020

NOTES

[PL:31.]Tff. S.

sheu interprets, fine, neat, brave. = 6:) — to his mistress,']
means — as to his mistress. =7:) "the gentleman," the queen,
A:c. Stekvkns, edit. 1793. = 8:) (Always reserved my holy
duty,)] I say 1 do not fear my father, so far as 1 may say
it witnout breach of duty. = i^:) i.e. he gives me a valuable
consideration in new kindness (purchasing, as it were, the
wrong 1 ha^ e done him,) in order to renew our amity, and
makii us friends a.ii^ain. AIalo>e. = 10:) ^^nrf sear uj) — j i.e.
close up. = 11:) fphile sense can keep it on!] i. e. while
sense can maintain its operations ; while sense continues
to have its usual power. To keep on signiiies to continue
in a Slate of action. = 12:) — a manacle — J A manacle pro-
perly means what we now call a handcuff. = 13:) — ^ a
touch tnore rare || Subdues all pangs, all fears.] i. e. a more
exquisite feeling; a superior sensation. -^li:) — a puttock.]
A puttock is a mean degenerate species of hawk, too worth-
less to deserve training. = 15:) overbuys me \\ Almost

the sum he pays.] So small is uiy value, and so great is
his, tiiat in the purchase he has made (for which lie paid
himself), lor much (he greater part, and nearly the whole,
of what lie has given, he has nothing in return. The most
minute portion of his worth Mould be too high a price for
the wife he has acquired. = lb:) — your best advice ] i. e.
consideration, reflection. = 17:) — her beauty and her brain
go not together:] 1 believe the lord means to speak a sen-
tence, "Sir, as 1 told you always, beauty and brain go not
logetlicr " Johnson. -=18:) — she's a good sign, but 1 have
seen small reflection of her wit.] She has a fair outside, a
specious appearance, but not wit. tint to understand the
whole force of Shakspeare's idea, it should be remembered,
that anciently almost every sign had a motto, or some at-
tempt at a witticism underneath it. ^=19:) Hwere a pa-
per lost, il As offered mercy is.] I'erhaps the meaning is,
tliat the loss of that paper would prove as fatal to her, as
the loss of a pardon to a condemned criminal. =20:) — next
vantage.] Kext opportunity. == 21:) — encounter me with
orisons,] i.e. meet me wilh reciprocal prayer. =2 2:) — makes
him — J Makes him, means forms him. ^23:) — words him,

a great deal from the matter.] Makes the description

of him very distant from the truth. = 24:) — under her co-
lours,] Lnder her banner; by her influence. = 2 5:) "less
quality." MAiiONK. ^=26:) — i dtrf atone, ^c] To atone signi-
fies in this place to reconcile. = 21:) — upon importance of
so slight and trivial a nature.] Importance is here, as else-
where in Shakspcare, importunity, instigation. = 2 8:) —
rather shunned to go even with what I heard, kc] i. e. he
rather studied to avoid conducting himself by the opinions
of other people, than to be guided by their experience. =
29:) — coiifounued one the other,'^'Vo confound, in our au-
thor's time, signified — la destroy. = 30:) — which may,
without contradiction,] Which, undoubtedly, may be publicly
told. =: 31:) — though I profess, &.c.J i'osthumus means to
bestow the most exalted praise on Imogen, a praise the
more valuable as it «as the result of reason, not of amo-
rous dotage. 1 make my avowal, says he, in the character
of her adorer, not of her possessor. — 1 speak of her as a
being 1 reverence, not as a beauty whom 1 enjoy. — I rather
profess to describe her with the devotion of a worshipper,
than the raptures of a lover. = 32:) — to convince — ] Con-
vince for overcome. = 33:) — abused — ] Deceived. = Si:) —
approbation —] Proof. r=r35:) "1 wonder," — Mai,one. = 36:)
Other conclusions f] Other experiments. :^= H:) —quench ;]
i. e grow cool.= 38:) — to shift his being,] To change his
abode. = 39.') — that leans/] That inclines towards its fall.
•=^40:) Think what a chance thou changest on;] i. e. think
with what a fair prorspect of mending your fortunes you
now change your present service. ^=41:) Of liegers /or her
sweet;] A //eg-er ambassador is one that resides in a foreign
court to promote his master's interest. = 4 2:) "your trust."

— Mai.onk. =43:)— — Ae || jfg strange and peevish.] He is
a foreigner and easily fretted: but «frang-e may signify shy
or backward: and peevish anciently meant weak, silly. =
4t:) "account his," — Mai,onk.= 4o:) ^y hat both you spur
and stop.] What it is that at once incites you to speak, and
restrains you from it. Johivson. = 46:) — to an empery,]
Einpery is a word signifying sovereign command-, now ob-
solete. = 47:) lyith tomboys,] We still call a ma-iculine, a
forward girl, tomboy. = 4b:)— hird with that self-exhibi-
tion, iif..] Gross strumpets, hired with the very pension
which you allow your husband. =: 49:) "of a false report;"

— Mai«onk. = 5 0:) — being strange,] i. e. being a stranger. =

ACT II. = 1:) — kissed the jack upon an up-cast,] He
is describing his late at bowls. I'ln: jack is the small bowl
at which the others are aimed. He who is nearest to it wins.
To kiss the jack is a stale of great advantage. -=2:) — every
companion — ] Tiie use, of companion was ihe same as of
fellow now. It was a word of contempt. = 3:) — press the
rushes,] It was the custom in the time of our author to
strew chambers with rushes, as we now cover them with
carpets. :r= 4:) Under these windows:] i. e. her eyelids. =
5:) - — tike the crimson drops \\ Vthe bottom of a cowslip.]
This simile contains the smallest out of a tliousand ])roofs
that Shakspeare was an observer of nature, though, in this
instance, no very accurate describer of it, for the drops
alluded to are of a deen yellow. Stekvkns. = &.) — you
dragons of the night!] The task of drawing the chariot of
night was assigned to dragons, on account of their suppo><ed
watchfulness. =^ 7:) His steeds to water at those springs \\
Ou chalic'd flower* that lie*;] i. e. the morning sun driest

up the dew which lies in the cups of flowers: The cup of
a flower is called calix, whence chalice. ^^8:) And winking
Mary-buds begin \\ To ope their golden eyes;] The mari-
gold in supposed to shut itself up at sun-set. = 9:) — / will
consider your music the better:] i. e. I will pay you more
amply for it. = 10:) To orderly solicits;] i. e. regular court-
ship, courtship after the established fashion. = 11:) /ind
towards himself his goodness forespent on us \\ IFe must
extend our notice.] That is, we must extend towards him-
self our notice of his goodness heretofore shoMii to us. Our
author has many similar ellipses. = 12:) — false tAem«eii;e«,]
Perhaps, in this instance, false is not an adjective, but a
Der6.-^13:) — so verbal:] Is, so verbose, so full of talk. =
14:) The contract, i:c.] Here Shakspeare has not preserved,
u'ith his common nicety, the uniformity of character. The
speech of (Jloten is rough and harsh, but certainly not the
talk of one — "Who can't take two from twenty, for his

heart, II "And leave eighteen ." His argument is just

and well enforced, and its prevalence is allowed throughout
all civil nations: as for rudeness, he seems not to be much
undermatched. Johnson. = 15:) — in selt-ligured Anot ;J A
self-figured knot is a knot formed by yourself. = 16:) ^
hilding for a livery,] A low fellow, only lit to wear a livery,
and serve as a lacquey. = 17:) if ''twere made \\ Com-
parative for your virtues,] If it were considered as a rom-
pensation adequate to your virtues, to be styled, Jkc. = 18:)
I am sprighted with a fool;] i. e. 1 am haunted by a fool,
as by a spright. :^19:) (Statist — ] i.e. Statesman. = 20:) To
their approvers,] i.e. To those who try them. = 21:) And
Cydnus swelled above the banks, or for \\ The press of boats,
or pride:] iachimo's language is such as a skilful villain
would naturally use, a mixture of airy triumph and serious
deposition. His gaiety shows his seriousness to be without
anxiety, and his seriousness proves his gaiety to be with-
out ari.= 22:) So likely to report themselves:] So near to
speech. The Italians call a portrait, when the likeness is
remarkable, a speaking picture. ^= 23:) hF'as as another
nature, dumb;] The meaning is this: The sculptor was as
nature, but as nature dumb; he gave every thing that na-
ture gives, but breath and motion. In breath is included

speech. ^= 2 i:) nicely \\ Depending on their brands.] Here

seems to be a kind of tautology. Brands may be a part of
the andirons, on which the wood for the lire was supported,
as the upper part, in which was a kind of rack to carry a
spit, is more properly termed the andiron. These irons, ou
which the wood lies across, generally called dogs, are here
termed brands. ■= 2b:) This is her honour! — !|Z.et_it be
granted you have seen all this, kc] The expression is
ironical, lachimo relates many particulars, to which Post-
humus answers with impatience: "This is her honour !"

That is. And the attainment of this knowledge is to pass
for the corruption of her honour. Johnson. = 26:) The cog-
nizance— ] The badge; the token; the visible proof. -= 27:)

— pervert the present ivrath—] For avert. = 28:) "We are
all bastards ;" — Malone.=

ACT III. r= 1:) — thifie uncle,] Cassibelan was great
uncle to Cymbeline, who was son to Tenantius, the nephew
of Cassibelan. = 2:) (O, giglot fortune!)] O false and in-
constant fortune! A giglot was a strunipet= 3:) — tfg:a/n*t
all colour,] Without any pretence of right. = 4:) "Mulmu-
tiiis made our laws." Mai.one. ^= 5:)— keep at utterance;]
Means to keep at the extremity of ileliance. Combat a ou-
trance is a desperate light, tnat must conclude with the
life of one of the combatants. = 6:) — J am perfect,] I am

well informed. = 7:) If^' hat false Italian \\ (As poisonous-

tongue'd, as handed,)] About Shakspeare's time the practice
of poisoning was very common in Italy, and the suspicion
of Italian poisons yet more common. = 8:) — take in some
virtue.] I'o taAe in a town, is to conquer it. =9:) Thy mind
to her is now as low,] That is, thy mind compared to her
is now as low, as thy condition was, compared to hers. =
10:) Art thou a feodary for this act,] Feodary means, here,
a confederate, or accomplice. = 11:) 1 am ignorant in
what 1 am commanded.] i. e. i am unpractised in the arts
of murder. = 12:) For it doth physic love;] That is, grief
for absence keeps love in hcallli and vigour. r= 1 3:) — «^eo<r
thick,] i. e. croud one Mord on another, as fast as possible.
:=14:) If'hy should excuse be born or e'er begot/] Why
should I contrive an excuse, before the act is done, for
which excuse will be necessary. := 15:) A franklin's house-
wife.] A franklin is literally a freeholder, with a small
estate, neither villain nor vassal. = 16:) — may jet—] i. e.
strut, walk proudly. = 17:) — their impious turbands on,]
The idea of a giant was, among the readers of romances,
who were almost all the readers of those times, always
confounded with that of a Saracen. := 18:) This service i*
not service, kc] In war it is not sufflcient to do duty well;
the advantage rises not from the act, but the acceptance
of the act. =19:) The sharded beetle—] i.e. the beetle
whose wings are enclosed within two dry husks or shards.
= 20:) — attending for a check;] Check may mean, in this
place, a reproof; but 1 rather think it signifies command,
cnntroul. ThuM, in Troilus and Crcssida, the restrictions
of Aristotle are called ArisKiile's cAects. Stekvkns. =21:)

— than doing nothing for a babe;] As it was once the cus-
tom in England for favourites at court to beg the wardship
of infants who were born to gr. at riches, our author may
allude to it on this occasion. Frequent coinplnints were
made that uolhing was done towards the education of these

V.

Tn.S. [Ph. 3i.]

NO T K S,

1021

neglected orphans. = 22:) — no life to ourt] i.e. compared
with ours. -=23:) To stride a limit.^ 'I'o overpass his bound.
= 24:) lyhat should we speak of,] This dread of an old
age, uusupplied with matter lor discourse and meditation,
is a sentiment natural and noble, ^o state can be more
destitute than that of him, \tho, when the delights of sen>e
forsal^e him, has no pleasures of the mind. Johnson. = 25:)
— 1 stole these babes ;] IShakspeure seems to intend ticlarius
for a good character, jet he makes him forget the injury
which he has done to the >oung princes, whom he has rob-
bed of a kingdom only to rob their father of heirs. — 'I'he
latter part of this soliloijuy is very inartilicial, there being
no particular reason why tiilarius should now tell to him-
self what he could not know better by telling it. JoH?isoN.
= 2 6:) — Aavt'our — ] This word, as often as it occurs in
Sliakspeare, should not be printed as an abbreviation of
behaviour. Haviour was a word commonly used in his time.
= 27:) — drug-damn d—"\ This is another allusiou to Ita-
lian poisons. = 28:) — states,] Persons of highest rank. =
29:) tf'hose mother was her painting,] Some Jay of Italy,
made by art; the creature, not of nature, but of painting.
In this sense painting may not be improperly termed her
mother. = 30:) And, for 1 am richer than to hang by the
walls, l| J must be ripp'd:] To hang by the walls, does not
mean, to be converted into hangings for a room, but to be
hung up, as useless among the neglected contents of a ward-
robe. = 31:) if-'ilt lay the leaven on all proper men; ti.c.]
i. e. says \lr. I ptoii, "wilt infect and corrupt their good
name, (like sour dough that leaveneth the whole mass,) and
wilt render them suspected." =32:) That cravens my weak-
hand.] i.e. makes me a coward. = 3 3:) That now thou tir'st
on,] A hawk is said to tire upon that which she pecks;
from tirer, French. = 34:) To be unbent,] 'J'o have thy bow
unbent, alluding to a hunter. = 36:) "into" — Malonb. =
3t):) As quarreilous as the wea«el:] This character of the
weasel is uot warranted by naturalists. Weasels, how ever,
were formerly kept in houses instead of cats, for the pur-
pose of killing vermin. r= 37:) Wherein you are happy,]
I. e. wherein you are accomplished. =38:) — \our means
abroad, i^c] As for your subsistence abroad, you may rely

on me. =39:) This attempt \\ I'm soldier to,] i. c. I am

equal to this attempt ; I have enough of ardour to under-
take it. =40:) — ~ May ,\ This night forestall him of the
coming day!] i. e. may his grief this night prevent him
from ever seeing another day, by an anticipated and pre-
mature destruction! = 41:) And that she hath all courtly
parts more exquisite || Than lady, ladies, woman;] Site has
all courtly parts, says he, more exquisite than any lady,
than all ladies, than all womankind.^ i2:) To him that is
most true.] Pisanio, notwithstanding his master's letter,
commanding the murder of Imogen, considers him as true,
supposing, as he has already said to her, that Posthumus
was abused by some villain, equally an entmy to them both.
= 43:) // any thing that's civil,] Civil, for human creature.
^=44:) — woodman,] \ woodman, in its common acceptation
(as in the present instance) siguilics a. hunter. = i 5:) — 'tis
our match:] i. e. our compact. = 46:) "resty sloth" — Ma-
i,(i>E. = 47:) JVIr. Maione omits sir. = 48:) I am fallen in
this offence.] In, according to the ancient mode of writing,
is here used instead of into. :^4P:) He wrings at some dis-
tress.] i.e. writhes with anguish. =6 0:) That nothing gift
of d'lKering multitudes,)] The poet must mean, that court,
that obsequious adoration, which the shifting vulgar pay to

the great, is a tribute of no price or value. =51:) and

to you the tribunes, '} For this immediate levy, he commands
!| His absolute commission.] He commands the commission
to be given to you. So we say, 1 ordered the materials to
the w orkmen. =

ACT IV. =l:)_/or— ] i. e. because. = 2:) — t/i single
oppositions:] In single combat. = 3:) — imperseverant — ]
Iniperseverant may mean no more than perseverant, like
tmbosomed, impassioned, immaskcd. = 4:) Stick to your
.journal course; the breach of custom '■\ Is breach of all.]
Keej» your daily course uninterrupted; if the stated plan of
life is once broken, nothing follows but confusiou.= 6:) The
imperious seas—] Imperious was used by Shakspeare for
imperial. ■=: 6:) I could not stir him:] \ot move him to tell
his story. = 7:) — gentle, but unfortunate;] Gentle, is well-
born, of birth above the vulgar. = 8:) Mingle their spurs
together.] Spurs arc the longest and largest leading roots
of trees. ^^ 9:) It is great morning.] A Gallicism. Grand
jour. r= 10:) \ield, rustic mountaineer.] 1 believe, upon ex-
amination, the character of Cloten will not prove a very
consistent one. Act I. sc. iv. the lords who are conversing
with him on the subject of his rencontre with Posthumus,
represent the latter as having neither put forth his strength
or courage, hut still advancing forwards to the prince, who
retired before him; yet at this his last appearance, we see
him lighting gallantly, and falling by the hand of Guiderius.
The same persons afterwards speak of him as of a mere
ass or idiot; and yet, Act HI. sc. i. he returns one of the
noblest and most reasonable answers to the llomau envoy :
and the rest of his conversation on the same occasion,
though It may lack form a little, by no means resembles
the language of folly. He behaves with proper dignity and
civility at parting with Lucius, and yet is ridiculous and
brutal in his treatment of Imogen, lielarius describes him
as not having sense enough to know what fear is (which
he deiiues as being sontetiinca the eQcct of judgment;) and

j yet he forms very artful schemes for gaining the affection
] of his mi.stress, by means of her attendants; to get her per-
1 son into his power afterwards; and seems to be no less ac-
[ quainted with the character of his father, and the asceu-
I dancy the^ queen maintained over his uxorious weakness.
We lind Cloten, in short, represented at once as brave and
dastardly, civil and brutish, sagacious and foolish, without
that »nblilly of distinction, and those shades of gradation
between sense and folly, virtue and vice, which constitute
the excelleuce of such mixed characters as Polonius in Ham-
let, and the Nurse in Homeo and Juliet. Steevens. = 11:)

— the snatches in his voice, \\ And burst of speaking,]

This is one of our author's strokes of observation. An ab-
rupt and tumultuous utterance very Irequeuily accompanies
a confused and cloudy uuderstanuing. = 12:) "the cure of
fear:" — Malone. = 13:) I am perfect, what:] 1 am well
informed, what. = 14:) — toAc us in,] i. e, conquer, or sub-
due us. =: 15:) For ire do fear the law'f] For is here used
in the sense of because. = lb:) Did make my way long
forth.] Fidele's sickness made my walk forth from the cave
I tedious. r= 17:)— I'o gain his colour,] i. e. to restore hint
to the bloom of health, to recall the colour of it into his
cheeks. =: 18:) — lamenting toys,] Toys formerly signilied
freaks, or frolics. =: 19:) — w/iat coaot thy sluggish crarc—]
A crore is a small trading vessel, called in the Latin of
middle ages, crayera. = 20:) Stark,] i.e. stiff. =21:) —
I clouted brogues — j are shoes strengthened with clout at
! AoA-nails. In some parts of England, thin plates of iron
i called clouts, are likewise lixed to the shoes of ploughmen
I and other rustics. Jirog is the Irish word for a kind of
j shoe peculiar to that kingdom. = 22:) The ruddock is the
I red-breast, and is so called by Chaucer and Spenser. = 2 3:)
j To winter-ground thy corse.] To winter-ground a plant, is
I to protect it from the inclemency of the winter-season, by
j straw, dung, ic. laid over it. Tuis precaution is commonly
I taken in respect of tender trees of llowers, such as Arvi-
' ragus, who loved Fidele, represents her to be. = 24:) He
was paid for that:] Faid is for punished. ^= 25:) re-
verence, || (TAat angel of the world,)] Reverence or due
regard_ to subordination, is the power that keeps peace and
order iu the world. :=26:) Consign to thee,] Perhaps to con-
sign to thee, is to seal the same contract with thee, i. e.
add their names to thine upon the register of death. =27:)
Ao exerciser harm thee!] Shakspeare invariably uses the
word exorciser to express a person who can raise spirits,
uot one who lays them. = 28:) 'Ods pittikins!] This dimi-
nutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity, which
likewise occurs in Cymbeline. = 29:) — his Jovial face—]
Jovial face signifies in Ifiis place, such a face as belongs
to Jove. It is frequently used iu the same sense by other
old dramatic writers. ^= 30:)— that irregulous devil,] Irre-
gulous (if there be such a word) must meau lawless, licen-
tious, out of rule, jura negans sibi nata. = Sl:) — the main-
top!] i. e. the top of the mainmast. = 32:) — 'tis pregnant,
pregnant!] i.e. 'tis a ready, apposite conclusion. = 33:)
Sienna's brother.] i. e. (as 1 suppose Shakspeare to havo
meant) brother to the prince of Sienna; but, unluckily.
Sienna was a republic. Steevejss. = 34:) "Fidele, sir."
Malose. = 35:) — tAese poor pickaxes—] Meaning her lin-
gers. = 36:) — arm him.] That is. Take him up in your
arms.= 3 ;:) / am amaz'd with matter.] i. e. confounded by
a variety of business. = 3 8:) Your preparation can affront,
\lc.] Your forces are able to face such an army as we hear
the euemywill bring against us. = 39:) — to the note o'the
king,] I will so distinguish myself, the king shall remark

ray valour. = 40:) — revolts — ] i. e. revoltcrs.= 41:) a

render || Where we have lio'd;] An account of our place of '
abode. This dialogue is a just representation of the super-
fluous caution of an old man.p=42:) — their quarter'd fires,]
Quarter'd fires, probably means no more than fires in the
respective quarters of the Roman army.^

ACT V. = 1:) — bloody Handkerchief.] The bloody tokea
of Imogen's death, which Pisanio in the foregoing Act de-
termined to send. :^ 2:) Yea, bloody cloth, iic] This is a
soliloquy of nature, uttered when the effervescence of a
mind agitated and perturbed spontaneously and inadvertently
discharges itself in words. 'I'he speech throughout all its
tenor, if the last conceit be excepted, seems to issue warm
from the heart. He first condemns his own violence, then
tries to disburden himself by imputing part of the crime to
Pisanio; he next soothes his mind to an artificial and mo-
mentary tranquillity, by trying to think that he has been
only an instrument of the gods for the happiness of Imogen.
He is now grown reasonable enough to determine, that hay-
ing done so much evil, he will do no more; that he will
not light against the country which be has already injured;
but as life is not longer supportable, he will die in a just
cause, and die with the obscurity of a man who does not
thiuk himself worthy to be remembered. Johnson. = 3:) —
to put on—] Is to incite, to instigate. = i:) And make them
dread it to the doers' thrift.] Of the various meanings as-
signed by the commentators, the following appears the most
intelligible : — "Some you snatch from hence for little faults ;
others you suffer to heap ills on ills, and afterwards make
them dread their having done so, to the eternal welfare of
the doers." The whole speech is in a religious strain. —
Thrift signifies a state of prosperity. It is not the com-
mission ol the crimes that is supposed to be for the doer's
thrift, but bis dreading them afterwards, and of course r«-

peiitinr which ensures his salvation. = 5:) — this carl,]
Carl or churl, (ceopi, Sax.) is a clown or husbamlmaii. —
6:) The country base,] i. e. a rustic game called prisoji-bars,
vulffarly prison base. = 7:) — for preservation cas'd, or
shame,)] Shame for moilesty. = 8:) — bugs -J, Terrors. =
9-) Nay, do not wonder at it;] Posthuuius lirst bids Inm
not wonder, then tells him in another mode of reproach,
that wonder is all that he was made for. = 10:) — I, in
mine own woe, charni'd,] Alluding to the common supersti-
tion of charms being powerful enough to keep men unhurt
in battle. It was derived from our Saxon ancestors, and
so is common to us with the Germans, who are above all
other people given to this superstition. = 11:) — great the
answer 6e— ] Answer, as once in this play before, is reta-
liation. = 12:) — a silly habit,'] Silly is simple or rustic.
= 13:) That gave the affront with them.} That is, that
turned their faces to the enemy. = 14:) Enter Cymbeline,
iVic] This is the only instance in these plays of the business
of the scene being entirely performed in dumb show. _'lhe
direction must have proceeded from the players, as it is
perfectly unnecessary, and our author has elsewhere [m
Hamlet} expressed his contempt of such mummery. lliTsos.
:= 16:) Solemn Music, Aic] It is the universal opinion that
this vision, masque, and prophecy, were the interpolation
of the players. One would think that, Shakspeare's style
being too relined for his audiences, the managers had em-
ployed some playwright of the old school to regale them
with a touch of "King Cambyses' vein." The margin would
be too honourable a place for so iuipertiueut an interpola-
tion. ^= 16:) ^nd to become the geek—] A geek is a tool.
= l7:) — to foot us:} i.e. to grasp us in his pounces. = 18:)
— sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you
are paul too much ;] i. e. sorry that you have paid too much
out of your pocket, and sorry that you are paid, or «ii6-
dued, too much by the li(|Hor. = 19:) — being drawn of heavi-
ness :} Drawn is embowelled, exenterated. — So in comnion
language a fowl is said to be drawn, when its intestines
are taken out. = 20:) —jump the after-enquiry—} That is,
venture at it without thought. = 21:)— i never saw one so
prone.} i. e. forward. = 22:) Scene F.} Let those who talk
so confidently about the skill of Shakspeare's contemporary,
Jonsou, point out the conclusion of any one of his plays
which 19 wrought with more arliiice, and yet a less degree
of dramatic violence than this. In the scene before us, all
the surviving characters are assembled ; and at the expense
of whatever incongruity the former events may have been
produced, perhaps little can be discovered on this occasion
to offend the most scrupulous advocate for regularity : and,
I think, as little is found wanting to satisfy the spectator
by a catastrophe which is intricate without confusion, and
not more rich in ornament than in nature. Steevens. =
23:) — 6ore in hand to love—] i.e. insidiously taught to de-
pend on her love. = 24:) So feat,} So ready; so dexterous
in waiting. = 25:) His favour is familiar —} 1 am acquainted
with his countenance. = 26:) 1 know not why, nor where-
fore, \\'V<> say, live, boy:} I know not what should induce
lue to say, live, boy. =:27:) Quail to remember,} To quail,
is to sink into dejection. =:2 8:) — as Uian — ] i e. as if
Uian. = 19:)— averring notes—} Such marks of the cham-
ber and pictures, as averred or confirmed my report. =
30:) Some upright justicer!] Justicer is used by Shakspeare
thricu in King Lear. The most ancient law books have
justicers of the peace, as frequently as justices of the
peace. ^= 31:) — and she herself.} That is,— she was not
only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself. =: 3 2:) — these
staggers—} This wild and delirious perturbation. Staggers
is the horse's apoplexy. r= 3 3:) Think, that you are upon a
rock;} In this speech, or in the answer, there is little mcan-
iug. Perhaps, she would say, — ('onsider such another act
as equally fatal to me with precipitation from a rock, and
now let me see whether you will repeat it.= 34:)— a dul-
lard— ] In this place means a person stupidly unconcerned.
= 35:) Your pleasure was my mere offence, \ic.] My crime,
my punishment, and all the treason that 1 committed, ori-
ginated in, and were founded on, your caprice only. = 36:)
Thou werp'st, and speak'st.} 'Thy tears give testimony to
the sincerity of thy relation ; and 1 have the less reason to
be incredulous, because the actions which you have done
within my knowledge are mure incredible than the story
which you relate." The king reasons very justly. Joh>80n.
= 37:) — fierce abridgement — ] Fierce is vehement, rapid.

= 38:) which i| Distinction should be rich in.} i.e. wliich

ought to be rendered distinct by a liberal amplitude of nar-
rative. = 39:) And your three motives to the battle,} That
is, though strangely expressed, the motives of you three
lor engaging in the battle. ^=; 40:) — spritely shows — ] are
groups of sprites, ghostly appearances. t=4i:) Make no col-
Jection of it ;} A collection is a corollary, a consequeitue
deduced from premises. =

XXXII. TITUS ANDHONICUS.

sion through this piece. Malonb. = 5:) Nor we disturb''d
with prodigies on earth.} It was supposed by the ancients,
that the ghosts of unburied people apjieared to their friends
and relations, to solicit the rites of funeral. = 6:) Patient
yourself, &c.] Patient is here a verb. = 7:) "here in rest,"
— Maloke. = 8:) jind fame's eternal date, for virtue's
praise!} To outlive an eternal date is, though not philoso-
phical, yet poetical sense. He wishes that her life may be
lunger than his, and her praise longer than fame. Johnson.
= 9:) That hath aspired to Solon's happiness,} The maxim
of Solon here alluded to is, that no man can be pronounced
to be ha|^py before his death. =10:) — don this robe,} i. e.
do on this robe, put it on.:=ll:) In Mr. Steevens' edition,
15 vol. 1793, the following line occurs here, which is omitted
in the subsequent editions: "And led my country's .strength
successfully. = 12:) Titus, thou shall obtain and ask the
empery.} Here is rather too much of the vutiow iiQ(iti'Mv.^=
13:) Lav. Aot /, my lord;} It was pity to part a couple
who seem to have corresponded in dispo<>ition so exactly
asSaturninus andLavinia. Saturninus, who has just promised
to espouse her, already wishes he were to choo.^e again;
and she, who was engaged to Bassianus, (whom she after-
wards marries,) expresses no reluctance when her father
gives her to Saturninus. Her subsequent raillery to Tamora
is of so coarse a nature, that if her tongue had been all
she was condemned to lose, perhaps the author (w^hoever
he was) might have escaped censure on the score of poetic
justice. Steevens. = 14:) Mr. Malone omits of. = 15:) —
changing piece—] Spoken of Lavinia. Piece was then, as
it is now, used personally as a word of contempt. = 16:)
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.} A ruffler was a
kind of cheating bully; and is so called in a statute made
for the punishment of vagabonds in the 27th year of King
Henry Vlll. Hence, perhaps, this sense of the verb, to
ruffle. Itufflcrs are likewise enumerated among other va-
gabondsj by Holinshed, Vol.L p. 183. = 17:) / am not bid—]
1. e. invited. =- 18:) — play'd your prize;} A technical term
in the ancient fcucing-school. =

ACT I. =1:) — nil/ successive title—} i. e. my title to
the succession. = 2:) "chastis'd with his arms " — Mai.one.
= 3:) Thou great defender of this Capitol,} Jupiter, to
whom the Capitol was sacred. =4:) To hover on the dread-
ful shore of^Slifx!} Here we have one of the niiinerous
elas8ical notions' that are scattered with a pedantic profu-

ACT II. = 1:) "this nymph," — Malone. = 2:) Clubs,
clubs!} This was the usual outcry for assistance, when any
riot in the street happened, •= 3;) — to steal a shive,] A
slave is a slice. = 4:) "yet worn" —Mr. Malone omits yet,
and makes a dissyllable of ivorn. Mr. Steevens very pro-
perly says, "Let him who can read tcorn as a dissyllabic,
read it so." =6:) To square for this'f} To square is to
quarrel. = 6:) —by kind—] That is, by nature, which is
the old signification of kind. = 7:) — with her sacred wit,}
Sacred here signifies accursed; a Latinism.= 8:) — file our
engines with advice,} i.e. remove all impediments from our
designs by advice. The allusion is to the operation of the
file, which, by conferring smoothness, facilitates the motion
of the wheels which compose an engine or piece of machin-
ery. = 9:)— to inherit it.} To inherit formerly signified to
possess. = 10:) — /or their unrest,] Unrest, for disquiet, is
a word frequtntly used by the old writers. = 11:) That have
their alms, kc.} This is obscure. It seems to mean only
they who are to come at this gold of the empress are to

sutler by it. = 12:) as is a nurse's song || Of lullaby, to

bring her babe asleep.} Dr. Johnson, in his Diittioiiary, .>-ays,
"It is observable that the nurses call sleep 6^, by; lullaby
is therefore lull to sleep." But to lull originally signified
to sleep. To compose to sleep by a pleasing sound is a
secondary sense retained after its primitive import became
obsolete. The verbs to loll and lollop evidently spring
from the same root. And by meant house; go to by is to
go to house or cradle. The common compliment at parting,
good by is good house, may your house prosper; and Sel&y,
the archbishop of York's palace, is great house. So that
lullaby implies literally sleep in house, i. e. the cradle.
Hoi,T White. =: 13:) Should drive—] i. e. fly with impe-
tuosity at him. = 14:) — swarth Cimmerian — ] Swarth is
black. Tho Moor is called (Cimmerian, from the affinity of
blackness to darkness. = 15:) "but with" — Mai.one.= 16:)

— urchins,} i. e. hedgehogs. = 17:) Should straight fall
mad, or else die suddenly.} This is said in fabulous phy-
siology, of those that hear the groan of the mandrake torn
up. = 18:)y4nrf with that painted hope braves your mighti-
ness:} Painted hope is only specious hope, or ground of
confidence more plausible than solid. Johnson. = 19:) "ob-
ject hurt"— Mai.one. ==20:) "who it is;" — Malone. = 21:)
A precious ring,} There is supposed to be a gem called a
carbuncle, which emits not reflected but native light. Mr.
Boyle believes the reality of its existence. Johnson. =22:)

— timeless-} i. e. untimely. =: 23:) "scrowl." — Malonk.
= 24:) If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake
me!} If this be a dream, 1 would give all my possessions
to be delivered from it by waking. Johnson. = 25:) Mr. Ma-
lone omits i*itAo/.= 2&.)—Thracian poet's—} Orpheus. =

ACT III. =1:) "good tribunes,"— Malone. = 2:) "Why,
'tis no matter, man: or if they did mark, H They would not
pity me, yet plead I must, |( All bootless unto them. Ma-
lone. =3:) "aged" —Malone, in his last edition. =4:) her
true tears" — Malone. = 6:) — OS limbo is from Atiss.'J Ihe
Limbus patrum, as it was called, is a place that the school-
men supposed to be in the neighbourhood of hell, where the
souls of the patriarchs were detained, aod thoae good meu

I^.S.[Pl;33.]

NOTES.

1023

who died before our Sayioar's resurrection. Milton gives
the name of Limbo to hix Paradise of FooKs. Heed. = 6:)
— mciih'd upon her cheeks:'] A very coarse allusion to brew-
ing. =■ 7:) — by still practice,'] By constant or continual
practice. =8:) — a father and mothtrVj Mother perhaps
should be omitted, as the_ following line speaks only in the
singular iiumbL-r, and Titus most probably coulincs his
thoughts to the sufferings of a father. Stkevbns.^=: 9:) Jh,
sirrah!] This was formerly not a disrespectful expression.
Poins uses the same address to the prince of \Vales.=:

ACT IV. ^= 1:) — how she quotes the leaves.] To 7uofe
ia 10 ohserve. = 2:) Magnc Vominator poli, ke..] Magne
Hcgnator Deum, kc. is the exclamation of Hippolytuswlieu
I'lia-dra discovered the secret of her incestuous passiou in
Sincca's tragedy. Steevens. ^= 3:) And swear with me, —
as with the woful feere,] Feere signifies a companion, and
here metaphorically a husband.^ i:) And with a gad of steel— "]
A gad, from the t»aion, ^ab, i.e. the point of a spear, is
used here for some similar pointed instrument. = 5:) Gra-
mcrcy,] i.e. grand mercy; great fAanA-s. = 6:) Mr. Malone
omits one ot these outs. = 7:) Fll broach the tadpole— '\
A broach is a spit. I'll spit the tadpole. = 8:) — for this
foul escape.] This foul illegitimate child. r= 9:) — ignomy.]
i. e. ignominy. = XOi) — another leer:] Leer is complexion,
or hue. =_H:) Go pack with him,] Pack here seems to have
the meaning of make a bargain. Or it may mean, as in
the phrase of modern gamesters, to act collusively, or to
contrive insidiously. = 12:) "catch her" — Malone. =^ 13:)
Yet wrung with wrongs,] To wring a horse is to press or
strain his back. = 14:) — to wreak—] i. e. revenge. = 15:)
"loose you" — Malone. = 16:) "even with the law," —
Malone. = 17:) — imperious, like thy name.] Imperious was
formerly used for imperial. Malone. = 18:) — stint their
melody:] i. e. stop their melody. = 19:) — honey-stalks to
sheep;] Honey stalks are clover-flowers, which contain a
sweet juice. It is common for black cattle to overcharge
themselves with clover, and die, but uot for sheep. =:

ACT V. = 1:) — «catA,] i. e. harm. =: 2:) To gaze upon
a ruinous monastery ;] Shakspcare has so perpetually of-
fended against chronology in all his plays, that no very
conclusive argument can be deduced from the particular ab-
surdity of these anachronisms, relative to the authenticity
of Titus Andronicus. And yet the ruined monastery, the
popish tricks, kc. that Aaron talks of, and especiaUy the
French salutation from the mouth of Titus, are laltogether
so very much out of place, that I cannot persuade myself
even our hasty poet could have been guilty of their inser-
tion, or would have permitted them to remain, had he cor-
rected the performance for another. Stkbvens. r= 3:) This
is the pearl that pleased your empress' etje ;] Alluding to
the proverb, "A black man is a pearl in a fair woman's
eye.' = 4:) — luxurious woman r] i. e. lascivious woman. =
5:) As true a dog as ever fought at head.] An allusion to
bull-dogs, whose generosity and courage are always shown
by meeting the bull in front, and seizing his nose. = 6:) Bring
doim the devil;] It appears from these words, that the
audience were entertained with part of the apparatus of an
execution, and that Aaron was mounted on a ladder, as
ready to be turned off. Steevens. = 7:) "Are them thy,
ic." — Malone. = 8:) And of the paste a coffin—] A coffin
is the term of art for the cavity of a raised pye. = 9:) —
her owti increase.] i. e. her own produce.^ 10:) And ours,
with thine,] And our content runs parallel with thine, be
the consequence of our coming to Rome w hat it may. ^ 1 1:)
— break the parle;] That is, begin the parley. We yet say.
he breaks his mind. = 12:) — anrf basely cozen'd— ] i.e. and
he basely cozened. = 1 3:) — to «ee Aim fastened in the
earth.] That justice and cookery may go hand in hand to
the conclusion of this play, in Ilavenscroft's alteration of
it, Aaron is at once racked and roasted on the stage. =

XXXIII. PERICLES^ PRINCE OF TYRE.

ACT I. =^ 1:) Pentapolis.] This is an imaginary city,
and its name might have been borrowed from some romance.
V>e meet indeed in history with Pentapolitana regio, a
country in Africa, consisting of fire cities; and from thence
perhaps some novelist furnisheil the sounding title of Pen-
tapolis, which occurs likewise in the 37th chapter of Kyng
Appolyn of Tyre, 1510, as well as in Gower, the Gesta
Komanorum, and Twine's translation from it. It should
not, however be concealed, tUatPentapolis is also found in
an ancient map of the world, MS. in the Cotton Library,
British Museum, Tiberius, B. V. That the reader may
know through how many regions the scene of this drama
is dispersed; it is necessary to observe that Antioch was
the metropolis of Syria; Tyre, a city of Phcsnicia in Asia;
Tharsus, the metropolis of Cilicia, a country of Asia Mi-
nor; Mitylenc, the capital of Lesbos, an island in the
JKgian Sea; and Ephesus, the capital of Jonia, a country
of the Lesser Asia. Stekvkns.= 2:) "that old" — Malone.
= 3:) it hath been sung at festivals, II On ember eves, antl
holy-Ales;} i. e, say* Dr. Farmer, church-alet. = 4:) "The

purpose is to make men glorious ; !| Et bonum quo antiguiut,
kc. Malone. = 6.-) "This Antioch then, Antiochus the
great, |i Built up: This city, for hi* chiefest 8eat."_ Malonb.
= 6:) — unto him took a pheere,] This word, which is fre-
quently used by our old poets, signifies a mate or com-
E anion. = 7:) — full of face,] i. e. completely, exuberantly
eautiful. ^= 8:) "Und child, worse father, Jcc." — Malonb.
= 9:) — account no sin,] Account for accounted. — 10:) —
thither frame,] i. e. shape or direct their course thither. =
11:) .^» yon grim looks do testify.] Gower must be supposed
here to point to the heads of those unfortunate wights,
which, he tells us, in his poem, were fixed on the gate oi

the palace at Antioch. = 12:) and testy wrath || Could

never be her mild companion.] i. e. the companion of her
mildness. = \'6:) A countless glory,] i. e. her face, like the
firmament, invites yon to a blaze of beauties too numerous
to be counted. Mr. Malone reads "Acr countless glory."
= 14:) — all thy whole heap must .die.] i.e. thy whole mass
must be destroyed. 'I'here seems to have been an opposi-
tion intended. Thy whole heap, thy body, must suffer for
the offence of a part, thine eye. The word bulk, like heap,
in the present passage, was used for body by Shakspeare
and his contemporaries. = 15:) — like to them, to what I
must:] tliat is, — to prepare this body for that state to
which 1 must come. =16:) If'Ao know the world, see heaven,
but feeling woe, ^c] The meaning may be — / will act as
sick men do: who having had experience of the pleasures
of the world, and only a visionary and distant prospect
of heaven, have neglected the latter for the former; but
at length feeling themselves decaying, grasp no longer at
temporal pleasures, but prepare calmly for futurity. ^=11:)
"1 wait the sharpest blow, !| '■'■Ant. Scorning advice. — Read,''
kc. — Malone. = 18:) Sharp physic is tAe last:] i. e. the
intimation in the last line. = 19:) For he''s no man on whom
perfections wait,] means no inure than — Ae's iio honest
man, that knowing, &c. = 20:) — to make man — ] i. e. to
produce /or man, kc. = 21:) The breath is gone, and the
sore eyes see clear: '| To stop the air would hurt them.]
Pericles means, by this similitude, to show the danger of
revealing the crimes of princes; for as they feel themselves
hurt by the publication of their shame, they will, of course,
prevent a repetition of it, by destroying the person who
divulged it. = 22:) Copp'd hills — ] i. e. rising to a top or
head. Copped Mall, in Essex, was so named from the lofty
pavilion on the roof of the old house, which has been since
pulled down. The upper tire of masonry that covers a wall
is still called the copping or coping. Highcrowued hats
were anciently called cojiatain hats. Steevens. = 23:)
"throng'd" — Malone. = 24:) Your expression misinter-
preting,} Your expression of the riddle being a mistaken
one; not interpreting it rightly. =25:) Where — ] If here,
in this place, has the power of whereas. ^=i 6:) — Thaliard.]
This name is somewhat corrupted from ThaliarcA, i. e. Tha-
liarcAu«. =27:) "Let your," i:c. — Malone. = 28:) "Whjr
should this charge," ke. — Malone. = 2S:) — and cares tt
be not done.] And makes provision that it may uot be done.
= 30:) "Who wants no more," kc. — Malone. = 31:) To
which that breath—] i. e. the breath of flattery. = 32:)
ff'Acn signior Sooth—] A near kinsman of this gentleman
is mentioned in The If^inter's Tale: " — and his pond tish'd
by his next neighbour, by sir Smile, his neighbour." = 33:)
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!}
Heaven forbid, that kings should stop their ears, and so
prevent them from hearing their secret faults ! — To let
formerly signified to hinder. = 34:) "Are arms to princes,
and bring joys to subjects." Malone. = 35:) Seem'd not to
strike, but smooth :] To smooth formerly signified to flatter,
but in this place means to stroke. ^=ib:) — to grieve them.j
That is, to lament their fate. = 37:) But in our orbs— J
i.e. in our different spAere*. = 38:) — tAis truth shall ne'er
convince,] Overcome. = 39:) "the king's seas must please,"

— Malone ; who adds, "i. e. must do their pleasure, must
treat him as they will." = 40:) "unseen with mischieFs

[ eyes," — Malone. = 41:) "too sound" — Malone. = 42:)
I — so jetted — ] To jet is to strut, or walk proudly. = 43:)
"who not us'd to hunger's savour," — Malone. Mr. Stee-
vens has remarked that many of the various readings of
this play (and perhaps the same may be said of others)
are exchanges of one kind of nonsense for another. =: 44:)

— their power,] By power is meant /orcen. = 4 5:) Whereas
no glory's — ] Whereas, it has been already observed, was
ancientiv used for where. = 46:) TAom speak'st like him'a
untutor d to r^eat,] The sense is — Deluded by the paci-
fic appearance of this navy, you talk like one, who hat
never learned the common adage, "that the fairest outsidea
are most to be suspected." =4 7:) "But bring they what they
will, and what they can, what need we fear'?" — Maloke.
= 48:) — i/ Ae on peace consist;] If he stands on peace. =«

I ACT II. = 1:) "That will prove," &c.— Malonb. =2:)
ril show you those—] 1 will now exhibit to you persons.
Mho, after suffering small and temporary evils, will at
length be blessed with happiness. = 3:) TAe good in con-
versation—] Conversation is conduct, behaviour. Gower

: means to say — The good prince (on whom I bestow my
best wishes) is still engaged at Tharsus, where every man,
ke.-= 4:) Thinks all is writ he spoken can:] Pays as much
respect to whatever Pericles says, as if it were holy writ.

I ^5:) "to make it glorious:"— MAL0NE. = t:) —/ortA, &c.]

I i. e. thorougl}ly, from beginning to end. But Mr. Maloue

V.

1024

NOTES.

[Pl:33.] Tu.S.

reads, "for tlioiigli he strive," kc. = 7:) what shall be

next, II Furdon uld Gower ; this long's the text.] The iiieaii-
iiig ol' this may be — Excuse old Oower from telling you
what follows. The very text to it has proved of too con-
siderable length already. ^='6:) — with a uiiiiiiidii.J A phrusu
of which the jneaniiig is ubvioiis, lliough 1 cuiiuut explain
the vtord at the end of it. It is coiuuiun in many of onr
old plays. Stkevens. H^annion may be a curropUoii of
vengeance vthich is now in use on similar occasions. =&:)

— when 1 saw the porptis, how he bounced and tumbled/^
IVIalone considers this prognostic as arising merely troui
the superstition of the sailors: but captain Cook, in his se-
cond voyage to the South Seas, mentions the playing of
porpusses round tlie ship as a certain sign of a violent gale
of wind. = 10:) "throng d up," — Malonk. = 1 1:) For J am
a man,] For is because. Mr. Malone reads, "For that 1
am," i<c. = 12:)— flap-jacks ;] In some counties a flap -jack
signifies an apple-pulf; but anciently it seems to have meant
a pancake. = 13:) Some of these speeches are arranged in
prose by Mr. Malone. The ditl'erence is not worth pointing
out. = 14:) "Were my fortunes" — M alone. ;= 16:) "1 could
wi.-h" — Malone. = 1 6:) — bots o«'t,] The bots are the worms
that breed in horses. = 17:) ^/irf, though it was mine own,]
i.e. And 1 thank you, though it was my own.= 18:) — this
brace :)J The brace is the armour for the arm.^li*:) "'I'he
which the gods" — Mai.one. = 20:) "have given it again:"

— Malone. = 21:) "in his will." — MALO^E. = 22:) — A/«
biding—] i. e. holds its being, or place, there.= 2d:) — a
pair of bases.] liases appear to have betii a kind of loose
breeches; or, as Mr. Archdeacon iSares tliinks, a kind of
embroidered mantle vthich hung down from the middle
to about the knees or lower, and worn by knights on horse-
back. See his "Glossary," 4to. 18!,;2. =^ 2 4:) — i/ie triumph?]
A triumph, in the language of Shakspeare's time, signiiied
any public show, such as a mask, or revel, Ike. == 26:) He-
turn them, we are ready;] i.e. return them notice, that we
are ready, itc. = 2b:) "liiy royal father," — Malone. = 2 7:)
The word. Lux tua vita mihi.] What we now call the
motto, was sometimes termed the ivord or mot by our old
writers. Le mot, French. = 28:) — i-'tu per dulzura que per
fuerza.] That is, more by sweetness than by force. The
author should have written Mas per duUura, ^lC. Fih in
Italian, signilies more; but, 1 believe, there is no such
Spanish word. Malone. = 29:) "He seems to be a stranger ;
but his present II is a wither'd branch, that's only green at
top;" — Malone. = 30:) — t//e whipstock,] i.e. the carter's
whip. =: 31:) The outward habit by the inward man.] i. e.
that makes us scan the inward man by the outward habit.
'J'his kind of inversion was formerly very common. = 32:)
"Vou are princes and my guests." Malone. = 33:) These
cates resist me, she not thought upon.] i. e. go against my
stomach. Mr. Steeveus w ould read, however, — be not thought

upon. = 34:) and princes, not doing so, \\Are like to

gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd \\ Are wonder'd at.]
I. e. when they are i'ound to be such small insignilicant
animals, after making so great a noise. ==3 5:) Therefore to
make's entrance—] By his entrance, 1 believe, is meant his
present trance, the reverie in which he is supposed to be
sitting. Stekvens. Hut Mr. Malone arranges the words
thus: "Therefore to make his entrance more sweet, || Here
say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him." = 36:) —
this standing-bowl of wine to him.] A standing-bowl was a
bowl resting on a loot. = 3 7:) Even in your armours, as
you are address'd,] As you are accoutered, prepared for
combat. :=: 38:) So, this was well ask'd, Hwas so ivell per-
formed.] i. c. the excellence of this exhibition has justilied
the solicitation by which it was obtained. =39:) See, not
a man, !k.c.] To what this charge of partiality was designed
to conduct, we do not learn; lor it a|ipears to have no in-
fluence over the rest of the dialogue. = 40:) And be le-
aolv'd, he lives to govern us,] UesolvUl is satislied, free
from doubt. ^=41:) U'hose death's, indeed, the strongest in
our censure:] i. e. the most probable in our opinion. ^= 42:)
"the scat,"— Malone. = 43:) This by the eye of Cynthia
hath she vow'd,] It were to be wished that Simonides (who
is represented as a blameless character) had hit on some
more ingenuous expedient for the dismission of these wooers.
Here he tells them as a solemn truth, what he knows to be
a liction of his own. = 44:) — get you (o bed.] I cannot dis-
miss the foregoing scene, till 1 ha\ e expressed the most
supreme contempt of it. Such another gross, nonsensical
dialogue, would be sought for iu vain among the earliest
and rudest elforts of the liritish theatre. 11 is impossible
not to wish that the knights had horsewhipped Simonides,
and that i'eric/cs had kicked him oil the stage. Stegven8.=

ACT III. = 1:) If^ith your fine fancies quaintly eche ;]
i. e. eke out, :=2:)_ — the Lords kneel to the former.] The
Lords kneel to Pericles, because they are now, for the first
time, informed by this letter that he is king of Tyre, lly
the death of Antiochus and his daughter, Pericles has also
succeeded to the throne of Antioch, in consequence of hav-
ing rightly interpreted the riddle proposed to hiiii. = 3:)/<t/
many a dearii and painful perch, Kc] Dearn signilies lonely,
solitary. A perch is a measure of live yards and a half.
= 4:) By the four opposing coignes,] By the four opposite
corner-stones that unite and bind together the great fabric
of the_ world. = 6:) Con stead the quest.] i. e. helji, befriend,
«tr assist the search. = 6:) "t'oppress;" — Malone. = 7:)
"Come uot home in twice six luoons, |{ He obedient to their

L

j dooms," — Malone. = 8:) half the flood Jl Hath their

keel cut;] They have made half their voyage with a fa-
I vourable wind. = 9:) — well-a-near !] This exclamation is
I equivalent to well-u-day, and is still used in Yorkshire. =:
! 10:) J nill relate,] 'Ihe further coli^el|uences of this storm
; 1 siiall not describe. = 11:) ff'hich might not what by me
is told] i. e. which might not conveniently convey what
by me is told, \lc. What ensues may coiiveiiiently be ex-
hibited in action; but action could not well have displayed
all the events that 1 have now related. = 12:) In your im-
agination hold Jl This stage, the ship, upon whose deck || The
sea-tost. Ate] It is clear iroin these lines, that when the
play was originally performed, no attempt was made to ex-
hibit either a sea or a ship. The ensuing scene and some
others must have sufl'ercu considerably in the representa-
tion, from the poverty of the stage apparatus in the time
of our author. For prince Mr. Malone reads Fericles, a

trisyllable which the metre does not admit. :^ 13:) who,

if it had j| Conceit,] If it had thought. = 14:) Vie honour
with j/ourselves.] The meaning is, In this particular you
might learn from us a more honourable conduct. But iVlr.
Malone reads, "I'se honour with you." = 16:) Quiet and
gentle thy conditions !] Conditions ancient'y meant quali-
ties; dispositions of mind. = 16:) — as chiding a nativittj,]
i.e. as noisy a one. = 17:) Thy loss is more than can thy
portage quit,] i. e. thou hast already lost more (by the
death of thy mother) than thy safe arrival at the port of
life can counterbalance, with all to boot that we can give
thee. = 18:) — V do not fear the flaw;] i. e. the blast. = 19:)
Slack the bolins there;] Bowlines are ropes by which the
sails of a ship are governed when the wind is unfavourable.
They are slackened when it is liigii. =20:) And aye-remain-
ing lamps, &C.J Instead of a monument erected above thy
bones, an» perpetual lamps to burn near them, the spout-
ing-whale shall oppress thee with his weight, and the mast
of waters shall roll ivith low heavy murmur over thy head.
= 21:) The very |iriiicipals did seem to rend, \\ And all to
topple;] The principals are the strongest rafters in the
roof of a building. I'he word topple means tumble. =22:)
'Tis not our husbandry.] Husbandry hmc signifies economi-
cal prudence. = 23:) f irtue and cunning — ] Cunning means
here knowledge. =^2^:) To please the lool and death.] Mr.
Malone says, that the Fool and Death were principal per-
sonages in the old moralities; but Mr. Steeveus thinks this
more than doubtful, yet allows that they occurred in dances.
= 26:) In Mr. Malone's lirst edition this passage stands
thus: Cer. "Set it down; let us || Look upon it." In his se-
cond edition: Cer. "!»'et it down; let's look on it." =^26:)
— mundane — ] i e. worldly. = 27:) "Fear-not, my lord, but
think 11 Vuur grace," A:c. — Mai.one. = 28:) "teach me to
it," — Malone. = 29:) — mask'd Neptune,] i. e. insidious
waves that wear a treacherous smile. = '6Q:) Where you
may 'bide until your date expire.] Lutil you die. =

ACT IV. = 1:) "Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre, |)
VVelcom'd and settled to his own desire. || His woful queen
leave at Ephesus. || Unto Diana there a votaress." Malone.
= 2:) tVhich makes her both the heart and place \\ Of ge-
neral wonder.] Such an education as rendered her the center

and situation of general woiider. = 3:) oft the wrack '^

Of earned praise,] Praise that has been well deserved. =
4:) Ue't when she weav'd the sleided silk—] Sleided silk is
untwisted silk, prepared to be used in the weaver's »/ey or
slay. = 6:) That still records with motin ;] To record an-
ciently signified to sing. = 6:) Vail to her mistress Jiian ;]
To vail is to bow, to do homage. = 7:) lyith absolute Ma-
rina:] i.e. highly accomplished, perfect. = 8:) TAe pregnant
instrument of wrath—] Pregnant, in this instance, means
prepared, instructed; or perhaps, rearfj/. = 9:) Prest /or
this blow.] Frest is ready; pret, Fr. = 10:) "shall as a
carpet," — Malone.= 1 1:) Whirring me from my friends.]
Whirring or whirrying had formerly the same meaning. A
bird that flies w ith a quick motion, accompanied with noise,
is said to whirr away. = 12:) —your favour's changed—^
i. e. countenance, look. = 13:) — ere the sea mar it, Jtc.J
i. e. ere the sea mar your w alk upon the shore by the com-
ing in of the tide, walk there with Leonine. We see plainly
by the circumstance of the pirates, that Marina, when seized
upon, was walking ou the sea-shore; and Shakspeare was
not likely to reflect that there is little or no tide in the
Mediterranean. Charlemont. = 14:) "And it pierces and
sharpens the stomach." Malone. = 15:) With more than
foreign heart.] With the same warmth of ali'ection as if I
was his countrywoman. = 16:) Our paragon to all reports,]
Our fair charge, whose Leaiity was once equal to all that
fame said of it. = 17:) Washed off a canvas-climber:] A
canvoM-climber is one who climbs the mast, to furl, or un-
furl, the canvas or sails. Mr. Malone concludes Marina's
speech at "deck," and places the rest of it at the end of
Marina's next speech. = 18:) Mr. Malone omits speedily. =
IP:) "roguing thieves" — Malone. = 20:) Therefore let's
have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for them. If there be
not a conscience to be us'd in every trade, we shall never
prosper.] The sentiments incident to vicious professions
suffer little change within a century and a half. = 21:) —
the Commodity wages not with the danger;] i. e. is not
equal to it. = 22:) — / have gone thorough — J i. e. 1 have
bid a high price for her, gone far in my attempt to pur-
chase her. =: 2 3:) — that she mail not be raw in her enter-
tainment.] Luripe, unskilful. = 24:) "For to seek," kc. —

7//. S.[Pl:34.]

NOTES.

1025

Malone.=25:) — tAot cowers fthe hams?'i To cower is to
tiiiik b^ beiiiling the liaiiisf. = 26:) — he offered to cut a ca-
per at the proctaiiiation ; but he made a groan at it, and
swore he would see her to morrow.] 11' there were no other
proof of IShiik^ipeare's haiiil in this piece, this adiiiirable
8troke of humour woulU furnish liccisive eviilence of it.
Malonk. = 21:) — we should lodge them with this sign.} If
a traveller from every part of tuc globe were to assemble
iu Mityleue, they would all resort to this house, while we
had such a sign lo it as this virgin. = 28:) — a mere profit.}
i.e. an absolute, a certain profit. =29:) — thunder shall not
so awake the beds of eels,] I'hunder is uot supposed to have
an ell'ect on tish in general, but ou eels only, which are
roused by it from the mud, and are therefore more easily
taken. =30:) becoming- well thy feat:] Feat, i. e. of a piece
with the rest of thy exploit. = 31:) "at night;" — JMai.onb.
= 32:) L'nless you play the impious innocent,] She calls
him, an impious simpleton, because such a discovery would
touch the life of one of his own family, his wife. An in-
nocent was formerly a common appellation for au idiot. =

33:) "coward a spirit." Malone. =3*:) a uialkin, \\ Not

worth the time of day.] A malkin is a coarse wench. Not
worth the time of day, is, not worth a good day, or good
morrow; undeserving lue most common and usual salutation.
= 35:) it greets ine,J Perhaps it greets me, may uieau, it
pleases me, c'est ii mou gre. If greet be used in its ordin-
ary sense of saluting or meeting with congratulation, it is
surely a very harsh phrase. =3o:) "doih with thine an-
gel's face II Seize with thine eagle's talons." Malonb. = 3 7:)
Alaking, (to take your imagination,) \\ From bourn to bount,]
Making, ice. is travelling (with the hope of engaging your
attention) from one division or boundary of the world to
another; i.e. we hope lo interest you by the variety of our
scene, and the ditferent countries through which Me pursue
our story. = 38:) — for true old woe;] i. e. for such tears
as were shed when, the world being in its infancy, dissi-
mulation was unknown. All poetical writers are willing to
persuade themselves that sincerity expired with the tirst ages.
= 39:) ^ tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,] What is
here called his mortal vessel, (i. e. his body,) is styled by
Cleopatra her mortal house. ^^iO:) — Now please you wit — J
Now be pleased to A'no(o.= 4l:) — {and swears she'll never
stint.)] She'll never cease. = 42:) "while our scene must
play — Malonk. = 43:) Note, the gods to-hless your ho-
nour.'] This use of to in composition with verbs (as Mr.
Tyrwhitl remarks) is very common in Gower and Chaucer.
= 44:) tFere you a gamester, ^c] A gamester was formerly
used to signity a wanton. ^ 45:) — Some more; — be sage.]
Lysimachus says this with a sneer. — Proceed with your
fine moral discourse. = 46:) — under the cope,] i. e. un-
der the cope or covering of heaven. = 47:) — my dish of
chastity with rosemary and bays !] Anciently many dishes
were served up with this garniture, during the season of
Christmas. The bawd means to call her a piece of ostenta-
tious virtue. = 48:) to every coystrel || That hither

comes enquiring for his lib ;] To every mean or drunken
fellow that comes to enquire for a girl. Coystrel is pro-
perly a wine-vessel. Tib is a contraction of Tabitha, pro-
bably it was formi;rly a cant name for a strumpet. = 49:)
jis hath been belch'd ou by infected lungs.] Marina, who is
designed for a character of juvenile innocence, appears
much too knowing in the impurities of a brothel; nor are
her expressions more chastised than her ideas. Stkevens.
= 50:) "For that which thou professest, a baboon, could he
speak, II Would own a name too dear. That the gods |{ Would
safely i'rom this place deliver me," ice. MalokiE. =

ACT V. =1:) — and with her neeld composes—] Neeld
for needle. = 2:) Her inkle,] Inkle, anciently signilied a
particular kind of crewel or worsted with which ladies
worked flowers, iV;c. =3:) In your supposing once more put
your sight;] Unce more put your sigut unaer the guidance
of your imagination. = 4:) /f here, what is done in action,
more, if might,] IFhere all that may be displayed in action,
shall be exhibited; and more should be shown, if our
stage would permit. The poet seems to be aware of the
ditliculty of representing the ensuing scene. = 5:) But to
prorogue his grief.] To lengthen or prolong his grief. = 6:)
— one mortal night,] Mortal is here used for pernicious,
destructive. = 7:) — through his deafeii'd parts,] i. e. his
ears. = 8:) "She is all happy as the fairest of all, |1 And,
with her fellow maids, is now upon || The leafy shelter," —
Malone. = 9:) — J^xit Lord, in the Barge of Lysimacbus.]
It may seem strange that a fable should have been chosen
to form a drama upon, in whiph the greater part of the
business of the last act should be transacted at sea: and
wherein it should even be necessary to produce two vessels
on the scene at the same time. But the customs and exhi-
bitions of the modern stage give this objection to the play
before us a greater weight than it really has. it appears,
that, when Peric/e* was originally performed, the theatres
were furnished with no such apparatus as by any stretch
of the imagination could be supposed to present either a
sea, or a ship; and that the audience were contented to be-
hold vessels sailing in and out of port, in their mind's eye
only. This licence being once granted to the pott, the lord,
in the instance now before us, walked otf the stage, and
returned again in a few minutes, leading in Marina, with-
out any sensible im^>ropriety ; and the present drama, exhi-
bited before such ludulgeut spectators, was uot more in-

commodious in the repre.ientation than any other would
have been. Maloisk. == 10:) Is't not a goodly presence'^] Is
she not beautiful in her form '^ = 11:) '"prosperous and arti-
licial feat"— Malone. = 12:) "like a comet :" — Malone.
= 13:) — and aukward casualties—] Aukward is adverse.
:^=l'i:) You make more rich to owe^] To owe iu ancient
language is to possess. Tlie meaning of the compliment is:
Tliese endowments, however valuable in themselves, are
heightened by being in your possession. They acquire ad-
ditional grace from their owner. Steevens. = lb:) a

palace || For the crown'd frutA to dwell in:] it is observable
that our poet, when he means to represent any quality of
the mind as eminently j)erfect, furnishes the imaginary being

whom he personilies with a crown. r= 16:)- and smiling

II Extremity out of act.] Uy her beauty and patient meek-
ness disarming Calamity, and preventing her from using
her uplifted sword. = 17:) No motion'] i. e. no puppet
dress'd up to deceive me. = 18:) / will believe you by the
syllable, iic] i. e. 1 will believe every word you say. =
li:) 'drawn to do't," — Malone. = 20:) Though doubts did
ever sleep.] i. e. though nothing ever happened to awake a

scruple or doubt concerning your veracity. ^=21:) "tell

me now || My drowned quieirs name (as in the rest you
said II Thou jiast been godlike perfect,) the heir of king-
doms, II And a mother like to Pericles thy father." Mai.one.
= 22:) And give them repetition to the life.] i. e. llepeat
your misfortunes so feelingly and so exactly, that the lan-
guage of your narration may imitate to the life the trans-
actions you relate. = 23:) — goddess argentine,] That is,
regent of the«j7i;er moon. = 2 a:)— blown saiVs ;] i. e. swollen.
= 25:) "then dumb." MAi.o>E.^=2b:) Till he had done hia
sacrijice,] That is, till Pericles had done his sacrllice. =:
27:) The interim, pray t/ou, all confound.] To confound here
signities to consume. = 28:) That he can hither come so
soon, \\ Is by your fancy s thankful boon.] Thankful boon
may signify — the licence you grant us in return for the
pleasure we have afforded you in the course of the play ;
or, tAe boon for which we thank you. But Mr. Malone reads

"thankful doom." =29:) u'Ao, 0 goddess, ]| IVears yet

thy silver livery.] i. e. her white robe of innocence, as being
yet under the protection of the goddess of chastity. = 30:)
— to my sense — ] Sense is here used for sensual passion.

= 31:) supposed dead, ^\And drown'd.] Drown'd, in this

instance, does not signify sutl'ocatcd by water, but over-
whelmed in it. =32:) — tAe fair-betrothed—] i. e. fairly
contracted, honourably afliauced. = 33:) In Antioch,] i. e.
Antiochus. =

XXXIV. KING LEAR.

ACT I. = 1:) — in tAe division of the kingdom,] There
is something of obscurity or inaccuracy in this preparatory
scene. The king has already divided uis kingdom, and yet
when he enters he examines his daughters, to discover in
what proportions he should divide it. Perhaps Kent and
Gloster only were privy to his design, which he still kept
iu his owu hands, to be changed or performed as subse-
quent reasons sliould determine him. Johnson. =: 2:) — tAat
curiosity in neither — ] Curiosity is scrupulousness, or cap-
tiuusness. = 3:) — of cither's moiety.] i'he strict sense of
the word moiety is half, one of two equal parts: but Shak-
speare commonly uses it for any part or division. = 4:) —
being so proper.] i. e. handsome. = 6:) — some year elder
than this,] i. e. about a year. = 6:) — express our darker
purpose.] That is, we have already made known in some
measure our desire of parting the kingdom; we will now
discover what has uot been told before, the reasons by
which we shall regulate the partition. Ihis interpretation
will justify or palliate the exordial dialogue. Johnson. =
7:) — ond 'tis our fast intent—] Our determined resolution.
= 8:) — constant will —] Constant is Jirm, determined. Con-
stant will is the certa voluntas of \irgil.= 9:) Beyond all
manner of so much — ] Beyond all assignable quantity. 1
love you beyond limits, and cannot say it is so much, for
how much soever I should name, it would be yet more. =
10:) — that 1 profess. Ace] In that, i.e. inasmuch as, 1 pro-
fess myself, ic.t=li:) tf'hich the most precious square of
sense possesses ;] Perhaps square means only compass, com-
prehension; or, the full complement of all the senses. =
l2:)A^o less in space, validity,] Validity, tot f^orth, value;
not for integrity, or good title. = 1 3:) Strive to be in-
teress'd;] To interest and to intercsse, are not, perhaps,
different spellings of the same verb, but are two distinct
words though ot the same import; tiie one being derived
from the Latin, the other from the French interesser. ^=
14:) "will come" — Malone. = 15:) —g:c/jeration—] i. e. his
children. = 16:) — of/ tAe additions to a At'n^ ;] All the titles
belonging to a king. =: 17:) — execution of the rest,] All
the other business. = 18:) Reverbs—] This is, perhaps, a
word of the poet's own making, meaning the same as rc-
Dcrftei-ate*. = 1 9:) TAe true blank of thine eye.] The blank
is the u>Atte or exact mark at which th* arrow is shot See
better, says Kent, and keep me always in your view. r=
20:) (IVhich nor our nature nor our place can bear,) \\ Our
potency made good,] i. c. They to whom I have yielded my
power and authority, yielding me the ability to dispense
it in this instance, take thy reward. = 21:) — by Jupiter,]
Shakspeare makes his Leai too much a mythulogist: he

65

1026

NOTES.

[Pl:34.] Th.S.

had Hecate and Apollo before. Johnson. = 2 2:) He'll shape
hit old course — ] He will follow; his old maxiins; lie will
coiitluiie to act iipoo the same |>riiiciple!i. = 2 3:) — quest «/
love'/] Quest of love is amorous expedition. The term ori-
giunted from lloinaiice. A quest was the expedition iu
which a knight was engaged. -^=24:) — seeming — ] is beauty-
ful, or rather, specious. = 25:) — owe.-',] i. e. is possessed
of. = 2 6:) Election makes not up on such conditions.] Elec-
tion comes not to a decision ; in the same sense as when
we say, "I have made up my mind on that subject." =

27:) or your /ore-vouch'd alfection || T'laW into taint:]

Either her otfence must be monstrous, or, if she has not
committed any such otfence, the affection which you always
professed to have for her must be tainted and decayed,
and is now without reason alienated from her. = 28:) (//
for 1 want, Ike] If this be my otfence, that i want the
glib and oily art, &c. = 2i':) "It is no more but this"^" —
Mai.oku. -:= 30:) — with respects,] i. e. with cautious and
prudential considerations. =31:) — from the entire point.]
Single, unmixed with other considerations. = 3 2:) Thoulosest
here,] Here and where have the power of nouns. Thou
losest this residence to tind a better residence in another
place. =33:) — plaited cunning — ] i. e. complicated, involved,
cunning. = 34:) — of long-engrafted condition,] i. c. of
qualities of mind, confirmed by long habit. ^= 36:) — let us
hit — ] i. e. let us agree. ■= 3b:) — Vthe heat.] i. e. we must
strike while the iron's hot. =3 7:) Thuu, nature, art my
goddess;] Edmund calls nature his goddess, for the^same
reason that we call a bastard a natural son; one, who ac-
cording to the law of nature, is the child of his father, but
according to those of civil society, is nullius filius. = 38:)
Stand in the plague of custom ;J Wherefore should I ac-
quiesce, submit tamely to the plagues and injustice of cus-
tom'? =3 9:) The curiosity of nations—] i. c. the idle, nice
distinctions of the world. = 40:) — to deprive me,] To de-
prive was, in our author's time, synonymous to disinherit.
= 41:) — subscrib'd his power.'] To subscribe iu Shakspearc,
is to yield or surrender. =i2:) — exhibition!] is allowance.
The term is yet used in the universities. = 43:) — ^11 this
done II l/pon the gad!] i.e. is done suddenly, or, as before,
while the iron is hot. A gad is an iron bar. = 44:) — idle
and fond—} Weak aud foolish. = 45:)— where, if you—]
Inhere, for tc/jereas. = 4 6:) — f o your honour,] It has been
already observed that this was the usual mode of address
to a lord in Shakspeare's time. = 4 7:) — pretence — ] J^re-
tence is design, purpose. = 48:) — I would unstate myself,
to he in a due resolution.] i. e. he would give all he pos-
sessed to be certain of the truth; for that is the meaning
of the words to be in a due resolution. = ^9i) — convey the
business — ] To convey is to carry through; in this place it
is to manage artfully: we say of a juggler, that he ha8_ a
clean conveyance. = 5(h) -■- the wisdom of nature — ] that is,
though natural philosophy can give account of eclipses, yet
we leel their consequences. = 51;) — and treachers,] for
treacherous. ■= 52:) — 0, these eclipses do portend these
divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.] Tlie commentators, not being
musicians, have regarded this passage perhaps as unintel-
ligible nonsense, and therefore left it as they found it,
without bestowing a single conjecture on its meaning and
import. Shakspeare however shows by the context that he
was well acquainted with the property of these syllables
in solmization, which imply a series of sounds so unnatural,
that ancient musicians prohibited their use. The monkish
writers on music say, //li contra fa est diabolus: the in-
terval fa mi, including a tritonus, or sharp 4th, consisting
of three tones, without the intervention of a semi-toue, ex-
pressed in the modern scale by the letters FGAH, would
form a musical phrase extremely disagreeable to the ear.
Edmund, speaking of eclipses as portL-nls aiid prodigies,
compares the dislocation of events, the times being out of
joint, to the unuatural and otfensive sounds, fa, sol, la, mi.
Dr. Uurkkv. = 53:) Old fools are babes again; and must
be us'd II fFitft checks, as flatteries, — tvhen they are seen
abused.] i.e. when old fools will not yield to the appliances
of persuasion, harsh treatment must be employed to compel
their submission. When flatteries are seen to be abus'd by
them, checks must be used, as the only means left to sub-
due them. = 54:) That can my speech dilfuse,] To diffuse
speech, signifies to disorder it, and so to disguise it. = 55:)
— to converse with_ him that is wise, and says little;] To
converse signifies immediately and properly to keep com-
pany, not to discourse or talk. ^=56:) — and to eat no fish.]
In queen Elizabeth's lime the Papists were esteemed, and
with good reason, enemies to the government. Hence the
proverbial phrase of, y/e'« an honest man, and eats no fish;
to signify he's a friend to the government and a Protestant.
= 57:) — jealous curiosity,] Jfunctilious Jealousy. =58:) —
a very pretence — ] Pretence in 8liakspeare generally sig-
nifies design. ^= 5f-;) Since my young lady's going into
Prance, sir, the fool hath much pined away.] This is au
endearing circumstance in the fool's character, and creates
such an interest in his favour, as his wit alone might have
failed to procure for him. JStekvkns. = 60:) — all my liv-
ing,] Living in Shakspeare's time signified estate, or pro-
Eerty. = bl:) ^ Lady, the brach,] Brach is a bitch of^ the
unting kind. ^==62:) Lend less than thou owest,] That is,
do not tend all that thou hast. To owe, iu old English, is
to possess. ^=63:) Learn more than thou trowesi,] To trow,
is an old word which signifies to believe. ^= 04:) — if 1 had
a monopoly out, they would have part on't:] A satire ou
the gross abuses of monopolies at that time; aud the cor-

ruption and avarice of the courtiers, who commonly went
shares with the patentee. ^=^6 5:) T^oo/s had ne'er less grace
in a year;] There never was a time when fools were less
in favour; and the reason is, that they were never so
little wanted, for wise men now supply their place. S>uch
1 think is the meaning. Johnson. = tit:)— that frontlet— ]
A frontlet was a forehead-cloth, used formerly by ladies at
night to render that part smooth. Lear, I suppose, means
to say, that Goueril's brow was as completely covered by
a frown, as it would be by a frontlet. Mai.one. = 67:)
That's a sheal'd peascod.] i. c. now a mere husk, which
contains nothing. The outside of a king reniains, but all
the intrinsic parts of royalty are gone: he has nothing to
give. = ti8:) —put it on—] i. e. promote, push it forward.
= 69:) Jiy your allowance;] By jour approbation. =70:)
— were left darkling.] Shakspcare's fools are certainly co-
pied Irom the life. The originals whom he copied were
no doubt mcu of quick parts; lively and sarcastic. Though
they were licensed to say any ihiu'g, it was still ucce.isary
to prevent giving offence, that every thing they said should
have a playful air; we may suppose therefore that they
had a custom of taking off the edge of too sharp a speech
by covering it hastily with the end of au old song, or any
glib nonsense that came into the mind. 1 know no other
way of accounting for the incoherent words with whieh
Shakspeare often finishes this fool's speeches. Sir Joshua
Rkvnolds. = 71:)— /or by the marks of sovereignty, know-
ledge and reason, kc] Were 1 to judge from the marks
of sovereignty, of knowledge, or reason, I should be in-
duced to think I had daughters, yet that must be a false
persuasion; — It cannot be. = 72:) Which they will make
an obedient father.] ff^hich, is on this occasion used with
two deviations from present language. It is referred, con-
trary to the rules of grammarians, to the pronoun I, and
is employed, according to a mode now obsolete, for whom,
the accusative case of ivho. = 73:) — o'the favour—] i. e.
of the complexion. =74:)— stt7/ depend,] Depend, for con-
tinue iu service. = 7 5:) Than the sea-monster !] Mr. Upton
observes, that the sea-mouster is the hippopotamus, the
hieroglyphical symbol of impiety and ingratitude. = 76:) —
like an engine,] Hy an engine is meant the rack. ^=11:) —
from her derogate body —] Derogate for degraded, blasted.
= 78:) — cadenl tears—] i.e. falling tears. = 79:) I'urn all
her mother's pains, and bcuelits,] Her maternal cares and
good offices. =.80:) The unteuted woundings —] llntented
wounds, means wounds iu their worst state, not having a
tent in them to digest them: and may possibly signify here
such as will not admit of having a tent put luto them for
that purpose. =81:) ^( point,] Completely armed, and con-
sequently ready at appointment or command on the slightest
notice. = 8 2:) "trust too far :" — Malone. =8 3:) — compact
it more.] IJuite one circumstance with another, so as to
make a consistent account. = 84:) — 7«ore attask'd— ] To be
at task, is to be liable to reprehension and correction. =
85:) — there before you.] He means the town of Gloster. =
86:) — thy other daughter will use thee kindly:] The fool
uses the word kindly here in two senses: it means affec-
tionately, and like the rest of her kind. = 87;) 1 did her
wrong:] He is musing on (Cordelia. = 8 8:) To take it again
perforce!] The subject of Lear's meditation is the resump-
tion of that moiety of the kingdom which he had given to
Goneril. =

ACT II. =1:) — queazy question,] Queaxy, means deli-
cate, unsettled, what requires to be handled nicely. = 2:)
Advise yourself.] i. e. consider, recollect yourself. = 3:) —
gasted — ] Frighted. = 4:) — arcA— ] i.e. chief; a word now
used only iu c<imposition, as arch angel, arch duke. ^= 5:)
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech — ] Pight
is pitched, fixed, settled. Curst is severe, harsh, velie-
mently angry. =6:) My very character,)] i.e. my very hand-
writing. =7:) — — of my land, || To make thee capable.}

i.e. cai)able of succeeding to my land. = 8:) He did bewray
his practice;] i. c. discover, betray. Practice is always
Used by Shakspeare ior insidious miscJiief. =9:) — of some
poize,] i. e. of some weight or moment. = 10:) — from our
home ;] Not at home, elsew here. := 11:) — action-taking
knave ;] i. e. a fellow, who, if you beat him, would bring
an action for the assault. = 12:) — addition.] i. e. titles.
These titles were probably familiar in Shakspeare's time
among the lower classes, although their meaning be now
lost. The conjectures of the aunotators have been but idly
employed on ihem. = 13:) — vanity the puppet's part,] Al-
luding to the old moralities, in which vanity, iniquity, and
other vices, were persoiiilicd.=: 14:) — neat slave,] You fini-
cal rascal. = 15:) —tAts unbolted villain — ] Unbolted mor-
tar is mortar made of unsifted time, and therefore to break
the lumps it is necessary to tread it by men in wooden shoes.
This unbolted villain is therefore this coarse rascal. =
16:) yf'hich arc too iutrinse — ] for intrinsccate. = 17:) —
and turn their halcyon beaks, Jtc] The halcyon is the bird
otherwise called the kingfisher. The vulgar opinion was.
that this bird, if hung up, would vary with the wind, and
by that means show from what point it blew. = 18:) — epi-
leptic visage!] The frighted countenance of a man ready
to fall in a fit. = 1 i?:) — Cam*/ot.] Was the place where the
romances say king Arthur kept his court in the West; so
this alludes to some proverbial speech in those romances.

= 2 0:) — likes me 7iot.] i. e. pleases me not. = 21:)

constrains the garb, || Quite Jfrom his nature:] Forces his

V.

Tz/.S. [Pl:34.]

x\ O T E S.

1027

muUide or his appearance to something totally different \
from biii natural dii^position. ^^22:) On dickering Phcebus^ |
/ront.] To flicker is Ut flutter; liku the motion of aflame, j
= 2 3:) — though I should irin your dinpleature to entreat ,
me to itA Though I should win you, (lii-pluased as you now i
are, to like me fo Mell as to entreat me to be a knave. '
JoBNsojj. =24:) "I never gave him an^:" — Malo>e. = 26:)

— flethment — ] A young soldier is said to flesh his sword,
the lirst time he draws blood with it. Flethment, there-
fore, is here metaphorically applied to the first act of ser-
vice, which Kent, iu his new capacity, had performed for his
master. ^= 2&.) "Here again." — Malosk. = 2 7:) But Ajax
it their fool.] i. e. is a fool to them. r= 28:) It should be
remembered, that formerly in great houses, as still in some
colleges, tiiere were moveable stockt fur the correction of
the servants. Fahxkk. = 2^:) 6rood king, that mutt ap-
prove the common saw ! ^c] 'I'he taw alluded to, is in Hey-
wood'a JJialoguet on Proverbs, '4n your running from him
to me, ye runne [^'Out of Goat bletsing into the warme |
tunne." = 30:) — elf all my hair in knots;] Hair thus j
knotted, was vulgarly supposed to he the work of elvet and |
fairies in the uight. = 31:) Of Bedlam beggars,] These were |
a species of beggars, such as had been in Bedlam, and '.
when partly recovered and allowed to go out, were licensed j
to beg. Edgar borrows his dress from them, and the phrases i
oi Fuor Tom, Foor Tom is a-cold.^32:) — wooden pricks,] \
i. e. skewers. = 33:) foor pelting villages,] Beggarly or
petty. = 34:) — lunatic bans,] To ban, is to curse. = 36:) —
Foor TurlygoodI poor Tom!] For Turlupin. In the four-
teenth century there was a new species nf gipsies, called
Turlupins, a fraternity of naked beggars, which ran up
and down Europe. = 6d:) — he wears cruel garters!] Pro-
bably a quibble was here intended. Crewel signifies worsted,
of which stockings, garttTs, night-caps, \:c. are made. -=
SI:) — wooden uether-stocks.J yether-stockt is the old word
lor ttockingt. Breechet were at that time called "men's
oi7eriroc/re»." ^ 38:) To do upon respect tuch violent out-
rage:] To be so grottty deficient in re»pect. = 3!-:) — spite
of intermission,] i. e. without pause, without suffering time
to intervene. ^^iO:) They tummon'd up their meiny,] Me.iny,
i.e. people; from metne, a house. Mesnie, a family, Fr.
= 41:) — dolours— i Quibble between dolourt and dollart.
= 42:) O, bow this mother, K.C.] Lear here atfects to pass
oif the swelling of his heart, ready to burst with grief and
indignation, for the disease called the Mother, or Hysterica
pastio, which, iu our author's time, was not thought peculiar
to women only. = 43:) — this remotion — ] From their own
bouse to that of the earl of Gloster. = 44:) It practice
only.] Practice is, in Shakspeare, and other old writers,
used commonly in an ill sense for unlawful artifice. ^=ib:)

— i'lhe paste — ] The paste, or crust of a pie, in Shak-
speare's time, was called a co//<n. = 46:) — scant Aer duty.]
i. e. be delicient in her duty, but the expression is inac-
curate. = 47:) — the house'f] The order of families, duties
of relation. =: 48:) Age is unnecessary:] i. e. old age has
few A^ants, or it may mean that old people are useless. =
49:) "mood is on." — iMalo>e. = 50:) Thy tender-hefied
nature — ] Hefted seems to mean the game as heaved. Ten-
der-hefted, i. e. whose bosom is agitated by tender passions.
= 51:) — to scant my sizes,] To contract my allowances or

Proportions settled. Sizes are certain portions of bread,
eer, or other victuals, which in public societies are set
down to the account of particular persons: a word still
used in colleges.^ 32:) Allow obedience,] Allow sometimes
siguities approve. = 53:) — that indiscretion linds,] Or
thinks. = 54:) — less advancement] A still worse or more
disgraceful situation.^ 56:) — being weak, seem «o.J Since
you are weak, he content to think yourself weak.= 66:) —
and sumpter — ] Sumpter is a horse that carries necessaries
on a journey, though sometimes used for the case to carry
them in. = 67:) — embossed carbuncle,] Embossed is, swell-
ing, protuberant. = 58:) " 'Tis his own blame; hath put
himself," Uc. — Malone. =

ACT III. = 1:) — the cub drawn bear — "] i. e. whose
dugs are drawn dry by its young. For no animals leave
their dens by night but for prey. •= 2:) — the warrant of
my art,] On the strength of my skill in physiognomy. =3:)
Either in snutfs and packings — ] Snufft are dislikes, and
packings underhand contrivances. = 4:) — are but furnish-
ings;] Or samples. =5:) — have secret feet — ] i. e. secret
footing. ^= 6:) — thought-executing — ] Doing execution with
rapidity equal to thought. z= 7:) f'aunt couriers—] Avant
couriert, Ft. This phrase is not unfamiliar to other writers
of S^bakspeare's time. It originally meant the foremost
scouts of an army. = 8:) — court holy-water—] Proverbial
for fair words. ^ P:) You owe me no subscription;] Sub-
scription for obedience. ^10:)— GaWoui—] signities to scare
or frighten. = 11:) —concea/tng continents,] Continent stands
for that which contains or incloses. ^= 12:) These dreadful
gummoners grace.] Summoners are here the officers that
summon offenders before a proper tribunal. =3= 13:) "gave
you all," — Malo>k. = 14:)— Bless thy five wits!] So the
Jive senses were called by our old writers.r=15:) — taJting.'J
To take is to blast, or strike with malignant influence. =
16:) — pelican daughters.] The young pelican is fabled to
suck the mother's blood. = 17:) — irore gloves in my cap,]
i. e. his mistress's favours: which was the fashion of that
time. = 18:) — light of ear,] Credulous of evil, ready to
leceive malicioaa reporu. = 19:)— web and the ptn,] Dis-

eases of the eye. = 80:) Saint Witbold, &c.] i. e. Saint
Withold traversing the wold or downs, met the night-mare;
he obliged her to alight from those persons whom she rides,
and plight her troth to do no mure mischief. This is taken
from a story ot him in his legend, yinefold means her
nine familiars. := 2 l:) — tAe wall-newt, and the water;] i.e.
the water-neirf. =: 22:) — icAipped from ty thing to ty thing,]
A tything is a division of a place, a district; the same
in the country, as a ward in the city. In the Saxon times
every hundred was divided into ti/f/iing». =^23:) Modo he'*
call'd, and Mahu.] The names of pretended spirits. = 24:)
Child J{oir/and—] The word child (hov>ever it came to have
this sense) is often applied to knights, &c. in old historical
songs and romances. = 25:)- Pray, innocent,] Perhaps he
is here addressing the_ fool. Fools w ere anciently called
innocents. = 26:) "whizzing" — Malo>e. = 27:) Come o'er
the bourn,] A bourn in the north signilies a rivulet or brook.
= 28:) — brach, or lym; iVc] \anies of particular sorts of
dogs. =29:) — you will say, they are Persian attire;] Al-
luding, perhaps, to Clytus refusing the Persian robes of-
fere(rhim by Alexander. = 30:) — jree things,] States clear
from distress. = 31:) Mark the high noises;] Attend to the
great events that are approaching, and make (hyself known
when that false opinion now prevailing against thee shall,
in consequence of just proof of thy integrity, revoke its
erroneous sentence. ^ 32:) — and thyself bewray,] i. e. dis-
cover. = 33:) — my lord of Glotter.] Meaning Edmund,
uewl^ invested with his father's titles. The stew ard, speak-
ing immediately after, mentions the old earl by the same
title. = 34:) Hot questri»ts after him,] A questriit is one
who goes in search or quest of another. =36:) Though welt

we may not pass upon his life {j yet our power \\ Shall

do a courtesy to our wrath,] To do a courtesy is to gratify,
to comply with. To pass, is to pass a judicial sentence. =
36:) — corky arms.] Dry, withered, husky arms. = 37:) If'iW
quicken,] i. e. quicken into life. = 38:) — my hospitable fa-
vours— ] Favours means the same as features, i. e the dif-
ferent parts of which a face is composed. = 39:) "at peril"
— Maloke. = 40:) — the course.] The running of the dogs
upon me. = 41:) — tubtcrib^d:] Vielded, submitted to the
necessity of the occasion. = 42:) — the overture of thy trea-
sons— ] Overture is here used for an opening or discovery.
It was he who first laid thy treasons oj>en to us. = 4 3:) —
the old course of death,] that is, die a natural death. ■=

ACT IV. = 1:) World, world, 0 world! \\ But that

thy ttrange mutations make us hate thee,] O world! if re-
verses of fortune and changes such as I now see and feel,
from ease and affluence to poverty and misery, did not
show us the little value of life, we should never submit
with any kind of resignation to the weight of years, and
its necessary consequence, inlirmity and death. Malokk.
= 2:) Our mean tecures us ;] Mean is here a substantive,
and signifies a middle state. Mr. Malone reads, "Our means
I secure us." =3:) — i cannot daub tt — ] i. e. disguise. =4:)
That slaves your ordinance, ice] The language of Shak-
speare is very licentious, and his words have often mean-
ings remote from the proper and original use. To slave or
beslave another is to treat him with terms of indignity: iu
a kindred sense, to slave the ordinance, jnay be, to slight
or ridicule it. Joll^so^. To slave an ordinance, is to treat
it as a slave, to make it subject to us, instead of acting in

obedience to it. = 3:) Our wishes, ou the way, || Slay

prove effects.] What we wish, before our march is at aa
end, may be brought to happen, i. e. the murder or des-

Eatch of her husband. ^ 6:) Vecline your head: SiC] She
ids him decline his head, that she might give him a kiss
(the steward being present), and that it might appear only
to him as a whisper. ^= 7:) / Aare been worth the whistle^
Goneril's meaning seems to be — There was a time when
you would have thought me worth the calling to you; re-
proaching him for not having summoned her to consult with
on the present critical occasion. ^^ 8:) She that herself will
sliver and disbranch l{ From her material tap,] She who
breaks the bonds of filial duty, and becomes wholly alienated
frOm her father, must wither and perish, like a branch se-
ll parated from that sap which supplies it with nourishment, and
ij gives life to the matter of which it is composed. = 9:) —
\\ amongst them fell'd Aim dead:] i. e. tAet^ fell'd. r= 10:)
li "better May:" — Mai.onb. = 11:) J/ade «Ae no verbal ques-
:j tion'J] Means only, did she enter into no conversation with
|l you°^ in this sense our poet frequently uses- the word quet-
ij tion, and not simply as the act oi interrogation. ^12:) Let
!| pity not be believed!] i. e. let not such a thing as pity be
!j supposed to exist! =13:) — clamour moisten'd:] that is,
Aer out-eriet were accompanied with tears. ^li:) — govern
our conditions;] i. e. regulate our dispositions. z=x5:) —
tome dear cause — ] Some important business. =^ 16:) — fu-
miter,] i. e. fumitory. = 17:)— harlocks,] A typographical
error for charlock, or wild mustard. = 18:) — tAe means to
lead it.] The reason which should guide it. =r 1 9:) — im-
portant—] For importunate. = 20:) No blown omAifion— 1
No inflated, no swelling pride. = 21:) His nighted life;]
i. e. his lite made dark as night, by the extinction of his
eyes. = 22:)SAe gave strange isiliads,] (Eillade, Fr. a cast,
or signiflcant glance of the eye. r= 23:)— I do advise you,
take this note:] Note means in this place not a tetter, bat
a remark. Therefore observe what 1 am saying. = 24:) —

AercocA-,] Her cock-boat. = 2 5:) when life itself \] Yietdt

to the theft:] When life is willing to be destroyed. =x 26:)

r 65'

1028

NOTES.

tPL:35.] Th.S.

Thus might he pass indeed:'\ Thus might he die in reality.
= 27:) Had'st thou been aught but gossoiner,] Goiisomore,
the white and cubwcb-Uke cxhalationx that fly about in hot
Bunny weather. ^= 28:)— cAa/tj/bouru :] Bourn seems here
to signify a hill. Its common sigiiilication is a brook. Hut
iu Milton and iShaks|)eare it means only a boundary, and
here certainly means "this chalky boundary of England, to-
wards France." = 29:) Horns wlielk'd,] trhelk'd, signiiies
varied with protuberances ; or twisted, convolved. =30:) —
the clearest gods,] The purest; the most free from evil. =
31:) That felloio handles his bow like a crow-keeper:] In
several counties, to this day, they call a stutfed figure, re-
presenting a man, and armed with a bow and arrow, set up
to fright the crows from the fruit and corn, a crow-keeper,
as well as a scare-crow. = 32:) — the brown bills.] A bill
was a kind of battle-axe, afiixcd to a long stalf. = 33:) —
O, well-flown, bird! — i'the clout, \:c.] Lear is here raving
of archery, and shooting at buts, as is plain by the words
fthe clout, that is, the white mark they set up and aim
at; hence the phrase, to hit the white. ^= 34:) The trick of
that voice — ] Trick is a word frequently used for the air,
or that peculiarity in a face, voice, or gesture, lehich dis-
tinguishes it from others. =S 6:) But to the girdle, &c.]
Jtut is here used for only. = 36:) — Dost thou squiny at
me?] To squiny is to look asquint. z= 31:) — ril able 'em;]
An old phrase signifying to qualify, or uphold them. ==38:)
— a man of salt,] A man of salt is a man of tears. = 3P:)
Then there's life in it.] The case is not yet desperate. =

40:) the main descry \\ Stands on the hourly thought.']

The main body is expected to be descry'd every hour. The
expression is iiarsh. :^ 41:) — my worser spirit — ] Perhaps,
my evil genius. = 42:) "made lame" — M.*i-oke. = 43:)
Briefly thyself remember :] i. e. quickly recollect the past
oti'ences of thy life, and recommend thyself to heaven. =
44:) — go your gait,] Gang your gait is a common expres-
sion in the north. = 45:) — che vor'j/e,] / warn you. Edgar
counterfeits the western dialect. r=4t):) — your costard — ]
Costard, i. e. head. = 47:) — my bat — ] i. e. club, or staff.
= 48:) — no matter vor your foins.] To foin is to make
what we call a thrust in fencing. Shakspeare often uses
the word. ^49:) O undistinguished space of woman's will!]
O undistinguishing licentiousness of a woman's inclina-
tions! ^= 50:) Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctilied, &c.]
I'll corer thee. In Staffordshire, to rake the lire, is to cover
it with fuel for the night. The epithet, unsanctified, re-
fers to his want of burial in consecrated ground. = 51:) Be
better suited:] i.e. be better dressed. = 6 2:) These weeds
are memories — ] i. e. memorials, remembrancers. = 53:) —
my made intent:] An intent made, is an intent formed. =
54:) Of this child-changed father!] i. e. changed to a child
by his years and wrongs; or changed by his children. =

5 5:) to ivatch (poor perdu !) || If'itA this thin helm'f]

The allusion is to the forlorn hope in an army, which are
put upon desperate adventures, and called in French en-
fans perdus. With this thin helm 'J] i. e. bare-headed. =
66:) To make him even o'er the time he has lost.J i. e. to
reconcile it to his apprehension. =

ACT v. =1:) — his constant pleasure.'] His settled re-
solution. ^=2:) — forefended place if] i.e. prohibited, forbid-
den. ^=3:) That thought abuses you.] That thought imposes
on you. = 4:) Not holds the king;] i. e. emboldens him to
assert his former title. = 6:) — make oppose.] Compel to op-
pose us. = 6:) Sir, you speak nobly.] This reply must be
understood ironically. = 7:) And machination ceases.] i. e.
all designs against your life will have an end. = 8:) —greet
the time.] i.e. be ready to meet the occasion. = 9:) — carry
out my side,] Edmund means, hardly shall I be able to
make my party good; to maintain my cause. = 10:) Ripe-
ness is all:] i. e. to be ready, prepared, is all.= 11:) — to
censure them.] i. e. to pass sentence or judgment on them.
:=12:) The goojeers— ] The goujeers, i. e. Morbus Galli-
cus. = 13:) —flesh and fell,] Flesh and skin. = 14:) Will
not bear Question;] Question, here, a.s in many other places,
signifies discourse, conversation. = 1 5:) And turn our ira-
press'd lances in our eyes—] i.e. turn the launcemen whom
we have hired by giving them;)re8s-money. = 16:) itejuires
a fitter place.] i. e. the determination of the question what
shall be done with Cordelia and her father, should be re-
served for greater privacy. = 17:) The which immediacy—]
Immediacy is close and immediate connexion with me, and
direct authority from me. = 18:) The let alone lies not in
your good will.] Whether he shall not or shall, depends
not on your choice. = l&:) — tAa single virtue;] i.e. valour;
a Roman sense of the word. = 20:) Behold, it is the pri-
vilege of mine honours, || My oath, and my profession ;]
The privilege of this oath means the privilege gained by
taking the oath administered in the regular initiation of a
knight professed. = 21:)— 'say of breeding breathes,'] Say
is sample, a taste. =22:) Where tAej^ shall rest for ever.]
To that place, where they shall rest for ever; i. e. thy
heart. = 23:) "I know't." Malone. =: 24:) This would have
seem'd a period. Ate] The sense may probably be this:
This would have seemed a period to such as love not sor-
row; but_ — another, i. e. but 1 must add another, i. e. an-
other period, another kind of conclusion to my story, such
as will increase the horrors of what has been already told.
= 25:) "threw me on my father :"— Mai-one. = 26:) "she
hath confess'd it." Majlone.= 27:) This judgment, &c.] If
Shakspeare had studied Aristotle all hia life, he would oot

perhaps have been able to mark with more precision the
distinct operations of terror and pity. Tvrwhitt. = 28:)
That she fordid herself.] To fordo signiiies to destroy. =
29:) Kent. Is this the promis'd end'f || Edg. Or image of
that horror 'f} By the promised end Kent does not mean
that conclusion which the stale of their affairs seemed to
promise, but the end of (he v\orld. = 30:) Fall, and cease!]
Albany is looking with attention on the pains employed by
Lear to recover his child, and knows to what miseries he
must survive, when he finds them to be ineffectual. Having
these images present to his eyes and imagination, he cries
out, Rather fall, and cease to be, at once, than continue
in existence only to be wretched. =31:) If fortune brag of
ttoo she lov'd and hated, \\ One of them we behold.] i. e. if
Fortune, to display the plenitude of iier power, should brag
of two persons, one of vthom she Had highly elevated, and
the other she had wofully depressed, we now behold the
latter. = 32:) — of difference and decay,] Decay for »/»/«-
fortunes. =3 3:) Nor no man else;] Kent means, I welcome!
No, nor no man else. = 3 4:) — this great decay may come,'^
This great decay is Lear, this piece of decat/d royalty^
this ruin'd majesty. =^ 35:) Jf^ith boot,] With advantage,
with increase. = 36:) And my poor fool is hang'd!] This
is an expression of tenderness for his dead Cordelia, (not
his fool, as some have thought,) on whose lips he is still
intent, and dies away while he is searching there for indi-
cations of life. Poor fool, in the age of IShakspeare, was
an expression of endearment. = 37:) Pray you, undo this
button:] The Rev. Dr. J. Warton judiciously observes, that
the swelling and heaving of the heart is described by this
most expressive circumstance. =

XXXV. ROMEO AND JULIET.

ACT I. = 1:) This prologue, after the first copy was
published in 1597, received several alterations, both in re-
spect of correctness and versification. In the folio it is
omitted. — The play was originally perforraeU by fAe Right
Hon. the Lord of Hunsdon his servants, in the lirst of
king James L_ was made an act of parliament for some
restraint or limitation of noblemen in the protection of
players, or of players under their sanction. Stkeveins.
llnder the word Fhologue, in the copy of 1699, is printed
Chorus, which 1 suppose meant only that the prologue was
to be spoken by the same person who personated the chorus
at the end of the lirst act. The original prologue, iu the
quarto of 1697, stands thus : "Two household trends, alike
in dignitie, || "In faire Verona, where we lay our scene, !|
"From civil broyles broke into enmitie, || "Whose civill
warre makes civill handes uncleane. || "From torih (he fa- .
tall loynes of these two foes || "A paire of starre-crost
lover tooke their life; || "Whose misadventures, piteous
overthrowes, || "(Through the continuing of their fathers'
strife, II "And death-markt passage of their parents' rage,)
II "Is now the two howres traflique of our stage. || "The
which, if you with patient eares attend, || "What here we
want, wee'll studie to amend." Mai.one. = 2:) — we'll not
carry coals.] A phrase formerly used to signify tAe bearing
injuries. = 3:) — poor John.] is hake, dried, and salted. =
4:) — here comes two of the house of the Montagues.] It
should be observed, that the partizaus of the Montague
family wore a token in their hats, in order to distinguish
them from their enemies, the Capulets. Hence, throughout
this play, they are known at a distance. = 5:) Clubs, bills,
&c.] When an affray arose in the streets, clubs was the
usual exclamation. = 6:) — mis-temucr'd weapons — ] are an-
gry weapons. =z 7:) "to the same.' Malonk. = 8:) — to hia
will!] i. e. (hat the blind god should yet be able to direct
his arrows at those whom he wishes to hit, that he should
wound whomever he wilts, or desires to wound. = 9:) Why,
such is love's transgression.] Such is the consequence of
unskilful and mistaken kindness. = 10:) Tellmein sadness,]
that is, gravely, or seriously. = 1 1:) And, in strong proof,
&c.] As this play was written in the reign of queen Eliza-
beth, I cannot help regarding these speeches of Romeo as
au oblique compliment to her majesty, vho was uot liable
to be displeased at hearing her chastity praised after she
was suspected to have lost it, or her beauty commended in
the 67th year of her age, though she never possessed any
when she was young. Her ileclaration, that she would con-
tinue unmarried, increases the probability of the present
supposition. Steevkns. = 12:) — wisely too fair, fiC] There
is in her too much sanctimonious w isdom united with beauty,
which induces her to continue chaste with the hopes of at-
taining heavenly bliss. = 13:) To call hers, exquisite, in
question more:] More into talk; to make her unparalleled
beauty more the subject of thought and conversation. = 14:)
These happy masks, &c.] i. e. the masks worn by female
spectators of the play. ^15:) What dpth her beauty serve,}
i.e. what end does it answer. = 16:) She is the hopeful lady
of my earth;] This is a Gallicism: Fille de terre is the
French phrase for an heiress. = 17:) My will to Aer con-
sent is but a part:] To, in this instance, signiiies in com-
parison with, in proportion to. ^=18:) inherit at my house ;"]
To inherit, in the language of Shakspcare's age, is to pos-
sess. = 19:) Your plantaiu leaf is excellent for that.] The
plantain leaf is a binod-stauncher, and was formerly^ ap-
plied to green wounds. = 20:) — crush a cup of wine.] This
cant expression seems to have been once common among

T//.S.[Pl:35.]

NOTES.

1029

low people. We still say, in cant lan^age — to crack a
bottle. = 21:) Your latlj's love—] Your lady's love is the
love vou bear to your lad j. = 22:) — to tny ttcn— 1 To my
sorrow. = 23:) Act/, I do bear a brain:] That is, 1 have a
perfect remembrance or recollection. = 24:) — it stinted,]
i. e. it vtopped, it I'orbore from weeping. = 25:) — a man
of wax.] Well made, asi if he had been modelled in wax.
==2b:) — the margin of hia eye*.] The cnmmcuts ou ancient
books were aiway:) printed iu the margin. :=27:) The Hsb
lives in the sea; ^c.J i. e. is not yet caught. = 28:) The
date is out of such prolixity:] Introductory speeches are
out of date or fashion. = 2i):) iFeUl measure them a mea-
sure,] i.e. a dance. = 30:) Give me a torch,] A torch-bearer
seems to have been a constant appendage on every troop
of masL», and was not reckoned a degrading oMice. = 31:)

— dofA quote deformities'*] To quote is to observe. =32:)
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;] It has been
already ob:<erved, (hat it was anciently the cu!>tom to strew
rooms with rushes, before carpets were iu use. = 33:) Fll
be a candle-holder, and look on, — \\ The game was ne'er
so fair, and 1 am dont.] An allusion to an old proverbial
sajiiig, which advisees to gi\e over when the game is at
the fairest. =: 34:) SAe i> the tairies' midwife;] I apprehend,
and with no violence of interpretation, that by ''the fairies'
midwife," the poet means, the midwife among the fairies,
because it was her peculiar employment to steal the new-
born babe in the night, and to leave another in its place.
The poet here use^ hir general appellation, and character,
which yet has so far a proper reference to the present train
of tictiou, as that her illusions were practised on persons
in bed or asleep ; lor she not only haunted w omen iu child-
bed, but was likewise the incubus or nightmare. Snak-
speare, by employing her here, alludes at large to her mid-
night pranks performed on sleepers: but denominates her
from the most notorious one, of ner personating the drowsy
midwife, wlio was insensibly carried away into some dis-
tant water, and substituting a new birth in the bed or cradle.
It would clear the appellation to read the fairy midwife.
The poet avails himself of Mab's appropriate province, by
giving her this nocturnal agency. T. Wartox. = 35:) — of
little atomics — ] An obsolete substitute for atoms. = 3tj:)
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: &c.] In our
author's time, a court solicitation was called, simply, a
suit, and a process, a suit at law, to distinguish it from
the other. ^= 37:) Spanish blades,] A sword is called a to-
iedo, from the excellence of the Toletau steel. := 38:) Jnd
bakes tAc elf-locks, Kc] This was a common supersti-
tion; and seems to have had itii rise from the horrid dis-
ease called the Plica I'olouica. = 39:) — court-cupboard,]
The court- cupboard perhaps served the purpose of what
we call at present the side-board. The use which now is
made of tuuse cupboards is to display at public festivals
the flaggons, cant, cups, beakers, and other antique silver
vessels of the company, some of which, (with the names of
the donors inscribed ou them,) are remarkably large. := 40:)

— save me a piece of marchpane;] Marchpanes were com-
posed of filberts, almonds, pistachoes, pine-kernels, and su-
gar of roses, with a small proportion of flour. = 41:) A
hall! a hall!] An exclamation signifying tnoAe room.^4_2:)

— turn tAc tables up,] Uefore this phrase is generally in-
telligible, it should be observed that ancient tables were
flat leaves, joined by hinges, and placed on tressels. When
they were to be removed, they were therefore turned up.
= 43:) '"It seems she hangs upon," AlC. — >1alo>e. = 44:)

— to scath you;] i. e. to do you an injury. = 45:) — Y'ou
are a priucux; go;] A princojr is a coxcomb, or a spoiled
child. = 46:) "uuworthiest" — Malonb. = 47:) [Kissing Acr ]
Uur poet here, without duubi, copied from the mode of his
own time; and kissing a lady iu a public assembly, we may
conclude, was not thought indecorous. = 48:) — towards.]
Towards is ready at hand. r=: 49:) That fair,] Pair, it has
been already observed, was formerly used as a substantive,
and was synonymous to beauty. Air. Maloue reads '■^for
which love groau'd for.'' =

ACT II. r=l:) "pronounce but — " Malone. = 2:) Jf'hen
king Cophetua, &c.] Alluding to an old ballad preserved in
the first volume of Dr. Percy's Reliques of ancient English
foetry. = 3:} "he stirreth not,"— Malo>b. = 4:) TAe ape
is deoiL,] This phrase appears to have been frequently ap-
plied to. young muu, in our aulhor's time, without any refer-
ence to the mimickry of that animal. It was an expression
of tenderness, like poor fool. = 6:) By her high forehead,]
A high forehead was inSnakspeare's time thought eminently
beautiful. ^ d:) — (Ae humorous night:] means humid, the
moist dewy uigbt. = 7:) Mr. Maloue has thought proper
to add tw o indecent lines here, which all other editors have
omitted. = 8:) He jests at scars,] Mercutio, whose jests he
overheard; or perhaps it is an allusion to his ha\ing con-
ceived himself so armed with the love of Rosaline, that no
other beauty could make any impression ou him. = 9:) Be
not her maid,] Be not a votary to the moon, to Diana. =
10:) — no let— J i.e. no stop or hinderance.= 11:) ^nrf, but
tAou love me,] And so thou do but love me. Or it may
mean, unless thou love me. ^12:) — cunning to i>e strange.]
To be strange, is to put on alTccted coldness, to appear shv.
= 13:) To lure this tassel gentle back again T] The tassel
or tiercel (for so it should be spelt) is the male of the goss-
hawk ; so called, because it is a tierce or tAtrd less than
the female. This is equalljr true of all birds of prey. =

14:) "Madam!" Malose. == 15:) And flecked darkness—']
Flecked is spotted, dappled, streaked, or variegate*!. = 1 6:)
"From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:" — Ma-
LONB. = 17:) — powerful grace,] Eflicacioiis virtue. = 18:)
— to the earth—] i. e. to the inhabitants of the earth. =
1 9:) — with that part — ] i. e. w ith the part which smells ;
with the olfactory nerves. = 20:) — / stand on sudden haste.]
i. e. it is of the utmost consequence for me to be hasty. =
2 1:) — tAe very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-
boy's butt «Aa/f ,] The allusiou is to archery The clout or
white mark at which the arrows are directed^ was fastened

I by a black pin placed in the center of it. 'I o hit this was

' the highest ambition of every marksman. = 22:) 3/ore tAan
prince of cats,] Tybert, the name given to the cat, in the
story book of Reynard the Fox. = 23:) — o gentleman of

I the very first house,— of the first and second cause:] i. e.

; a gentleman of the first rank, of the first eminence among
these duellists; and one who understands the whole science
of quarrelling, and will tell you of the first cause, and the
second cause, for which a man is to fight. == 24:) — the

] hay!] All the terms of the modern fencing-school were ori-
ginally Italian; the rapier, or small thrustiug-sword, being
first used in Italy. The bay is the word Aai, you Aare it,
used when a thrust reaches the antagonist, from which our

] fencers, on the same occasion, without knowing, I suppose,

: any reason for it, cry out Aa.'= 2 a:) — your French slop.]
Slops are large loose breeches or trowsers, worn at present

, only by sailors. = 26:) TAc slip, sir, the slip;] In our au-

j thor's time there was a counterfeit piece of money distin-
guished by the name of a slip. = 27:) — tAcn is my pump
well flowered.] It was the custom to wear ribbons in the

; shoes formed into the shape of roses, or of any other
flowers. = 28:) O single-soled jest,] i. e. slight, unsolid,
feeble. = 29:) — if thy wits run the wild goose chase,] One
kind of horse-race, wnich resembled the flight of wild-geese,

: was formerly known by this name. Two horses were started

■ together; and which ever rider could get the lead, the other
i was obliged to follow him over whatever ground the fore-

■ most jockey chose to go. That horse which could distance
i the other, won the race. =30:) — Aitter sweeting; Is an ap-
: pie of that name. = 31:) — a wit of cheverel,] Cheverel is
] soft leather for gloves. = 32:) My fan, Feter.] The busi-
; ness of Feter carrying the nurse s fan, seems ridiculous
' according to modern manners ; but such was formerly the

practice. = 33:) God ye good den,] i. e. God give you a
; good even. = 34:) — lady, lady, lady.] The burthen of an
I old song.= 35:) — irAat saucy merchant was this, kc] The
I term merchant, which was, and even now- is, frequently
! applied to the lowest sort of dealers, seems anciently Xo

have been used on these familiar occasions iu cuutradis-
' tiuction to gentleman; signifying that the person showed
\ by his behaviour he was a low fellow. The term cAap, i.e.
j chapman, a word of the same import with merchant in its

less respectable sense, is still iu common use among the

vulgar, as a general denomination for any person of whom
I they mean to speak with freedom or disrespect. := 36:) — of
j his ropery 't] Ropery was anciently used in the same sense
; as roguery is now. = 37:)— none of his skains-mates:] A
\ skein or skain was either a knife or a short dagger. By
; skains-mates the nurse means none of his loose companions
I who frequent the fencing-school with him, where u'j may
I suppose the exercise of this weapon was taught. = 38:) —
I like a tackled stair:] Like stairs of rope in the tackle of

a ship. = 39:) — top-gallaat of my joy—] The top-gallant

is the highest extremity of the mast of a ship. = 40:) Too
' swift arrives—] He (hat tra\els too fast is as long before
! be comes to the end of his journey, as he that travels slow.
j Precipitation produces mishap. = 41:) A lover may bestride
, tAe gossomers — ] The gossomer is the long white filament
j which flies in the air in summer. = 42:) Conceit,] Conceit

here means imagination. =
I

j ACrr m. = l:) TAc day is hot,] It is observed, that,

in Ilaly, almost all assassinations are committed during the
: heat of' summer. = 2:)^ la stoccata — ] Stoecata is the Ita-
. lian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier. = 3:) — Will

you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ear*?] W'e
; should read pilche, whiclt signifies a cloke or coat of skius,

meaning the scabbard. = 4:) This day's black fate on more
; days doth depend;] This day's unhappy destiny hangs over
' the days yet to come. There will yet be more miscnief. =
I 5:) — respective lenity,] Cool, considerate gentleness. = 6:)
I — be my conduct noir.'J Conduct for conductor. = 7:) — as
' thou art true,] As thou art just and upright. ^= 8:) How

nice — ] How slight, how unimportant, how petty. =y:) Jf-
, fection makes him false,] The charge of falsehood on Beii-
; volio, though produced at hazard, is very just. The author,
j who seems to intend the character of Benvolio as good,
! meant perhaps to show, how the best minds, in a sUte of
. faction aud discord, are detorted to criminal partiality.
i Johnson.^ 10:) Spread thy close curtain, love performing
' night! •\ That run- aw ay's eyes may wink; Lc] Juliet first
I wishes far the absence of the sun, aud then invokes the
I night to spread its curtain close around the world: Spread
! thy close curtain, love performing night! Next, recollecting

that the night would seem short to her, she speaks of it as
! of a run-away, whose flight she would wish to retard, and
i whose eyes she would blind, lest they should make dis-
I coveries. = 11:) — Conif, civil night,] Civil is «rarc, d«-
I cently solemn. =; 12:) Hood my uumanu'U A/ood bating in

V.

1030

NOTES.

[Pl:35.] Tii.S.

my cheeks,1 These are terms of falconry. An unmanned
havck is one that is nut brought to endure company. Bating,
(not baiting, as it iias iiitlierto been primed,) is flattering
with the Mings as striving to fly away. = 13:) "upon" —
Malomj. = 14:) — tAe garish sun.j Garish is gaudy, showy.
_; 15:) — gay thou but /,] In Shakspeare's time theaf-
iirmative particle ay was usually written J, and here it is
necessary to retain the old spelling. = lb:) God save the
7nark.'] This proverbial exclamation occurs again, with equal
obscurity, in Othello, Act 1. sc. 1. = 17:) — what tongue
shall smooth thy name,'] 'i"o smooth, iu ancient language,
is to stroke, to caress, to fondle. = 18:) Hath slain ten
thousand Tybalts.] 'I'hat is, is worse than the loss of ten
thousand Tybalts. = 19:) IVhich modern lamentation, iVc]
i.e. trite, common. ^= 20:) "then banished," — JVlAl.o^E. =
21:) This is dear tnercy,] The old copies read j/iere mercy,
which in ancient language signifies absolute mercy. = 22:)

More validity, || More honourable state, more courtship

lives \\ In carrion flies, than Romeo:] Validity seems here
to mean worth or dignity. Uy courtship, the author seems
to meau, the stale of a "lover; that dalliance, in which he
who courts or Hooes a lady is sometimes indulged, = 23:)
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.] i. c. talk over thy
affairs. =24:) Like jtowder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
ii.c.] To understand the force of this allusion, it should be
remembered that the ancient English soldiers, using match-
lucks, instead of locks with flints as at pre.-ent, were obliged
to earry a lighted match hanging at their belts, very near
to the wooden flask in whicli ttiey kept their powder. =
25:) And thou dismembered with ihine own defence.] And
thou torn to pieces with thine own weapons. =2d:) — here
stands all your state;] The whole of your fortune depends
on this. = 27:) — mew'd «p— ] 'I'his is a phrase from fal-
conry. A mew was a place of confinement for hawks. =
2%:) Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender—] Desperate
means only bold, adventurous, as if he had said iu the vul-
gar phrase, / will speak a bold word, and venture to pro-
mise you my daughter. = 29:) JVightly she sings on yon
pomegranate tree:] This is not merely a poetical supposi-
tion. It is observed of the nightingale, that, if undisturbed,
she sits and sings upon the same tree for many weeks to-
gether. = 3 0:) — the pale reflex—] The appearance of a
cloud opposed to the moon. ^=31:) I have more care to
stay—] Care for inclination. = 32:) — sweet division;] Di-
vision seems to have been the technical phrase for the pauses
or parts of a musical composition. = 33:) Hunting thee
hence with huiits-up to the day.] The hunts-up was the
name of the tunc anciently played to wake the hunters, and
collect them together. Uut a huntsup also signified a morn-
ing song to a new-married woman, the day alter her mar-
riage, and is used here in that sense. = 34:) That is re-
nowned for faith'/] This Romeo, so renowned for faith,
was but the day before ■ ying for love of another woman:
yet this is natural. Iluuieo was the darling object of Ju-
liet's lo\e, and lloraeo was, of course, to Jiave every ex-
cellence. = 35:) — procures her hither'/] Procures for brings,
= 3 6:) Ay, madam, from, &c.] Juliet's equivocations are
rather too artful for a mind disturbed by the loss of a new
lover. JoHKsoN. = 37:) — in happy time,] A la bonne heure.
This phrase was interjected, when the hearer was not quite
so well pleased as the speaker. =38:) The county Paris,]
Paris, though in one place called earl, is most commonly
styled the countie iu this play. Shakspearc seems to have
preferred, for some reason or other, the Italian comte to
our count: perhaps he took it from the old English novel,
from which he is said to have taken his plot: and in which
Paris is first styled a young earle, and afterwards counte,
countee, county; according to the unsettled orthography of
the time. = 39:) i think it best you married with the county.]
'I'he character of the nurse exhibits a just picture of those
whose actions have no principles for their foundation. iShe
has been unfaithful to the trust reposed in her by Capulet,
and is ready to embrace any expedient that offers, to avert
the consequences of her first infidelity. Steevens. =

ACT IV. r=z\:) And I am nothing slow, &c.] His haste
shall not be abated by my slowness. = 2:) Or shall I come
to you at evening massV] Juliet means vespers. There is
no such thing as evening mass. = 3:) Shall be the label
to another deed,] The seals of deeds in our author's time
were not impressed on the parchment itself on which the
deed was written, but Were appended on distinct slips or
labels affixed to the deed. = 4:) Shall play the umpire;]
That is, this knife shall decide the struggle between me
and my distresses. = 6:) — commission of thy years and
art — ] Commission is for authority or power. = 6:) // no
unconstant toy, kc] If no fickle freak, no light caprice,
no change of fancy, hinder the performance, = 7:) "Give
me, gi\e me! O tell me not of fear." — Maloise. = 8:) —
go hire me twenty cunning cooks,] Twenty cooks for half a
dozen guests! Either ('apuTet has altered his mind strangely,
or our author forgot what he had just made him tell us.
Sec. p. 821,= 9:) — from shrift—] i. e. from confession. =
10:) — gadding'/] '1 he primitive sense of this word was to
straggle from house to house, and collect money, under
pretence of singing car4)ls to the blessed Virgin. -=: 1 1:) —
becomed love — J Uecomed for becoming: one participle for
the other; a frequent practice with our author. = 12:) For \
J have need, &c.] Juliet plays most of hiT pranks under
the appearance of religion: perhaps Shakspcarc meant to

punish her hypocrisy. Johixson. = 13:) — green in earth,'\
I. e. fresh in earth, newly buried. = 14:) Lies fest'ring— 1
To /e«ter is to corrupt. = 15:) — t« it not like, that I,] This
speech is confused, and inconsequential, according to the
disorder of Juliet's mind, = It:) — be distraught,] Dis-
traught is distracted, = 17:) They call for dates and quinces
in the pastry.] i, e. in the room where paste was made.
So laundry, spicery, &c, = 18:) The curfeu bell—] The
curfew bell is universally rung at eight or nine o'clock at
night; generally according to the season. 'Ihe term is here
used with peculiar impropriety, as it is not believed that
any bell was ever rung so early as three in the morning.
The derivation of curfeu is well known, but it is a mere
vulgar error that tlie institution was a badge of slavery
imposed by the Norman Conqueror. To put out the fire
became necessary only because it was time to go to bed i
And if the curfeu commanded all fires to be extinguished,
the morning bell ordered them to be lighted again. In short,
the ringing of those two bells was a manifest and essential
service to people who had scarcely any other means of
measuring their time. l{ITso^, = 19:) — o monse-hunt in
your time;] In Norfolk, and many other parts of England,
the cant term for a weasel is — a mouse-hunt. The intrigues
of this animal, like those of the cat kind, are usually car-
ried on during the night. This circumstance will account
for the appellation which Lady Capulet allows her husband
to have formerly deserved. = 20:) Mr. Malone omits this
second dead! = 21:) — 0, play me some merry dump,] A
dump anciently signified some kind of dance, as well aa
sorrow. But on this occasion it means a mournful song.
Dumps were heavy mournful tunes ; possibly indeed any
sort of movements were once so called, as we sometimes
meet with a merry dump. Hence doleful dumps, deep sor-
row, or grievous affliction, as iu the verses above, and in
the less ancient ballad of Chevy Chase. It is still said of a
person uncommonly sad, that he is in the dumps, ^22:) No
money, on my faith; but the gleek: / will give you the
minstrel,] Shakspeare's pun has here remained imnoticed.
A Gleekman or Gligman, as Ur, Percy has shown, signified
a minstrel. The word gleek here signifies scorn; and is
borrowed from the old game so called, = 23:) — Simon
Catling?] A catling was a small lute-string made of cat-
gut.= 2<t:) — Hugh Rebeck/] The fiddler is so called from
an instrument with three strings, which is mentioned by
several of the old writers. Rebec, rebecquin. =:

ACTV. = 1:) Act V.] The Acts are here properly
enough divided, nor did any better distribution than the
editors have already made occur to me in the perusal of
this play; yet it may not be improper to remark, that in
the first folio, and 1 suppose the foregoing editions are iu
the same state, there is no division of the Acts, and there-
fore some future editor may try, whether any improvement
can be made, by reducing them to a length more equal, or
interrupting the action at more proper intervals. Johnson.
= 2:) If 1 may trust the flattering eye of sleep,] By the
eye of sleep Shakspeare perhaps means the visual power,
which a man asleep is enabled, by the aid of imagination,
to exercise; or perhaps the eye of the god of sleep. = 8:)
My bosom's lord — ] These three lines are very gay and
pleasing. Uut why does Shakspeare give Romeo this in-
voluntary chei rfulness just before the extremity of nnhappi-
ness** Perhaps to show the vanity of trusting to those un-
certain and casual exaltations or depressions, which many
consider as certain foretokens of good and evil. Johnson.
= 4:) An alligator stuff d,] i was many years ago assured,
that formerly, when an apothecary first engaged with his
druggist, he was gratuitously furnished by him with these
articles of show, which were then imported for that use
only. I have met with the alligator, tortoise, etc. hanging
up in the shop of an ancient apothecary at Limehouse, as
well as in places more remote from our metropolis. Ste
Hogarth's Marriage Alamode, Plate lil. — It may be re-
marked, however, that the apothecaries cjismissed their al-
ligators, &c, some time before the physicians were willing
to part with their amber headed canes and solemn periwigs.
Stbkvbns. = 5:) An if a man, tVc] This phraseology, which
means simply — 7/, was not unfrequent in Shakspeare's time
and before, ^=ti:) One of our order, to associate me,] Each
friar has always a companion assigned him by the superior
when he asks leave to go out; and thus they are«a check
upon each other, =7:) — was not nice,] i.e. was not written
on a trivial or idle subject. = 8:) — rfear employment :] That
is, action of importance. Gems were supposed to have
great powers and virtues. = 9:) 7 rfo defy thy conjurations,]
Paris conceived Romeo to have burst open the monument
for no other purpose than to do some villainous shame on
the dead bodies, such as witches arc reported to have
practised; and therefore tells him he defies him, and the
magic arts which he suspects he is preparing to use. But
perhaps the true meaning here is, "/ refuse to do as thou
conjurest me to do, i. c. to depart.'''' = 10:) A grave'/ O,
no; a lantern,] A lantern may not, in this instance, signify
an enclosure for a lighted candle, but a louvre, or what in
ancient records is styled lanternium, i. e. a spacious round
or octagonal turret full of windows, by means of which
cathedrals, and sometimes halls, are illuminated. = 11:) — I
presence — ] A presence is a public room, = 12:) — by a I
dead man interr'd.] llomco being now determined to put I
an cud to his life, considers himself as already dead. => '

T//. S.[Pl:36.]

NOTES

1031

13:) 0, how may 1 1| Call this a lightning ?] Rouieo had,

just before, been in liigh spiriux, a symptom, which he ob-
serves, was soinctiuien called a lightning bet'ure deulh: but
how, sajs he, (lor uo situation cau exempt Shakspcare's
characters from the vice of punning) can 1 term this saa
and glpomy prospect a lightning'^ = 14:) jt dateless bar-

fain to engrossing death!] Engrossing .seems to be used
ere in its clerical sense. = 15:) Co7«e, iiVfer conduct,] Con-
duct for conductor. = 16:) Hai'e my old feet stumbled at
graves'f] This accident was reckoned ominous. = 17:) ff'ho
IS it, i<:c.] To consort, is lo keep company with. ri= 18:) /
drca:nt my master and another fought,] 'I'his is one of the
touclics of nature that would have escaped the hand of any
painter less attentive (o it than Shaksneare. What happens
10 a p.-rsou while he is under the manitest influence of fear,
will seem to him, when he is recovered from it, lik* a
dream. Homer, book 8th, repre.sents llhesus dying fast
asleep, and as it were beholding his enemy in a dream plun-
ging a sword into his bosuni. Eustathius and Oacier both
applaud this image as very natural ; for a man in such a
condition, says Mr. Pope, awakes uo further than to see
confusedly wtiat environs him, and to think it not a reality,
but a vision. = 19:) This dagger hath mistaken, — for, lo!
hia house ]| Is empty on the back of Montague, — || ^nd it
mia-fheathed in my daughter's bosom.] Shakspeare quaintly
represents the dagger as having mistaken its place, and
"it mis-sheathed," i. e. "mis-sheathed itself' in the bosom
of Juliet. It appears that the dagger was anciently woru
behind the back. = 20:) / will be brief,] It is mucii to be
lamented, that the poet did not conclude the dialogue with the
action, and avoid a narrative of events which the audience
already knew. Johnson. = 21:) Have lost a brace of kins-
men:] iMercutio and Paris: Mercutio is expressly called
the prince's kinsman in Act III. sc. iv. ; and that Paris also
was the prince's kinsman, may be inferred from other pas-
sages. =22:) Some shall be pardoned, and some punished:]
Tliis line has reference to the novel from which the fable
is taken. Here we read that Juliet's female attendant was
banished for concealing the marriage; llomeo's servant set
at liberty because he had only acted in obedience to his
master's orders ; the apothecary taken, tortured, condemned,
and hanged; while friar Laurence was permitted to retire
to a hermitage in the neighbourhood of Verona, where he
ended his life iu peuitence and trauquillity. Stkevens. =

XXXVI. HAMLET, PRINCE OF
DENMARK.

ACT I. = 1:) Hamlet,] i. e. Amleth. The h transferred
from the end to the beginning of the name. Stbuvkns. = 2:)
— me:] i. e. me who am alreadj' on the watch, and have a
right to demand the watch-Mord. = 3:) The rivals of my
watch,] Rivals for partners. =4:) — approve our eyes,] He
may make good the testimony of our eyes; be assured by his
owu experience of the truth of that which we have related,
in consequence of having been eye-witnesses to it. To ap-
prove, in Shakspearc's age, siguifted to make good, or es-
tablish. = 6:) Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio.] It
has always been a vulgar notiou that spirits and superna-
tural beings can only be spoken to with propriety or effect
by persons of learning. = 6:) — it harrows me, tVic] To har-
row is to conquer, to subdue. 'J'he word is of Saxon origin.
= 7:) — sledded — J A «/erf, or sledge, is a carriage without
wheels, made use of in the cold countries. = 8:) He smote
the sledded Polack on the ice.] He speaks of a prince of
Poland whom he slew iu battle. Polack was, in that age,
the term fur an inhabitant of Poland. Mr. Malonc reads
Jfolacks. = 9:) — jump at this dead hour,] Jump and just
were synonymous in the time of Shakspeare. = 10;) Jn what
particular thought to work,] i. e. what particular train of
thinking to follow. = 11:) — gross and scope — ] General
thoughts, and tendency at large. = 12:) ff" hy such impress
of shipwrights,] Impress signilies here the act of retaining
shipvi rights by giving them what was called prest money
(from pret, Ft.) for holding themselves in readiness to be
employed. = 13:) as, by the same co-ma.rt, \\jlnd car-
riage of the article designed,] Co-mart is supposed to mean
a joint^ bargain, a w ord perhaps of our poet's coinage. Car-
riage is im])ort: designed, is formed, drawn up between
them. = 14:) Of unimproved, iVc.J Full of unimproved mettle,
is full of spirit not regulated or guided by knowledge or
experience. r= 15:) Shark'd up a list, ice] Pi.ked up without
distiuction, as the shark-lhh collects his prey. = 16:) I'hat
hath a stomach in't:] Stomach, in the time of our author,
was used for_ constancy, resolution. = 17:) — romagc — ]
Commonly written — rummage. It is not, however, certain
that the word romage has been properly explained. Homage,
on shipboard, must have signified a scrupulous examination
into the state of the vessel and its stores. Respecting land-
service, the same term implied a strict inquiry into the
kingdom, that means of defence might be supplied where
they were «_anted. Rummage, is properly explained by
Johnson in his dictionary, as it is at present daily used,. —
to search for any thing. = 18:) [I think^ inc.] These lines,
confined within crotchets, throughout this play, and some
others which we have not uoticed, are omitted in the folio
edition of 1623. The omissions leave the play eometimes

better, and sometimes worse, and seem made only for the
sake of abbreviation. Johnson. r= ly;) ff^'cll may it sort,]
The cause and effect are proportionate and suit.ib!e. = 20:)

— the question of these wars.] 'I'he theme or subject. =
21:) — palmy state of Rome,] Palmy for victorious. =22:)
As, stars, with trains of fire and dews of blood, ] Disasters
in the sun;] This passage is not in the folio. Hy the quartos
therefore our imperfect text is supplied; for an intermedi-
ate verse being evidently lost, it were idle to attempt a
union that never was intended. I have therefore signitied
the supposed deliciency by a vacant space. Mai,oke.= 23:)

— and the moist star, iVc] i. e. the moon. =^24:) .Ind even — ]
IVot only such prodigies have been seen in Home, but the
elements have shown our countrymen like forerunners and
foretokens of violent events. = 25:) And prologue to the
omen coming on,] i. e. the approaching dreadful and por-
tentous event. t= 26:) If thou hast any sound,] 'I'he speech
of Horatio to the spectre is very elegant and noble, and
congruous to the common traditions of the causes of ap-
paritions. JoHKsoN.= 27:) Whether in sea, kc] According
to the pneumatology of that time, every element was in-
habited by its peculiar order of spirits, who had disposi-
tions different, according to their various places of abode.
The meaning therefore is, that all spirits extravagant^ wan-
dering out of their element, whether aerial spirits visiting
earth, or earthly spirits ranging the air, return to their
station, to their proper limits in which they are confined.^=
28:) — erring spirit—] Erring is here used in the sense of
wandering. = 29:) No fairy takes,] JSo fairy strikes with
lameness or diseases. This sense of take is frequent in this
author. = 30:) Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,]
This imaginary advantage, which Fortinbras hoped to derive
from the unsettled state of the kingdom. =31:) — ^ to sup-
press \\ His further gait herein;] Gate or gait is here used
in the northern sense, for proceeding, passage; from the
A. S. verb gae. A gate for a path, passage, or street, is
still current in the north. =: 32:) — /wore than the scope—]
More is comprized iu the general design of these articles,
which you may explain in a more diffused and dilated style.
= 33:) — dilated articles, kc] i.e. the articles when dilated.
= 34:) Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.]
A little more than kin, is a little more than a common re-
lation. _ The king was certainly something less than kind,
by having betrayed the mother of Hamlet into an indecent
and incestuous marriage, and obtained the crown bv means
which he suspects to be unjustiliable. =35:) — vailed lids—]
With lowering eyes, cast down eyes. = 36:) — obsequious
sorrow:] Obsequious is here from obsequies, or funeral ce-
remonies. = 37:) In obstinate condoleinent,] Condolement,
for sorrow. = 38:) — a will most incorrect — j i. e. ill-regu-
lated, not sufficiently regulated by a sense ot duty and sub-
mission to the dispensations of Providence. = 39:) To rea-
son most absurd;] Reason is here used in its common sense,
for the faculty by wiiich we form conclusions from argu-
ments. =40:) .2f/iri, with no less nobility of love,] Eminence
and distinction of love.^=41:) — ienrf y"" to remain — ] i.e.
subdue your inclination to go from hence, and remain, Lc.
= i2:] Ao jocund health,] 'I'he king's intemperance is very
strongly impressed; every thing that happens to him gives
him occasion to drink. = 43:) — the king's rouse — ] i. e. the
king's draught of jollity. =44:) — resolve jfse// into a dew!]
Resolve means the same as dissolve. =45:) — merely.] Is
entirely, absolutely. :=i6:) Hyperion to a satyr :"] Hyperion
or Apollo is represented in all the ancient statues, Vc. as
exquisitely beautiful, the satyrs hideously ugly. = 47:) That
he might not beteem— ] i.e. permit, or «ujfer. = 48:) — i'W
change that name — ] I'll be your servant, you shall be my
friend. = 49:) — what make you —] A familiar phrase for
what are you doing. = 50:) — the funeral bak'd meats — ]
It was anciently the general custom to give a cold enter-
tainment to mourners at a funeral. In distant counties this
practice is continued among the yeomanry. =5 1:) — dearest
foe in heaven,] Dearest is most immediate, consequential,
important. ^52:) Season your admiration—] that is, tem-
per it. = 63:) With an attent ear;] Attent for attentive,
= 54:) In the dead waist and middle of the night,] This
strange phraseology seems to have been common in the
time of Shakspeare. By waist is meant nothing more than
middle. ^=5 5:) — with the act of fear,] Fear w'as the cause,
the active cause that distiWd them by the force of opera-
tion which we strictly call act in voluntary, and power in
involuntary agents, but popularly call act iu both. Johnson.
= 56:) — wore his beaver up.] Ihough beaver properly sig-
nitied that part of the helmet which was let down, to enable
the wearer to drink, Shakspeare always uses the word as

; denoting that part of the helmet, which, when raised up,

; exposed the face of the wearer : and such was the popular

; signilication of the word in his time. = 57:) TAcperfume

, and suppliance of a minute ;] i. e. what was supplied to us

; for a minute ; or, perhaps, an amusement to till up a vacant

I moment, and render it agreeable. = 58:) In thews,] i. e. in

I sinews, muscular strength. =■ 59:) And now no soil, nor

\ cautel, doth besmirch || The virtue of his will:] From cau-

tela, which signilies only a prudent foresight, or caution;

but, passing through French hands, it lost its innocence,

and now signilies fraud, deceit. The virtue of his wilt

means, his virtuous intentions. ^=^60:) — unmaster'd—^ i.e.

licentious. = 61:)— teep you in the rear, kc] That is, do

not advance so far as your affection would lead you. = 62:)

The chariest maid—] Chary is cautious. = 63:) —recks not

his own read.] That is, heeds not his own lessons. = 64:) —

1032

NOTES.

[Pl: 36.] Th. S.

the shoulder of your sail,'] This is a common sea phrase.
=: 65:) Look thou character.] i. e. Mrite, strongly iiilix. =
66:) But do not dull thy palm with entertainment || Of each
new-hatch'd, unJIedgUl comrade.^ The literal sense is, Vo
not make thy palm callous by shaking every man by the
hand. The ligtirative meaning may be, JJo not by promis-
cuous conversation make thy mind insensible to the dif-
ference of characters. Johnson. = 6 j:) — each mans cen-
sure,] Censure is opinion. = 68:) ^re most select and ge-
nerous, chief in that.] i. e. the nobility of France are se-
lect and generous above all other nations, and chiefly in
the point of apparel ; the richness and elegance of their
dress. Mr. Malone reads, "Are of a most select and gener-
ous chief, iu that." = 69:) — of husbandry.] i. e. of thrift;
(Economical prudence. = '/O:) — my blessing season this in
thee!] Inlix it in such a manner as that it never may wear
out. = 11:) — servants tend.] i. e. your servants are waiting
for you. =72:)— yourself shall keep the key of it.] i. e.
your counsels are as sure of remaining locked up in iny
memory, as if yourself carried the key of it. = 7 3:) l.n-
sifted — ] Unsifted for untried. Untried signifies either not
tempted, or not refined; unsifted signifies the latter only,
though the sense requires the former. =74:) — Tender your-
self more dearly;] To tender is to regard with affection.
^7 5:) — fashion you may call it;] She uses fashion for
manner, and he for a transient practice. = 76:) Set your
eutreatments — ] i.e. the objects of entreaty; tlie favours
for which lovers sue. =77:) JJo not believe his vows: for
they are brokers — ] A broker in old English meant a bated
or pimp. r=78:) Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,]
i. e. bonds or uigagemenis of love. = 79:) — an eager air.]
That is, a hharp air, aigre, Fr. = 80:) — takes his rouse,]
A rouse is a large dose of liquor, a debauch. = 81:) Keeps
wassel,] i.e. devotes the night to jollity. = 82:)— fAe swag-
gering up-spring — ] The blustering upstart. = 83:) This
heavy-headed revel, east and west,] This heavy-headed
revel makes us traduced east and west, and taxed of other
nations. =84:) The pith and marrow of our attribute.] 'l|lie
most valuable part of the praise that would be otherwise
attributed to us. = 85:) — complexion,] i. e. humour; as

sanguine, melancholy, phlegmatic. Ace. = 86:) that too

much o'er-leavens II The form of plausive manners;] That
intermingles too much with their manners; infects and cor-
rupts them. Plausive, in our poet's age signilied gracious,
pleasing, popular. = 87:) — fortune's star,j The word star
in the text signifies a scar of that appearance. It is a term
oi farriery : the white star or mark so common on the fore-
head of a dark coloured horse, is usually produced by
making a scar on the place. Ritson. = 88:) As infinite as
man may undergo,)] As large as can be accumulated upon
man. = 8 9:) — often dout,] To dout, signified in Shakspcare's
time, and yet signifies in Devonshire and other western
counties, to do out, to efface, to extinguish. The commen-
tators, however, have not made sense of this passage, which

Malone gives thus, equally unintelligibly: "The dram

of eale || Doth all the noble substance of a doubt, || To his
own scandal." =: SO:) — questionable shape,] (Questionable
means here propitious to conversation, easy and willing

to be conversed with. = 91:) tell, \\ tVhy thy canoniz'd

bones, hearsed in death, \\ Have burst their cerements!]
Hamlet, amazed, at an apparition, which, though in all ages
credited, has in all ages been considered as the most won-
derful and most dreadful operation of supernatural agency,
enquires of the spectre, in the most emphatic terras, why
he breaks the order of nature, by returning from the dead;
this he asks in a very confused circumlocution, confounding
in his fright the soul and body. Why, says he, have thy
bones, which with due ceremonies have been entombed in
death, in the common state of departed mortals, burst the
folds in which they were embalmed'^ Why has the tomb,
ill which we saw thee quietly laid, opened his mouth, that
mouth which, by its weight and stability, seemed closed
for ever"? The whole sentence is this: If^ hy dost thou ap-
pear, whom we know to be dead 'f Johnson. ^ 92:) — in com-
plete steel,] It is probable, that Shakspearc introduced his
ghost iu armour, that it might appear more solemn by such
a discrimination from the other characters ; though it was
really the custom of the Danish kings to be buried in that
manuer. = 93:) — to shake our disposition,] Disposition, for
frame. = 94:) — a more removed ground:] i. e. remote. =
96:) — jtin's fee;] The value of a pin. = 96:) That beetles
o''er his base — ] That hangs o'er his base, like what is
called a beetle brow, A verb probably of our author's coin-
age.^=97:) — deprive yoar sovereignty of reason,] i.e.your
ruling power of reason. When poets wish to invest any
quality or virtue with uncommon splendour, they do it by
some allusion to regal eminence. ^= 98:)— put* toys of de-
speration,] Toys, for i»Aim«.=9P:) — that lets me:] To let
among our old authors signiiics to prevent, to hinder. It
is still a word current in the law, and to be found in al-
most all leases. = 100:) And duller should'st thou be than
the fat weed || That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,]
Shakspeare, apparently through ignorance, makes Roman
('atholics of those Pagan Danes; and here gives h desurip-
tioii of purgatory; but yet mixes it with tiie Pagan fable
of Lethe 8 wharf. Mr. Malone reads "roots itself. '-^101:)
— mine orchard,] Orchard for garden. =^ 102:) tf^ith juice
of cursed hebenon in a vial,] 'I lie word here used was more
probably designed by a metathesis, either of the poet or
Iranscri'ber, fur henebon, that is. henbane; of which the
most comuon kind {hyoaoyamut niget) is oertaiuly narcotic^

and perhaps, if taken iu a considerable quantity, might
prove poisonous. -= 1 03:) — at owce despatch'd :] Despatched,
for bereft. = 104:) UnhouseVd, disappointed, unanel'd;]
Unhouserd is without having received the sacrament. Dis-
appointed, as Dr. Johnson observes^ "is the same as unap-
pointed, and may be properly explained unprepared.^ A man
well furnished with things necessary for an enterprize, was
said to be well appointed." Unanel'd is without extreme
unction. = 105:) —pale his uneffectual fire:] Fire that is
no longer seen when the light of morning approaches. =
106:) — this distracted globe.] i.e. in this head confused
with thought. = 107:) My tables,] Table-books in the time
ot our author appear to have been used by all ranks of
people. In the church they were tilled with short notes of
the sermon, and at the theatre with the sparkling sentences
of the play. = 108:) — Now to my word;] Hamlet alludes
to the watch-word given every day in military service,
which at this time he says is. Adieu, adieu! remember me.
= 109:) — come, bird, come] This is the call which fal-
coners use to their haMk iu the air, when they would have
him come down to them. ^r= l lO:) "This not to do, swear;"
-^Mai-oi\e. = 111:) Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!] The skill
displayed in Shakspcare's management of his ghost, is too
considerable to be overlooked, lie has rivetted our atten-
tion to it by a succession of forcible circumstances: — by
the previous report of the terrified centiiiels, — by the so-
lemnity of the hour at which the phantom walks, — by its
martial stride and discriminating armour, visible only per
incertatn lunam, by the glimpses of the moon, — by its
long taciturnity, — by its preparation to speak, when inter-
rupted by the morning cock, — by its mysterious reserve
ihroughout its lirst scene with Hamlet, — by his resolute
departure wi^h it, and the subsequent anxiety of his attend-
ants, — by its conducting him to a solitary angle of the
platform, — by its voice from beneath the earth, — and by
its unexpected burst on us in the closet. Hamlet's late in-
terview with the spectre, must in particular be regarded as
a stroke of dramatic artifice. The phantom might have told
his story in the presence of the officers and Horatio, and
yet have rendered itself as inaudible to them, as afterwards
to the queen. But suspense was our poet's object; and
never was it more effectually created, than in thie present
instance. Six times has the royal semblance appeared, but
till now has been viithheld from speaking. For this event
we have waited with impatient curiosity, unaccompanied
by lassitude, or remitted attention. The ghost in this tra-
gedy, is allowed to be the genuine product of Shakspearc's
strong imagination. When he afterwards avails himself of
traditional phantoms, as in Julius Ccesar and King Ri-
chard HI., they are but cflicacious pageants; nay, the ap-
parition of Banquo is a mute exhibitor. Perhaps our poet
despaired to equal the vigour of his early conceptions on
the subject of preternatural beings, and therefore allotted
them no further eminence in his' dramas; or was unwilling
to diminish the power of his principal shade, by an injudi-
cious repetition of congenial images. Steevens. =

ACT II. = 1:) — Danskers — ] Danske is the ancient
name of Denmark. =2:) — another scandal —] i. e. a very dif-
ferent and more scandalous failing, namely, habitual incon-
tinency. = 3:) That's not my meaning :] That is not what
1 mean when 1 permit you to accuse him of drabbing. = 4:)
A savageness — J Savageness for wildness. =5:) Of general
assault.] i. e. such as youth in general is liable to. = 6:) —
prenominate crimes,] i. e. crimes already named. = 7:) —
in yourself.] In your own person, not by spies. = 8:) — Ifn-
garter'd, and f/oiMi-gy ved to his ancle ;] Down-gyved means
hanging down like the loose cincture which cunliues the
fetters round the ancles. =r= 9:) — all his bulk,] i. e. all his
body. = 10:) "help," —Malone. = 11:)— foredoes itself,]
To foredo is to destroy. = 12:) / had not quoted him:] i.e.
observed him. = 13:) — it is as proper to our age, kc] This
is not the remark of a weak man. The vice of age is too
much suspicion. Men long accustomed to the wiles of life
cast commonly beyond themselves, let their cunning go far-
ther than reason can attend it. This is always the fault
of a little mind, made artful by long commerce with the
world. Johnson. = 14:) This must be known; which, being
kept close, might move |j More grief to hide, than hate to
utter love.] i. e. this inust_ be made known to the king, for
(being kept secret) the hiding Hamlet's love might occasion
more mischief to us from him and the queen, than the ut-
tering or revealing of it will occasion hate and resentment
from Hamlet. ^=: 15:) To show us so much gentry,] Gentry,
for complaisance. = 1 6:) {"or the supply, kc^ That the
hope which your arrival has raised may be coinplet<;d by
the desired effect. Johnson. ^=1 7:) — in the full bent,] The
full bent, is the utmost extremity of exertion. The allu-
sion is to a bow bent as far as it will go. = 1 8:) — the trail
of policy — ] The trail is the course of an animal pursued
by the scent. = 19:) — the fruit — ] The desert after the
meat. = 20:) — borne in hand,] i. c. deceived, imposed on.
= 21:) To give the assay — ] To take the assay was a tech-
nical expression, originally applied to those who tasted
wine for princes and great men. ==: 22:) My liege, and ma-
dam, to expostulate — J 'I'o expostulate, for to enquire or
discuss. VVahhuhton makes the character of Polonius, a
character only of manners, discriminated by properties su-
perficial, accidental, and acquired. 'I'he poet intended a
nobler delineation of a mixed character of manners and of

T^.S.[Pl:36.]

NOTES

1033

nature. Polonius is a man bred in courts, eTcrcised in busi-
ness, stored uith obtiervation, coiitident in bis knowiedfre,
proud of bis cloqiieure, and declining into dotage. His
mode of oratory is truly represented as de^!iglled to ridi-
cule the practice of tfao.^e times, of prefaces ihat made no
introduction, and of method that embarra.ssed rather than
explained. This pan of his character is accidental, the
rest is natural. Such a man is positive and conlideut, be
cauiiC he knows that his mind was once strong, and knows
not that it is become weak. Such a man excels in general
principles, but fails in the particular application. He is
knoMing in retrospect, and ignorant in fore^<ight. While he
depends upon his memory, and can draw from his reposi-
tories of knowledge, he utters weighty sentences, and gives
useful counsel; but as the mind iu its enfeebled state can-
not be kept long busy and intent, the old man is subject to
sudden dereliction of his laculties, he loses the order of
his ideas, and entan^rles himi^elf in his own thoughts, till
he recovers the leading principle, and falls again into his
former train. This idea of dotage encroaching upon wis-
dom, will solve all the phxnomena of ihe cnaracter of Po-
lonius. JoHSSO>. = 23:) — /nore aAoi-e,] 'is, moreortr, begidet.
= 24:) // 1 had play'd the desk; or table-book; ij Or given
my heart a working, mute and dumb ; ;| Or look'd upon thia
lore with idle tight; \\ ff^'hat might you think f^ i. e. if
e'thcr 1 had conveyed intelligence between them, and been
the confident of their amours [play'd the desk, or table-
book]; or had connived at it, only observed them in secret,
without acquainting my daughter with my discovery [giv-
ing my heart a mute and dumb working}; or lastly, been
negligent in observing the intrigue, and overlooked it ylook'd
upon thia love with idle sight]; or concealed it; wlial
would you have thought of me Y = 25:) "■prescripts gave
her," — Maio>b. = 2d:) U^'hich done, she took ffte fruits
of my advice;] She took the fruits of advice when she
obeyed advice, the advice was then made fruitful. = 27:)
ril board him — ] i. e. accost, address him. = 28:) "should
be" — Malo>k. = 29:) How pregnant, Aic] Fregnant is
ready, dexterous, apt. = 30:) Rosencrant~—\ There was an
ambassador of that name in Eiigland about the time when
this play was written. = 31:) Then are our beggars, bo-
dies ;] Shakspearo seems here to design a ridicule of those
declamations against wealth and greatness, that seem to
make happiness consist in poverty. ^32:) — too dear, a
halfpenny.] i. e. a halfpenny too dear: they are worth no-
thing. ^= 33:) yVay, then J have an eye of you;] An eye of
you means, I have a glimpse of your meaning. = 34:) '■'■ta.-
cQ]ty !" — M.4L0SK. = 36:) — lenten entertainment —] i. e.
sparing, like the entertainments given in tent. = 36:) — we
coted them on the way;] To cole, is to overtake. = 37:) —
the lady shall say her mind, A^c] The lady shall mar the
measure of the verse, rather than not express herself freely
or fully. =38:) How chances it, they travel*] To travel in
Shaksp'eare's time was the technical word, for which we
have substitute)! to stroll. = 39:) — an aiery of children,
kc] Relating to the playhouses then contending, the Bank-
side, the Fortune, K.c. played by the children of his ma-
jesty's chapel. = 40:) — little eyases, tAat cry out on the
top of question,] Little eyases; i. e. young nestlings, crea-
tures just out of the egg. The meaning seems to allude to
boys who ask a common question iu the highest note of the
voice, and declaim iu common conversation. = 41:) — es-
cotedy] Paid. From the French e«cot, a shot or reckoning.
:=42:) — Will they pitrsue the quality no longer than they
can singf] Will they follow the profession of players no
longer than they keep the voices of boys, and sing in the
choir ?^ 43:) — fAeir writers do them wrong, itc] 1 should
have been very much surprised if I had not found Ben Jon-
son among the writers here alluded to. Steevems. =44:)
— to tarre them on to controversy:] To provoke any animal
to rage, is to tarre him. The word is said to come from
the Greek word zagnauu. = 45:) — Hercules and his load
too.] The allusion may be to the Globe playhouse on the
Bankside, the sign of which was Hercules carrying the
globe. ^= 46:) It is not very strange: for my uncle— ^ I do
not wonder that the new players have so suddenly risen to
reputation, my uncle supplies another example of the fa-
cility with which honour is conferred upon new claimants.
JoH>sos. = 47:) — in little.] i. e. in miniature. — 48:) — /et
me comply, Jtc] To comply is apparently used in the »euse
of — to compliment. = i9:) — J know a hawk from a hand-
saw.] A proverbial speech. = 50:) — For the law of w rit,]
Writ, for writing, composition. = 5 1:) Why, Js by lot,
God wot, — tec] The old song from which these quotations
are taken has a place in Dr. Percy's Reliques of ancient
English Foetry. = 52:) — tAe pious chanson—] The pious
chansons were a kind of Christmas carols, containing some
scriptural history thrown into loose rhymes, and sung about
the streets by the common people when they went at that
season to solicit alms. Hamlet is here repeating some
scraps from a song of this kind, and when Polonius en-
q^uires what follows them, he refers him to the first row
(i.e. division) of one of the-ie, to obtain the information he
wanted. == 53:) — my abridgment — ] He calls the players
afterwards the brief chronicles of the times ; but I think
he now means only those who will shorten my talk. John-
son. = 64:) — thy face is valanced — ] i. e. fringed with a
beard. The valance is the fringes or drapery hanging round
the tester of a bed. =55:) — to beard me—] To beard, an-
ciently signified to set at defiance. ^Sb:) — by the altitude
of a chopiue.] A chioppine is a high shoe, or rather, a clog,

worn bv the Italians. = 57:) — be not cracked within the
ring.] That is, cracked too much for use. This is said to
a young player who acted the parts of women. =68:) —
caviare to the general:] Caviare is a Russian delicacy
made of the roe of the sturgeon. The general, the common
people. = 59:) — cried in the top of mine,] Were higher
than mine. ^=60:) — indite the author of affection ;] i. e. con-
vict the author of being a fantastical affected writer. -=61:)

— an honest method,] Honest, for cAo«te. = 62:) ^Tow is he
total gules;] Cu/e« is a tt-rin in the barbarous jargon pe-
culiar to heraldry, and signifies rerf.=63:) — trick'd — ] i.e.
smeared, painted. An heraldic term. r= 64:)— fAe mobled
queen — ] Mobled or mabled signifies veiled; or according
to Johnson, huddled, grossly covered. r= 65:) With bisson
rheum ;] Bisson or bcesen, i. e. blind. A word still in use
in some parts of the north of England. ^= 66:) — tAe rue
for passion,] The hint, the direction. This phrase is thea-
trical, and occurs at least a dozen times in our author's
plays. = 67:) Like John a dreams,] JoAn a-dreams, i. e. of
dreams, means only JoAn the dreamer ; a nickname for any
ignorant silly fellow. = 6f:) — unpregnant of my cause,]
Aot quickened with a new desire of vengeance ; not teem-
ing with revenge. = 69:) ^ damn'd defeat was made.] De-
feat, for destruction. = 70:) — i7nrf/e»»—] L'/inafura/. =^7 1:)

— About my brains!] Wits, to your work. Brain, go about
the present business, ^=72:) — tent him — ] Search his wounds.
= 73:) — if he do blench,] If he shrink, or start. = 74:)
Sfore relative »Aan tAt«:] More nearly related, closely
connected. =

ACT III. =1:) — o'er-raupht on the way:] O'er-raught
is over reached, that is, over-took. ■= 2:) Atfront Ophelia:]
To affront, is only to meet directly. ^z=S:) — espials) — ] i.e.
spies. = 4:) 'T»« too much prov'd,] It is found by too fre-
quent experience. =5.*) — more ugly to tAe thing ihat help*
it,] That is, compared with the thing that helps it. =6:)

— shuffled off this mortal coil,] i. c. turmoil, bustle. =7:)

— There's the respect,] i. e. the consideration. = 8:) — the
whips and scorns of time,] It may be remarked, that Ham-
let, in his enumeration of miseries, forgets, whether pro-
perly or not, that he is a prince, and mentions many evils
to w'hich inferior stations only are exposed. Johnson. = 9:)

might his quietus make 'I With a bare bodkin'*] The

lirst expression probably alluded to the writ of discharge,
which was formerly granted to those barons and knights who
personally attended the king on any foreign expedition;
and were therefore exempted from the claims of scutage,
or a tax on every knight's fee. This discharge was called
a quietus. A bodkin was the ancient term for a small dag-
ger. = 10:) — ^ymph, in thy orisons, Kc] This is a touch
of nature. Hamlet, at the sight of Uphelia, does not im-
mediately recollect that he is to personate madness, but
makes her an address grave and solemn, such as the fore-
going meditation excited iu his thoughts. Johnson. = 11:)
"your honesty should" — M alone. = 12:) — into his like-
ness;] The m'oderu editors read its likeness; but the text is
right. Shakspeare and his contemporaries frequently use
the personal fur the neutral pronoun. = 13:) — tri'tA more
offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in,]
To put a thing into thought, is to think on it. = 14:) —
make your wantonness your ignorance:] Vou mistake by
wanton alfectation, and pretend to mistake by ignorance.
= 15:) — the mould of form,] The model by whom all
endeavoured to form themselves. Johnson. = 16:) — irtfA
ecstasy:] The word ecstasy was anciently used to signify
some degree of alienation of mind. ^= 17:) — be round with
him;] Reprimand him with freedom. = 18:) — periwi^-
pated — ] This is a ridicule on the quantity of false hair
worn in Shakspeare's time ; for wigs were not in common
use till the reign of (>harles II. = 19:) — the groundlings ;]
In our early play-houses the pit had neither floor nor
benches. Hcuce the term of groundlings for those who
frequented it. = 20:) — Termagant;] Termagaunt (says Dr.
Percy) is the name given in the old romances to the god of the
Sarazens; in which he is constantly linked with Mahound,
or 3ioAammed. = 21:) — out-Aerod« Herod:] The character
of Herod, in the ancient mysteries, was, always a violent
one. ^22:) — pressure.] Resemblance as in a print. = 23:)

— tAe censure of which one,] The meaning is, "the censure
of one of which." = 24:) — in your allowance,] In your ap-
probation. = 25:) — speak no more than is set down for
them:] The clown very often addressed the audience, in the
middle of the play, and entered into a contest of raillery
and sarcasm with such of the audience as chose to engage
with him. It is to this absurd practice that Shakspeare al-
ludes. = 26:) — tAe pregnant hinges of the knee,] 1 believe
the sense of pregnant in this place, is, quick, ready, prompt.
Johnson. = 27:) Whose blood and judgment — ] According
to the doctrine of the four humours, desire and confidence
were seated in the blood, and judgment in the phlegm, and
the due mixture of the humours made a perfect character.
Johnson. = 28:) — TuZcan'* stithy.] Stithy is a smith's anvil.
= 29:) — nor mine noir.] A man's words, says the proverb,
are his own no longer than he keeps them unspoken. =
30:) _ at Uphelia's Feet.] To lie at the feet of a mistress
during any dramatic representation, seems to have been a
common act of gallantry. = 31:) — iVau, lAen let the devil
wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables.] Nay then, says
Hamlet, if my father be so long dead as you say, let the
devil w ear black ; as for me, so far from wearing a mourn-

1034

NOTES.

[Pi.:3rx] Tir.S.

iiig dress, I'll wear the most cosily ami magiiiliRCut suit
that can be procured : a Ktiit trimmed with tables ; which
ill our poet's time was the richest dres^s worn in England.
= 32:) — suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse:]
Amongst the country May-games, there was an holiby-liorse,
which, when the puritanical humour of those times opposed
and discredited these games, was brougiit by the poets and
ballad makers as an instance of the ridiculous zeal of the
sectaries; from these ballads Hamh't quotes a line or two.
Wabburtois-. = 33:) — The dumb Show follows.] And ap-
pears to contain every circumstance of the murder of Ham-
let's father. Now there is no apparent reason why the
usurper should not be as much alfcctcd by this mute repre-
sentation of his crimes, as he is afterwards when the same
action is accompanied by words. = 34:) Marry, this is
miching mallechu; it means mischief.] Aiie word miching
is daily used in the west of England for playing truant,
or scniking about in private for some sinister purpose ; and
ntalieho, inaccurately written for malheco, signifies mis-
chief! to that miching ntalieho is mischief on the watch
for epportunity.^=oi:) — lie not you ashamed to show,ii.c.]
The conversation of Hamlet with Ophelia, which cannot
fail to disgust every modern reader, is probably such as
was peculiar to the young and fashionable of ihe age of
Shakspeare, which was, by no means, the age of delicacy.
The poet is^ however, blameablc:^ for extravagance of
thought, not indecency of expression, is the characteristic of
madiu^ss, at least of such madness as should be represented
on the scene. Stkevejcs. = Sti:) — cart — ] A chariot was
anciently so called. = 37:) — sheen,] Splendour, lustre.
JouKvoN. =3F:) — operant powers—] Operant is active. =
39:) The instances,] 'I'he motives. ■= iO:} — what to our-
selves is debt:] The performance of a resolution, in which
only the resolver is interested, is a debt only to himself
which he may therefore remit at pleasure. = 41:) TAeir
own enactures with themselves de.itroy :] What grief or
joy enact or determine in their violence, is revoked in their
abatement. Enactures is the word in the quarto; all the
modern editions have enactors. Johnson. =42:) ^« anchor'*
cheer in prison be my scope!] May my whole liberty and
enjoyment be to live on hermil's fare in a prison. Anchor
is for anchoret. Johnson. :^43:) The mouse-trap.] He calls

it the mouse-trap, because it is— " the thing !| In which

he'll catch the conscience of the king." := 44:) ly'ould not
this, sir, and a forest of feathers, Ulc] It appears from
Decker's Gul's Hornbrooke, that feathers were much worn
on the stage in Shakspeare's time. = 4 5:)— turn Turk with
me,] This means to change condition fantastically. = 4G:) —
I'rovencial roses on my razed shoes,] Frovencial, or (with
the French f) l'roven<;al. He means roses of Frovence, a
beautiful species of rose, much cultivated; but Mr. Malonc
reads Provincial, from Provins in France. Razed shoes
may mean slashed shoes, i.e. with cuts or openings in them.
The poet might have written raised shoes, i. e. shoes with
high heels; such as by adding to the stature, are supposed
to increase the dignity of a player. = 47:} — a cry ef
players,] Allusion to a pack of hounds, which was once
called a cry of hounds. = 48:) Ham. A whole one, I.] The
actors in our author's time had not annual salaries as at
present. The whole receipts of each theatre were divided
into shares, of which the proprietors of the theatre, or
house-keepers, as they were called, had some; and each
actor had one or more shares, or purl; of a share, accord-
ing to his merit. r= 49:) — 0 Damon dear,] Hamlet calls
Horalio by this name, in allusion to the celebrated friend-
sliip between />anio;i and Piithias.^=b(i:) IFhy then, belike,]
Hamlet w^as going on to draw the consequence, when the
courtiers entered. Johnson. = 5 1:) — h6 likes it not, perdy.J
Ferdy is the corruption of par Dieu, and is not uncommon
ill the old plays. = 52:) If^ith drink, sir'/] Hamlet takes
particular care that his uncle's love of drink shall not be
forgotten. ^= 5 3:) — further trade — ] Further business; fur-
ther dealing. = 54:) — by these pickers, kc] By these hands.
:=55:) — the proverb is something musty,] The remainder
of this old proverb is — ""tyhile grass doth growe, the silly
horse he starves.'''' Hamlet means to intimate, that whilst
he is waiting for the succession to the throne of Denmark,
he may himself be taken off by death. = 50:) — -Recorrfers.J
i, e. a kind of flute, or flagelet. = 67:) — To withdraw with
you:] Here Mr. Maloiie adds the following stage direction:
iTaking Guildenstern aside.] But these ouscure words may
refier to some gesture which Guildenstern had used, and
which, at iirst, was inter|ireted by Hamlet into a signal for
him to attend the speaker into another room. "To with-
draw with you'^" (says_ he) Is that your meaning'^ But
linding his friends continue to move mysteriously about
him, he adds, with some resentment, a question more easily
intelligible. Stkkvens.= 5S:) — vc7itages — ] The holes of a
flute. = 5C:) — They fool me to the top of my bent,] They
compel me to play the fool, till I can endure it no longer.
= bO:) — be shent,] To shend, is to reprove harshly, to
treat with rough language. = 61:) To give them seals — ]
i.e. put them in execution. = 62:) Out of his lunes.] i.e. his
madness, frenzy. Mr. Malonc reads lunacies. ==tiS:) Behind
the arras I'll convey myself,] The arras hangings in Shak-
speare's time, were hung at such a distance irom the walls,
that a person might easily stand behind them unperceived.
r=64:) — o/ vantage.] Uy some opportunity of secret ob-
servation. = 65:) Though inclination be as sharp as will;]
What the king means to say, is, "That though he was not
only willing to piay, but strongly inclined to it, yet his

intention was defeated by his guilt." = 66:) May one be
pardoned, and retain the offence "f J He that docs not amend
wliat can be a:iiended, retains his offence. The king kept
the crown from the right heir. Johnson. = 67:) Yet what
can it, when one can not repent 'f] iVhat can repentance
do for a man that cannot be penitent, for a man who has
only part of penitence, distress of conscience, without the
otlier part, resolution of amendment'' Johnsom. =: 68:) 0
limed soul;] This alludes to bird-lime. r=b^:) — That would
be scanned:] i. e. that should be considered, estimated. =
70:) L/p, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:] To
hcnt is used by Shakspeare for to seize, to catch, to lay
hold on. Hent is, therefore, hold, or seizure. Lay hold
on him, sword, at a more horrid time. = 7 1:) As hell, whereto
it goes.] This speech, in which Hamlet, represented as a
virtuous character, is not content with taking blood lor
blood, but contrives damnation for the man that lie would
punish, is too horrible to be read or to be uttered. Johnson.
This speech of Hamlet's, as Johnson observes, is horrible
indeed; yet .^oiiie moral may be extracted from it, as all
his subsequent calamities w ere ow ing to this savage refine-
ment of revenge. M. Mason. ='72:) — Til silence me e'en
here.] i. e. Til use no more words. ■= 73:) Queen. As kill a
king!] This exclamation may be considered as some hint
that tiuEi queen had no hand in the murder of Hamlet's
father. =; 1 4:) — from the body of contraction — ] Contrac-
tion for marriage contract. =75:) — and thunders in the
index '^J Bullokar in his Expositor 8vo. 1616, delincs an In-
dex by "A table in a booke." The table was almost always
prefixed to the books of our poet's age. Indexes, in the
sense in which we now understand the word, were very im-
common. =76:) Look here, upon this picture, and on this;]
It is evident from the following words, ^'■A station, like the
herald Mercury," kc. that these pictures which are intro-
duced as miniatures on the stage, were meant for whole-
lengths, being part of the furniture of the queen's closet.
= 7 7:) A station like the herald Mercury, A.C.] Station, in
this instance, does not mean the spot where any one is
placed, but the act of standing. = 7 B:) — batten — J i. e. to

grow fat. Bat is an ancient word for increone. = 79:)

Sense, sure, you have, || Else, could you not have motion :]
Sense is sometimes used by 8hakspear.< for sensation or
sensual appetite: as motion is the effect produced by the
impulse of nature. = 80:) — at hoodman-blindY] Probably
the same as blindman'' s-buff.^= *) Could not so mope.] i. e.
could not exhibit such marks of stupidity. ==^ 81:) If thou
canst mutine, &c.] To mutine, was tlie ancient term, sig-
nifying to rise in mutiny. =^82:) — grained — ] Died in grain,
or perhaps, indented. = 83:) As will not leave tAeir tinct.l
To leave is to part with, give up, resign. :^84:) — enseameu
bed;] i.e. greasy bed. = 85:) — vice of kings:] A low mimic
of kings. The vice is the fool of a farce; from whence
the modern punch is descended. = 86:) A king || Of shreds
and patches:] This is said, pursuing the idea of the vice of
kings. The vice was dressed as a fool, in a eoat of party-
coloured patches. = 8 7:) — laps''d in time and passion,]
That, having suffer'd time to slip, and passion to cool, lefs
go, iiC. = 88:) Conceit in weakest bodies — ] Conceit for
imagination. = 89:)— like life in excrements,] Not only the
hair of animals having neither life nor sensation was called
an excrement, but the feathers of birds had the same ap-
pellation. = 90:) IFould make them capable.] Capable here
signifies intelligent ; endued with understanding. = 91:) My
stern effects:] Effects for actions; deeds effected. ^= 92:) —
do not spread the compost, Kc] Do not, by any new indul-
gence, heighten your former offences. =^9 3:) — curb—] That
IS, bend and truckle ; Fr. courber. =94:) To punish me with
this, and this with me,] To punish ine by ntakiiig me the
instrument of this man's death, and to punish this man by
my hand. = 95:) Let the bloat king—] This again hints at
his intemperance. He had already drank himself into a
dropsy. Bf,ACKsT0NK. = 96:) — his mouse;] Mouse was once
a term of endearment. = 97:) — reechy kisses,] Reechy is
smoky. The author meant to convey a coarse idea, and
was not Very scrupulous in his choice of an epithet. ^=98:)
— a gib,] (iib was a common name for a cat. = 99:) To try
conclusions,] i.e. experiments. = 100:) 1 must to England;]
Shakspeare docs not intorm us how tiamlet came to know
that he was to be sent to England. Hoseiicrantz and Guil-
denstern were made acquainted with the king's intentions
for the first time in the very last scene; and they do not
appear to have had any communication with the prince
since that time. = 101:) — adders fang'd,] That is, adders
with their fangs or poisonous teeth, undraw n.-= 102:) Hoist,
kc] Hoist for hoised ; as past for passed. = 10 3:) IF hen
in one line two crafts directly meet.] Still alluding to a
countermine. = 104:) Come, sir, to draw toward an end
tvith you:] Shakspeare has been unfortunate in his manage-
ment of the story of this play, the most striking circum-
stances of which arise so early in its formation, as not to
leave him room for a conclusion suitable to the importance
of its beginning. After this last interview with the ghost,
the character ^f Uamlet has lost all its consequence.
Steevgns. =

ACT IV. = l:)Act IV.] This play is printed in the old
editions without any separation ot the Acts. The division
is modern and arbitrary ; and is here not very happy, lor
the pause is made at a time when there is more continuity
of action than iu almost any other of the scenes. Johnson.

I^.S.[Pl:3«.]

NOTES.

10S5

= 2:) "and cries," — Malohk. = 3:) — oaf of hannt,] i. e.
out of compaii}'. = 4:) Among a mineral — ] MineraU are
mine*. = 5:) — cannon to his blank,] The blank was the
white mark at which chot or arriiws were directed. = 6:) —
tike an ape,] i. e. as an ape does an apple. = 7:) — Hide
fox, Xc] There is a play ainoug children, called hide fox,
and alt after. = 8:)—go a progress — J Alluding to the
royal journeyy of state always styled progre*set; a tainiliar
idea to tho<e who, like our author, lived during the reigns
of queen Elizabeth and king James 1. = V:) — (Ae trind at
help,] i. e. at hand, ready. = Kh) — tttou may it not coldly
get — ] i. e. set at nought. = 11:) Howe'er my baps,] i. c.
whatever befall me. :=^ 12:) — in A/* eye,] i. e. iu his pre-
sence. The phrase appears to have been formularly.^^ 13:)
— eftief good, and market of his time, ice] If his highest
good, and that for vhich he sells his time, be to sleep aud
feed. = 14:) — targe discourse,] Such latitude of couipre
hension, such power of reviewing the past, aud anticipating
the future. = 15:) — »oine craven scruple — J Some co» ardly

scruple. = 16:) Rightly to be great, i| Js, not to stir

urithout, kc] But then, honour is an argument, or subject
of debate, sufficiently great, and when liouour is at stake,
» e must find cause of quarrel in a straw. = 17:) — a plot — J
A piece, or portion. = 18:) — continent,] Continent, in our
author, means that which comprehends or encloses. = \^:)
Spurns enviously at straws;] Envy is much oftt-ner put by
our poet (aud those of his time) for direct aversion, than
for malignity conceived at the sight of another's excellence
or happiness. =^20:) — to collection;] i. e. to deduce cou-
sequences from such premises; or, as .Mr. M. Mason ob-
serves, "endeavour to collect some meaning from them."
= 2 I:) — rAej; aim at it,] To aim is to guess. ^22:) Though
nothing sure, yet much unhappily ] i. e. though her mean-
ing caunot be certainly collected, yet there is enough to
put a mischievous interpretation to it. ^= 23:) — to some
great amiss:] Shakspeare is not singular in his use of this
word as a substantive. £ach toy is, each trifle. =29:) Moir
should I your true love, kc] There is no part of this play,
in its representation on the stage, more pathetic th<!U this
scene; which, t suppose, proceeds from the utter iusensi-
bility Uphelia has to her own misfortunes. A great sensi-
bility, or none at all, seems to produce the same etfect. in
the latter the audience supply what she wants, and with
the former they sympathize. Sir J. ltKv>'0LDs. = 25:) By
his cockle hat and staff, j And his sandal «Aoon.]*This is
the description of a pilgrim. While this kind of devotion
was iu favour, love-intrigues were carried on under that
mask. Hence the old ballads aud novels made pilgrimages
the subjects of their plots. The cockle-shell hat was one
of the essential badges of this vocation : for the chief places
of devotion being beyond sea, or on the coasts, the pil-
grims were accustomed to put cncklc-shells upon their hats,
to denote the intention or performance of their devotion.
r= 26:) Larded — ] The expression is taken from cookery.
=r 27:) IFell, God'ield youF] i. e. Heaven reward you! =
28:) — (Ac owl was a baker's daughter.] This was a legend-
ary story. — Our Saviour being refused bread by the daugh-
ter of a baker, is described as punishing her by turning uer
into an owl. ^= 29:)— don'd his clothes,] To don is to do
on, to put on; as doff is to do off, put otf. = **) Ami dupp'd
the chamber door:] To dup is to do up; to lift the latch.
= 30:) Jiy Gis,] Probably the contraction of some saint's
name. ^=iU) — by Saint Charity,] Saint Cluirity is a saint
among the llomau Catholics. = 32:) By cock,] This is a
corruption of the sacred name. ^ 33:) — but greenly,] But
unfkilfully ; with greenness; that is, without maturity of
Judfrnient. = 34:) in hugger-mugger to inter him:] All the
modern editions that 1 have consulted, give it: in private
to inter him; — That the words now replaced are better, 1
du not undertake to prove; it is soriicient that they are
Shakspeare's : if phra.«eology is to be changed as words
grow uncouth by disuse, or gross by vulgarity, ihc history
of every language will be Tost; we shall uu longer have
tbc words of any author; and, as these alterations will be
often un!>kilfully made, we shall in time have very little of
his meaning. Johnson. = 35:) Like to a murdering piece,]
The small cannon, which are, or were used in the fore-
castle, half-deck, or steerage of a ship of war, were within
the last century called murdering-pieces. = 3o:) — my
Switzcrsi] In many of our old plays, the guards attendant
on kings are called Switzers, and that without any regard
to the country where the scene lies, because the Swiss, in
the time of our poet, as at present, were hired to light the
battles of other nations. ^ 37:) The ocean, overpeering of
his list,] The lists are the barriers which the spectators of
a tournament must not pass. In this place, it signitics
boundary, i.e. the shore. = 38:) 0, this is counter,] Hounds
run counter when they trace the trail backwards. = 39:) —
unsmirched droir— ] i.e. clean, not defiled. = 40:) — to your
judgment 'pear,] For appear. ^=i I:) Nature is line in love:
ana, where 'tis fine, |j It sends some precious instance of
itself ;\ After the thing it loves.] Love (says Laertes) is the
passion by vhich nature is most exalted and refined; and
as substances, refined and subtilised, easily obey any im-
pulse, or follow any attraction, some part of nature, so
purified and rejftned, flies off after the attracting object,
alter the thing it loves. =4 2:)— O, how the wheel 6ecomes
it! &.C.] The wheel means the burthen of the song, which
she had just repeated, and as such was formerly u«ed. But
Mr. Maloue thinks that wheel is here used in its ordinary
sense, and that these words allude to the occupation of the

girl who is supposed to sing the snng alluded to by Uphelia.
= 43:) There's rosemary, that's for' remembrance;] Rose-
mary was anciently supposed to »trengbten Ihe memory,
aud was not only carried at funerals, but worn at weddings.
= 44:) — you may wear your rue with a difference.] This
seems to refer to the rules of heraldry, where the younger
brutuers of a family bear ithe same arms iwith a differ-
ence, or mark of dirtiuctioii. 'i'here may, however, be
soinewlirft more implitd here than is expre^ed. You, ma-
dam, (says Ophelia to the queen) may call your %VK by it»
Sunday name, hbeb ok urack, and so wear it with a dif-
Jcrence to distinguish it from mine, which can never be
un/; thing but merely rie, i. e. sorrow. Stkkvkss. = 45:)
Thought and affliction,] Thought here, as in many oiher
places, signifies melancholy. = 46:) God 'a mercy on hi*
soul.' 'I And of all christian souls. *] This is the cnmmoa
couclu.'<iou to many of the ancient monumental inscriptions.
= 47:) iVo trophy, tivord, nor hatchment, o'er his bone*.]
it was the custom, in the times of our author, to hang a
sword over the grave of a knight, and it is uniformly kept
up to this day. Not only (he sword, but the helmet, gauntlet,
spur."!, and tabard (i. e. a coat whereon the armorial eusigus
were anciently depicted, from whence the term coat of ar-
mour,) are hung over ihe grave of every knight. = 48:) —
for the bore oy the matter.] The bore is the caliber of a
gun, or the capacity of the barrel. The matter (i-ays Ham-
let) would carry heavier words. = 4S:) — the general gen-
der— ] The common race of the people. = 50:) Work like
the spring, ice.] The allusion here is to the quality still
ascribed to the dropping-well at Knaresborough in Yorkshire.
=^51:) — if praises may go back again,] If I may praise
what has been, but is now to be found no more. = 52:) At
i checking at his voyage,] i. e. objecting to. The phrase is
;: from lalconry. = oo:) Uf the unworthiest siege.J Of the
; lowest rank. Siege, for seat, place. ^=5*:) Importing health
\\ and graveness.] i. e. implying, denoting. = 56:) — in your
!; defence,] That is, in the science of defence. = 56:) — the
li scrimers — ] The fencers. From escrimeur, Fr.; a fencer.
It =57:) — love is begun by time;] This is obscure. The
meaning may be, love is not innate iu us, and co- essential
' to our uature, but begins at a certain time from some es-
j: (ernal cause, and being always subject to the operations of
|: time,, suffers change aud diminution. Joh>som. = 58:) — paa-
i; sages of proof,] Iu transactions of daily experience. = 59:)

I And then this should is tike a spendthrift sigh, '} That

II hurts by easing.] ,\ spendthrift sigh is a sigh that makes
an unnecessary waste of the vital flame. It is a notion

i very prevalent, that sighs impair the strength, and wear
r out the animal powers. Johnson. := bO:) A sword unbated,1
!: i. e. not blunted as foils are. = 61:)— a pass of practice,]
I, Practice is often by Sba^speare, and other writers, taken
;| fur an insidious stratagem, or privy treason, a sense not
|j incongruous to this passage, where yet it may mean a thrust
'', for exercise; or perhaps, a favourite pass, one he has well
I practised in. =62:) it may be death.] It is a matter of sur-
prise, that no one of Shakspeare's numerous aud able com-
|| mentators has remarked, with proper warmth and detesta-
I tion, the villainous assassin-like treachery of Laertes ia
this horrid plot. There is the more occasion that he should
I be here pointed out an object of abhorrence, as he is a cha-
I racter we are, in some preceding parts of the play, led to
I respect and admire. Kitso>. = o3:) Hay fit us to our
I shape:] .May enable us to assume proper characters, aud
I to act our part. ^= 64:) — A/o*t in proof.] A metaphor taken
' from the trying or proving lire-arms or cannon, which often
.! blast or 6ur»t in the proof. = t)5:) — I'll have preferr'd
ji him — ] i.e. presented to him. =66:) i/ he by chance escape
! your venom d stuck,] i. e. your venom'd thrust. Stuck was
I a term of the fencing school. = 67:) — iiAeroi—] Liberal is
{ free-spoken, licentious iu language. =68:) .<tf< one incapable
ll of her own distress,] As one having no understanding or
! knowledge of her danger. = 69:) The woman wilt be out.']
i. e. tears will flow. =

ACT V. =: 1:) — make her grave straight :] i. e. imme-
diately. = 2:) — an act hath three branches; it is, to act,
to do, and to perform:] Ridicule on scholastic divisions,
without distinction; and of distinctions without difference.
Warbirton. = 3:)— tAeir even christian.] An old English
expression for fellow-christian. = 4:) In youth, when 1 did
love, i.c.] The three sUnzas, sung here by the grave-digger,
are extracted, with a slight variation, from a little poem,
called TAe aged Lover renounceth Love, written by Henry
Howard, earl of Surrey, but it has been since attributed to
lord Vaux; and Mr. '1. Warton says, that there is in the
British .Museum a copy of Vaux's poem, beginning, / tothe
that I did love, with the title. "A dyttie or souet made by
the lord Vans, in the time or the noble queue Marye, re-
presenting the image of death." The entire song is pub-
lished by Dr. Percy, in the first volume of his Reliques of
Ancient English Poetry. = 5:) — to play at loggats iritA
themf] This is a game played in several parts ol England
even at this time. A stake is fixed into the ground; those
who play, throw toggats or pins of wood at it, and he that
is nearest the stake wins. = 6:) — quiddits, &c.] i. e. sub-
tilties. = 7:) — Ai» quillets,] Quillets are nice and frivoloua
distinctions. = 8:) — tAe «conce— ] i. e. the head. = 9:) — Ais
double vouchers, kc] A recovery with double voucher ia
the oue usually suffered, and is so denominated from two
persons (the laUer of whom ia always the oommoa cryer.

1036

NOTES.

[Pl: 30.] Th. S.

or 8omc such inferior person,) being saccessively voucher,
or called upon, to warraut the tenant's title. Botli jines
and recoveries are fictions of law, used to convert aii estate
tail into a fee simple. .Statutes are (not acts of parliament,
hut,) statutes-merchant and staple, particular modes of re-
cognizajice or acknowledgment for securing debts, which
thereby become a charge upon the party's land. Statutes
and recognizances arc constantly mentioned together in the
covenants of a purchase dfed. = 10:) — assurance in that.]
A quibble is intended. Deeds, which are usually nritten
on parchment, are called the conimou assurances of the
kingdom. = 11:) — by the card,] i. e. we must speak with
the same precision aud accuracy as is observed in marking
the true distances of coasts, the heights, courses, kc. in a
svA-chart, which in our poet's time was called a card. =
12:) — the age is grown so picked,] So smart, so sharp,
says Sir T. Hanmer, very properly; but there was, 1 think,
about that time, a picked shoe, that is, a shoe with a long
pointed toe, in fashion, to Mhich the allusion seems like-
wise to be made. Every man now is smart ; and every
man now is a man of fashion. Johnson. = li:) — fAat
young Hamlet was born:} Uy this scene it appears that
tiamlet was then thirty years old, and knew Vorick well,
who had been dead twenty-two years. Aud yet in the be-
ginning of the play he is spoken of as a very young man,
one that designed to go back to school, i. e. to "the univer-
sity of Wittenberg. The poet in the lifth Act had forgot
what he wrote in the iirst. Ulackstonb. = 14:) — to this
favour — ] i. e. to this countenance or complexion. = 1 5:) —
winter's flaw!] VVintei's blast. ^= HJ:) — maimed rites!] Im-
perfect obsequies. = 17:) Fordo its own life.] To fordo is
to undo, to destroy. ^= 18:) — some estate:] Some person
of high rank. =^ 19:) Shards,] i. e. broken pots or tiles,
called pot-sherds, tile-sherds, = 20:) — allowed her virgin
crants,] Evidently corrupted from chants, which is the true
word. = 21:) To sing a requiem,] A requiem, is a mass
performed in Popish churches fur the rest of the soul of a
person deceased. = 22:) ^Fou/'t drink up Esil'?] This is un-
derstood by some of the commentators to mean a river so
called, or to mean only vinegar. = 23:) fFhen that her
golden couplets are disclos'd,] To ilisclose was anciently
used for to AatcA. =24:) — mutiues in the bilboes.] Mutines,
the French word for seditious or disobedient fellows iu the
army or fleet. The bilboes is a bar of iron with fetters
annexed to it, by which mutinous or disorderly sailors were
anciently linked together. The word is derived from .8(7-
boa, a place in Spain, where instruments of steel were fa-
bricated in the utmost perfection. To understand Shak-
speare's allusion completely, it should be known, that afi
these fetters connect the legs of the offenders very close
together, their attempts to rest must be as fruitless as
those of Hamlet, in whose mind tAere was a kind of fight-
ing that would not let him sleep. Every motion of one
must disturb his partner in conlinement. The bilboes are
still shown in the Tower of London, among the other spoils
of the Spanish armada. = 25:) — — Rashly, \\ And prais'd
be rashness for it, — Let us know, || Our indiscretion some
times serves us well, || JFhen, ice] Hamlet, delivering an
account of his escape, begins with saying — That he rashly
— and then is carried into a reflection upon the weakness
of human wisdom. 1 rashly — praised be rashness for it —
Let us not think these events casual, but let us know, that
is, take notice and remember, that we sometimes^ succeed
by indiscretion when we fail by deep plots, and infer the
perpetual superintendance and agency of the Divinity. The
observation is just, and will be allowed by every humau
being, who shall reflect on the course of his owu life. John
SON. = 2ii:) l^yith ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,]
With such causes of terror, rising from my character and
designs. =27:) — no leisure bated,] Without any abatement
or intermission of time. = 28:) Or I could make — ] Or in
old English signifled before. = 2!^:) — as our statists do,]
A statist is a statesman. Most of the great men of Shak-
speare's times, whose autographs have been preserved,
wrote very bad hands; their secretaries very neat ones. =
30:) — yeoman'' s service:] The meaning is, tAi« yeomanly
qualification was a most useful servant, or yeoman, to me ;
I. e. did me eminent service. The ancient yeomen were
famous for their military valour. = 31:) As peace should
still her wheaten garland wear, \\ And stand a comma
''tween their amities;] The expression of our aulhor is, like
many of his plirases, suflicienlly constrained and affected,
but it is not incapable of explanation. The comma is the
note of connection and continuity of sentences ; the period
is the note of abruption and disjunction. Shakspeare had
it perhaps iu his mind to write, — That unless England com-
plied with the mandate, war should put a period to their
amity; he altered his mode of diction, and thought that, in
an opposite sense, he might put, that peace shoul-l stand a
comma between their amities. This is not an easy style;
but is it not the style of Shakspeare? Johnson. =r= 32:) Not
shriving time allowed.] i. e. without time for confession of
their sius: another proof of Hamlet's christian-like disposi-
tion. = S3:) —the model of that Danish seal:] The model
is in old language the copy. = 34:) — by their own insinua-
tion—] Uy their having insinuated or thrust themselves
into the employment. = 36:) To quit him—] To requite him ;
to pay him his due. = 36:) — i'W count his favours:] 1 will
make account of them, i. e. reckon upon them, value them.
__ 37:)— Dost know this water-fly *] A water-fly skips up
atid dowa upon the Hurfacc of the water, without any ap-

parent purpose or reason, and is thence the proper emblem
of a busy irifler. = 38:)— 'Tis a chough;] A kind of jack-
daw. =39:) Nay, good my lord; for my ease, in good faith.]
This seems to have been the affected phrase of the time.
= 40:) — full of most excellent differences,] Full of dis-
tinguishing excellencies. = 41:) — tAe card or calendar of
gentry,] 'Ihe general preceptor of elegance; the card by
which a gentleman is to direct his course; tAe calendar by
which he is to choose his time, that what he does may be
both excellent and seasonable. Johnson. = 4 2:) — for you
shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman
would see.] You shall find him containing and comprising
every quality which a gentleman uould desire to contem-
plate for imitation. =4 a:) Sir, his definement, kc] This ia
designed as a specimen, and ridicule of the court jargon
amongst the precieux of that time. The sense in English
is, "Sir, he suffers nothing in your account of him, though
to enumerate his good qualities particularly would be end-
less; yet when we had done our best, it would still come
short of him. However, in strictness of (ruth, he is a great
geniiis, and of a character so rarely to he met with, that
to And any thing like him we must look into his mirrour.
and his imitators will appear no more than his shadows.'
= 44:) — i/ you didj it would not much approve me;] If
you knew 1 was not ignorant, your esteem would not much
advance my reputation. To approve, is to recommend to
approbation. ■= 45:) — in his meed—] In his excellence. =
46:) — impawned,] Wagered and staked. = 47:) — Aong'er*,]
Luder this term were comprehended four graduated straps,
kc. that hung down in a belt on each side of its receptacle
for the sword. =4 8:) —you must be edified by the mar-
gent,] Dr. Warbiirtoii very properly observes, that in the
old books the gloss or comment was usually printed on the
margent of the leaf. = 49:) — 7/iore germaii — ] More a-kin.
= 50:) The king, sir, hath laid,] As three or four complete
pages would scarcely hold the remarks already printed, to-
gether with those which have lately been communicated to
me in MS. on this very unimportant passage, 1 shall avoid
both partiality and tediousness, by the omission of them
all. I therefore leave the conditions of this wager to be
adjusted by the members of Brookes's or the Jockey-Club
at Kewmarket, who on such subjects may prove the most
enlightened commentators, and most successfully bestir
themselves in the cold unpoetic dabble of calculation. Stke-
VENS. = 61:) He did comply — ] For compliment. ^52:) —
outward habit of encounter ;] i.e. exterior politeness of ad-
dress; in allusion to Osric's last speech. =:6 3:) — a kind of
yesty collection, which carries them through and through
the most fond and winnowed opinions ;] The meaning is,
"these men have got the cant of the day, a superficial readi-
ness of slight and cursory conversation, a kind of frothy
collection of fashionable prattle, which yet carries them
through the most select and approving judgments. This
airy lacility of talk sometimes imposes upon wise men." =
54:) — gentle entertainment —] Mild and temperate con-
versation. = 55:) / shall win at the odds.] 1 shall succeed
with the advantage that 1 am allowed. = 56:) — a kind of
gain giving,] the same as misgiving. = 57:) If your mind
dislike any thing, obey it:] With these presages of future
evils arising in the mind, the poet has fore-run many events
which are to happen at the conclusions of his plays; and
soinctimes so particularly, that even the circumstances of
calamity are minutely hinted at, as in the instance of Ju-
liet, who tells her lover from the window, that he appears
like one dead in the bottom of a tomb The supposition
that the genius of the mind gave an alarm before ap-
proaching dissolution, is a very ancient one, and perhaps
can never be totally driven out: yet it must be allowed the
merit of adding beauty to poetry, however injurious it may
sometimes prove to the weak and superstitious. Stbkvens.
= 58:) — Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, what
is't to leave betimes'!^] The meaning may be, "It is true,
that, by death, we lose all the goods of life; yet seeing
this loiis is no othervvise an evil than as we arc sensible
of it, and since death removes all sense of it, what matters
it how soon we lose thein'f Therefore, come what will, I
am prepared." = 59:) Give me your pardon, sir:] 1 wish
Hamlet hud made some other defence; it is unsuitable to
the character of a good or a brave man, to shelter himself
in falsehood. Johnson. = 60:) "with sore distraction." —
Malonk. = 61:) I am satisfied in nature, kc] This was a
piece of satire on fantastical honour. Though nature is
satisfied, yet he will ask advice of older men of the sword,
whether artificial honour ought to be contented with Ham-
let's submission. = 62:) But since he''s better''d, we have
therefore odds.] These odds were twelve to nine in favour
of Hamlet, by Laertes giving him tAree.=6S:) — tAe stoups
of wine — ] A stoup is a kind of flagon. =64:) And in the
cup an union — ] A species of pearl. =6 5:) — this pearl is
thine;] I'nder pretence of throwiug a pearl into the cup,
the king may be supposed to drop some poisonous drug into
the wine. Hamlet seems to suspect this, when he after-
wards discovers the effects of the poison, and tauntingly
asks him, — "Is the union hercT' = 66:) The queen ca-
rouses—] i.e. (ill humbler language) drinks good luck to
you. = 67:) — you make a w anton of me.] V'ou trifle with
me as if you were playing with a child. = 68:) "mine own"
-^ Mai.onk. := 69:) — Vs fAe union here'i] It should seem
from this line, and Laertes' next speech, that Hamlet hero
forces the exiiiring king to drink some of the poi.'-oncd cup,
aud that he dies while it is at his lips. = 70:) That are but

mutes or audience to this act,'\ That are cither auditors
of this catastrophe, or at most only mute performers, that
till the stage \tiihout any part in the action. =71:) — {as
this fell sergeant,] A sergeant is a baililf, or sheriffs ofli-
cer. = 72:) The potent poison quite o'er-crows — ] Alluding
to a victorious cock exulting over his conquered antagonist.
= 73:) — tAe occurrents,] i.e. incidents. = 74:) tFhich have
solicited,] Solicited for ejc/fed. ^= 75:) This quarry cries
on havock!] To cry on, was to exclaim against. 1 suppose,
when unfair sporisineu destroyed more quarry or gtime
than was rea^'ouablc, the censure was to cry, havock. John-
gos. = 76:) fFhat feast J8 toward in thine eternal cell,~i
An allusion to the chow, or feasts of the dead, which were
anciently celebrated at Athens, and arc mentioned by Plu-
tarch in The Life of Antonius. =r 77:) — his mouth,] i. e.
the king's. =^ 7h:) 0/ carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts;]
Of sanguinary and unnatural acts, to which the perpetrator
was instigated by concupiscence, or, to use our poet's own I
words, by "coma/ stings." The speaker alludes to the |
murder of old Hamlet by his brother, previous to his in- •
cestuous union with Gertrude. = 78:) Of deaths put on — ] j
i. e. instigated, produced. ^= 80:) — same rights of memory |
in this kingdom,] Some rights, which are remembered iu ;
this kingdom. =

XXXVII. OTHELLO, THE 3I00R OF
VEMCE.

ACT I. = 1:) Though the rank which Montano held in
Cyprus cannot be exactly ascertained, yet, from many cir-
cumstances, we are sure he had not the powers with which
Uthello was subsequently invested. I'erhaps we do not re-
ceive any one of the Fersona: Dramatis to 8hakspeare's
plays, as it was .originally drawn up by himself. These
appendages arc wanting to all the quartos, and are very
rarely given iu the folio. At the end of this play, however,
the tollowing enumeration of persons occurs: ''The names
of the actors. —Othello, the Moore. — Hrabantio, Father to
JJesdemona. — Cassio, an Honourable Lieutenant. — lago,
a f illaine. — Rodorigo, a gulVd Gentleman. — Duke of
f'enice. — Senators. — Montano, Govemour of Cyprus. —
Gentlemen of Cyprus. — Lodovico, and Gratiano, two noble
f enetians. — Saylors._ — Cloume. — Uesdemona, if^'ife to
Othello. — .Kmilia, tf'ife to logo. — Biauca, a Curtezan."
Stbevens. = 2:) Oft capp'd to him:] To cap is to salute
by taking off the cap. It is still an academic phrase. M.
VlAso>. = 3:) — a bombast circumstance,] Circumstance sig-
iiilies circumlocution. ^=i:) — certes,] i. e. certainly, in truth.
Obsolete. = 5:) A fellow almost damned in a fair wife;]
'i'his passage has been much contested. We adopt Mr.
Steevens' explauation. That Cassio was married is not
sufliciently implied iu the words, a fellow almost damn'd
in a fair wife, since they mean, according to lago's licen-
tious manner of expressing himself, no more than a man
i-ery near being married. This seems to have been the case
in respect of Cassio. = d:) — theoric,] Theoric, for theory.
= 7:) tFherein the toged consuls^ 'Ihe rulers of the state,
or civil governours. By toged perhaps is meant peaceable,
in opposition to the warlike qualiiicalious of which he had
beeu speaking. He might have formed the word iu allusiou
to the Latin adage,— Cedant arma togce. ^8:) — must be
be-lec'd and calm'd — ] Terms of navigation. ^= 9:) — this
counter-caster;] It was anciently the practice to reckon up
sums with counters. = 10:) — bless the mark!)] Kelly, iu
his comments on Scots proverbs, observes, that the Scots,
when they compare person to person, use this exclamation.
= ll:j — by letter,] By recommendation from powerful
friends. = 12:) Whether I in any just term am afiin'd— ]
Do I stand within any such terms of propinquity, or rela-
tion to the 9loor, as that it is my duty to love him'f =
13:) — honest knaves:] Knave is here for servant, but with
a sly mixture of contempt. = 14:) In compliment extern,]
In that which 1 do only for an outward show of civility.
= 15:) "For doves" — M*LoiiB.= 16:) ff^'hat a full fortune
does the thick-lips owe,] Full fortune, is, a complete piece
of good fortune. To owe, is to possess. = 17:) — is burst,]
i. e. broken. = 18:) — distempering draughts,] To be distem-
pered with liquor, was, iu Shakspeare's age, the phrase for
intoxication. = 19:) — — this is fenice; \ My house is not
a grange.] That is, "you are in a populous city, not iu a
lone house, where a robbery might easily be committed."
Grange is strictly aud properly the farm of a monastery,
where the religious _ reposited their corn. Grangia, Lat.
from granum. But in Lincolnshire, and iu other northern
counties, they call every lone house, or farm which stands
solitary, a grange. = 20:) — your nephews neigh to you:]
Nephew, in this^ instance, has the power of the Latin word
jiepos, and signifies a grandson, or any lineal descendant,
however remote. = 21:) — gennets for germans.] A jennet
is a Spanish horse.= 22:) y/t this odd-even and dull watch
o'the night,] By this singular expression, — "this odd-even
of the night," — our poet appears to have meant, that it
was just approaching to, or just past, that it was doubtful
whether at that moment it stood at the point of midnight,
or at some other less equal division of the tweuty-tour
hours; which a few minutes either before or after midnight
would be.=:23:) — and your allowance,] i. e. done with your

approbation. = 24:) That, from the sense of all civility,^
'luat is, in opposition to, or departing from, the sense of
all civility. := 25:) In an extravagant — ] For wandering.-^
2ii:) — some check,] Some rebuke. = 27:) — cast him;] 'that
is, dismiss him; reject him. = 28:) "sagittar the raised" —
iVlALOMS. = 2bi:) And what's to come of my despised time,]
Despised time, is time of no value. = 30:) "Is there not
charms," — Mai.ong. r= »1:)_ ^mff o'/Ae conscience,] This
expression to common readers appears harsh. Stuff of the
conscience is, substance or essence of the conscience. Stuff
is a word of great force in the Teutonic languages. The
elements are called iu Dutch, hoefd stoffcn, or head stuffs,
JoMS>oN. = 32:) — fAe magnitico— ] " I'he chief men of Ve-
nice are by a peculiar name called magnijici, i. e. magni-
Jicoe»." = 3b:) — men of royal siege;] Men who have sat
upon royal thrones. Siege is used for seat by other authors.
:=34:) — ond my demerits — ] Demerits has the same mean-
ing iu our author, aud many others of that age, as merits.
= 35:) Alay speak, uubouueted,] Mr. Fuseli (aud who is
better acquainted with the sense and spirit of our author'')
explains this contested passage as follows: "iani his equal
or superior in rank; and were it not so, such are my de-
merits, that, uuboni.eted, without the addition of patrician
or senatorial dignity, they may speak to as proud a for-
tune," \lc. = 3o:) — unhoused — J Free from domestic cares.
,A thought natural to an adventurer. = 37:) "haste, post-
haste" — Malomj. = 38:) — tAree several quests,] Questa
are, on this occasion, searches. = 3 i-:) — aland carack;]
A carack is a ship of great bulk, and commonly of great
value; perhaps what we now call a ^a//eon. ^=40:) — 6e ad-
vis'U;] I'hat is, be cool; be cautious; be discreet. = 41:)
TAe wealthy curled darlings of our nation,] Curled is ele-
gantly and ostentatiously dressed. ^=4 2:) Of such a thing
as thou; to fear, not to delight.] To fear, in the present
instance, may mean — to terrijy. = i3:) That waken motion:]
Excite desires. = 44:) i/ond-«/ai>e», and pagans,] i. e. if this
Moor is now suffered to escape with impunity, it will be
such an encouragement to his black country uieu, that we
may expect to see all the lirst offices of our state tilled up
by the pagans aud 6ond slaves of Africa. ^= 45:) TAere !•
no composition-] for consistency, concordancy. ^= i6:) —
where tAe aim reports,] Where conjecture or suspicion tells
the tale. = 47:) Jiy no assay of reason;] Bring it to the
test, examine it by reason as we exaiuiue metals by the
assay, it will be louud counterfeit by all trials. = 48:) —
irifA more facile question — ] That is, he may carry it with
less dispute, with less opposition. ^= 49:)— warlike brace,]
State of defence. To arm was called to brace on the ar-
mour. = 60:) To wake, and wage,] To wage here, as in
mauy other places in Shakspeare, signilies to light, to com-
bat. ^51:) — irt»A him — ] i. e. recommend, desire him. =
52:) Stood in your action.] Were the man exposed to your
charge or accusation. = 53:) TAe very head and front of
my offending — ] The main, the whole, unextenuated. =54:)
Their dearest action — ] i. e. their most important action.
= 55:) "1 won his daughter." Maloke. = 56:) — orert tc«t,]
Open proofs, external evidence. = 57:) 0/ modern seeming,]
V>eak show of slight appearance. = 58:) — tAe sagittary,j
The sagittary meaus the sign of the lictitious creature so
called, i. e. an animal compounded of man and horse, and
armed with a bow and quiver. = 59:) ^^nd portance— ] And

behaviour. = 60:) — antres — ] Caves and dens. = 61:)

men whose heads [{ Do grow beneath their shoulders.] Of
these men there is an account in the interpolated travels
of Mandeville, a book of that time. Raleigh also has givea
an account of men whose heads do grow beneath their shoul-
ders, in his Description of Guiana, published iu 1596, a
book that without doubt Shakspeare had read. = 62:) But
not inteutivcly :j i.e. with attention to all its parts, = t)c:)
Let me speak like yourself ;] i. e. let me speak as yourself
would speak, were you not too much heated with passion.
= 64:)— a» a grise,] Grizc from degrees. A grize is a step.
^= 65:) Bat the free comfort which from thence he hears:]
But the moral precepts of consolation, which are liberally
bestowed on occasion of the sentence. Joh>son.:=: 6b:) But
words are words; •/ never yet did hear, \\ That the bruis'd
heart was pierced through the ear.] These moral precepts,
says Brabantio, may perhaps be founded iu wisdom, but they
are of no avail. W ords after all are but words ; and 1 never
yet heard that consolatory speeches could reach and pene-
trate the afflicted heart, through the medium of the ear.
= 67:) — to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes — ] To
slubber, on this occasion, is to obscure. =^6 8:) — thrice-
driven 6ed of down:] A driven bed, is a bed for which the
feathers are selected, by driving with a fan, which sepa-
rates the light from the heavy.=.69:) — / do agnize — ] i.e.
acknowledge, confess, avow. =: 70:) / croue fit disposition
for my wife; \\ Due reference of place, and exhibition ; Aic]
1 desire, that proper disposition be made for my wife, that
she may have precedency and revenue, accommodation aud
company, suitable to her rank. Exhibition is allowance. =
71:) — o charter in your voice,] Let your favour privilege
me. ^72:) My downright violence and storm of fortune s~]
Violence is not violence suffefed, but violence acted. Breach
of common rules and obligations. = 73:) Even to, \;c.] Qual-
ity here meaus profession. "1 am so much enamoured of
Othello, that 1 am even willing to endure all the inconveni-
ences Incident to a military life, and to attend him to the
wars." =7 4:) i saw Othello's visage in his mind;] It must
raise no wonder, that i loved a mau of an appearance so
little engaging; 1 saw his face only iu his mind; the great-

1038

NOTES

[Pl:37.] T//.5.

ncss of hi» characfer reconciled inc to his form. :^ 75:)
"dlHJuiict" — MAi,OMi. = 76:)— defend, .fcc] To defend, is
to forbid. ^= 7 7:) My speculative and active instrumentt,^
Speculative instrument; in Sliakspeare's language, arc^tlie
eyes; and active instruments, the hands and feet. = 7b:)
Jf virtue no delighted beauty lack,] I'iie iiieaiiiiig probably
is, if virtue comprehends every thing in itself, then your
virtuous sonin-law of course is beautiful: he has that beauty
which delights every one. Veligtited for delighting. ^'t y:)
— best advantage.] Fairest oi)portunity.= BO:) — o Guinea-
hen,] A GuineahcR was anciently the cant term for a pro-
stitute. = 81:) — a sect,] A sect is what the more modern
gardeners call a cutting. = 82:) — defeat thy favour with
an usurped beard;] Favour here means tliat couibiuatiou of
features which gives the face its distinguishing character.
Defeat, from defaire, in French, signilies to unmake, de-
compose, or give a dilfereut ajjpearance to, either by taking
away sometliing, or adding. = 83:) — an answerable seque-
stration—] for separation. = 8 i:) - betwixt an erring bar-
barian—] i. e. wandering. = 85:) — Traverse;] This was
au ancient military word of command. =8o:) — a* 'f f»f
surettj.] That is, "I will act as if I were certain of the
fact.= 87:) — He holds me well;] i. e. esteems inc. =

ACT II. = 1:) "haven" — Malone. = 2:) Jnd quench
the guards of the cucr-iijied pole:] Alluding to the star
Arctophylax. = 3:) Like a full soldier.] Like a complete
soldier. = 4:) Of very expert and approved allowance ;] Ex-
pert and approved alltimance is put for allowed and ap-
prov''d cxpertness This mode of expression is uot unfre-
quent in Shakspeare. := S:) Therefore my hopes, not sur-
feited to death, || Stand in bold cure.] Presumptuous hopes,
which have no foundation in probability, may poetically be
said to surfeit themselves to death, or forward their own
dissolution. To stand in bold cure, is to erect themselves
in contidenee of being fuHilled. = 6:) ylnd in the essential
vesture of creation, \\ Does bear all excellency.] The author
seems to use essential for existent, real. She excels the
praises of invention, says he, and in real qualities, with
which creation has invested her, bears all excellency. r^V.)
Their mortal natures,] i. e. their deadly, destructive na-
tures. = 8:) Saints in your injuries, cVc.j When you have
a mind to do injuries, you put on an air of sanctity. = 9:)
— critical.] That is, censorious. = 10:) — one, that, in the
authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very
malice itself f] The sense is this, one that was so conscious
of her own merit, and of the authority her character had
vfith every one, that she durst venture to call upon malice
itself to vouch for her. ^= 11:) —profane—] Gross of lan-
guage, of expression broad and brutal = 12:) — liberal
counsellor f] Liberal for licentious. = iZ:) — l will gyve—]
i. e. catch, shackle. :r= 14:) - to play the sir in.] That is, to
show your good breeding and gallantry. = 1 5:) — well kissed!
au excellent courtesy!] Spoken when Cassio kisses his hand,
and Desdemona counsies.=: 16:) — well de.sir'd in Cyprus,]
i. e. much solicited by invitation. = 17:) 1 prattle out of
fashion,] Out of method, w ithout any settled order of discourse.
= 18:) — the court of guard:] i. e. the place where ttie guard
musters. = IS:) — green minds — ] Minds unripe, minds not yet
fully formed. = 20:) — condition.] Qualities, disposition of
mind ^=2i:) — tainting —] Throwing a slur upou his disci-
pline. = 22:)— sudden in choler;] Sudden, is precipitately
violent. =23:) — whose qualification «/<«// come, icc] Whose
resentment shall uot be so qualified or tempered, as to be
well tasted, as not to retain some bitterness. The phrase
is harsh, at least to our ears. =24:) — to prefer f/jem ;J i.e.
to advance them. ='i&:)lf this poor trash of f enice, whom
I trash — ] To trash, is still a hunter's phrase, and signilies
to fasten a vreight on the neck of a dog, when his speed is
superior to that of his companions. = 26:) — in the rank
garb.] i. e. grossly, without mincing the matter. = 27:)
Knavery's plain face is never seen,] An honest man acts
upon a plan, and forecasts his designs; but a knave de-
pends upon temporary and local opportunities, and never
knows his own purpose, but at the time of execution. John-
son. = 28:) — mere—] Mere in this place signilies entire.
= 2 9:) — All oftices are open;] i. e. all rooms, or places.
in the castle, at which refreshments are prepared, or served
out. = 30:) Our general cast us — ] Cast us, means dismissed
us. or got rid of our company. =: 3 1: ) — craftily qualified — ]
Silly mixed with water. = 32:) The very elements —] As
quarrelsome as the discordia scmina rerum ; as quick in
opposition as lire and water. = 33:) If consequence do but
approve my dream,] Every scheme subsisting only in the
imagination may be termed a dream. =r 34:) — given me a
rouse, &.C.] A rouse appears to be a quantity of liquor
rather too large. = 35:) — Vll do you justice.] i. e. drink
as much as you do. = 36:) King Stephen, kc] These stan-
zas arc taken from an old song, which the reader will tind
recovered and preserved in I'ercy's Relicks of Ancient Foe-
try, = 37:)— a worthy peer,] A worthy peer is a worthy
lord, a title frequently bestowed upon kings in our old ro-
mances.= 38:) —/oum.] Sorry fellow, paltry wretch. =39:)
He'll watch the horologe a double set, AiC.J If he have no
drink, he'll keep awake while the clock strikes two rounds,
or four-aiid-twenty hours. = 40:)— ingraft infirmity:] An
infirmity rooted, settled in his constitution. = 41:) — twto a
twiggen bottle.] i. e. a wickered bottle. = 42:) — he dies.]
i. e. lie shall die. But Mr. Malone reads thus : "Zounds, 1
bleed titill, 1 am hurt to the death." = 43:) "carve forth

his," k.e. Malone. = 44:) From her propriety.] From her
regular and proper state. =45:) Jn quarter,] i. e. on our
station. = 46:)— you are thus forgot y] i. e. yoH have thus
forgot yourself. =: 47:) — «e(/'-c/iarito-] Care of one's self.
r= 48:) And passion, having my best judgment collied,]
Othello means, that passion has discoloured his judgment.
To colly, anciently signified to besmut, to blacken as tvith
coal.= 49:)— /<e that is approv'd— ] He that is convicted
by proof, of having been engaged in this offence. = 60:)
"court of guard" — Mai.onk.= 61:) Jf partially alTin'd,]
Affin'd is uound by proximity of relationship; but here it
means related by nearness of office. = 52:) — cast in his
mood,] Ejected in his anger. -= 53:) — and speak parrot*]
A phrase signifying to act foolishly and childishly. =^54:) —
any lay — ] i.e. any bet, any wager. ^55:) i^roia/ — ] There
may be such a contraction of the word probable, but 1 have
not met with it in any other book. Yet abbreviations as
violent occur in our ancient writers, and csprcially in the
works of Churchyard. Stkbvens. = 56:) The inclining

Desdemona—] i. c. compliant. =57:) as fruitful\\As

the free elements.] Liberal, bountiful, as the elements, out
of which ail things are produced. = 58:) — parallel course,]
i. e. course level and even with his design. = 59:) yyhen
devils will their blackest sins put on, || They do suggest — ]
When devils mean to instigate men to commit tlie most
atrocious crimes. = 60:) That she repeals — ] That is, .re-
calls him. ^ 61:) — iriwg him jump—] i. e. just at tht
time when. =

ACT III. =: 1:) — and bid — good morrow, general.] It
is the usual practice of the waits, or nocturnal iniiulrels,
in several towns in the north of England, after playing a
tune or two, to cry, "Good-morrow, maister Such-a-one,
good morrow, dame,'' adding the hour, and state of the
weather. It should seem to have prevailed at Stratford-
upo;i-Avoii. They formerly used hautboys, which are tlie
wind-instruments here meant. IIitson. = 2:) For your dis-
pleasure;] i. e. the displeasure you have incurred from
Othello. := 3:) 7'// watch him tame,] Hawks and other birds
are tamed by keeping them from sleep, to which manage-
ment Shakspeare alludes. = 4:) His present reconciliation
take;] To take his reconciliation, may be to accept the
submission which he makes in order to be reconciled. = 5:)
— and not in cunning,] Cunning, for knowledge. = t>:) — —
the wars must make examples |1 Out of their best,)] The
severity of military discipline must not spare the best men
of their araiy, when their punishment may afford a whole-
some example. = 7:) — so mainmering on.] To hesitate, to
stand iu suspense. = 8:) "and so many a time," — Malone.
z= 9:) -full of poize—;) i. e. of weight. = 10:) Excellent
wretch!] The meaning ot the word wretch is not generally
understood. It is now, in some parts of England, a term
of the softest and fondest tenderness. It expressesthe ut-
most degree of amiableness, joined with an idea which per-
haps all tenderness includes, of feebleness, softness, and
want of protection. = 11:) "Honest* aye, honest." — Ma-
i,0NB. = 12:) They are close denotements^ working from the
heart, || That passion cannot rule.] i. e. indications, or dis-
coveries, not openly revealed, but involuntarily working
from the heart, which cannot rule and suppress its feelings.
=: 13:) "Why, then, 1 think Cassio's an honest man." Ma-
lone. = 14:) — to that all slaves are tree to.] 1 am not
bound to do that which even slaves are not bound to do.
= 15:) — conjecis,! To conject,i.e. to conjecture, is a word

used by other writers. = 16:) which doth mock !| TAe

meat it feeds on:] i.e. loaths that which nourishes and sus-
tains it. But Mr. Malone reads, '■'■which doth make y

The meat it feeds on:" Implying that its suspicions are
unreal and groundless, which is the very contrary to what
he would here make his general think. = 17:) But riches,
fineless,] Unbounded, endless, unnumbered. = 18:) To such
exsuftticate — ] Whether our poet had any authority for the
word exsufflicate, which I think is used in the sense of
swollen, and appears to have been formed from sufflatus,
1 am unable to ascertain: but I have not thought it safe to
substitute for it another word equally unauthorised. Ma-
lone. Mr. \ares explains it by contemptible, abominable.

^=19:) blown surmises, || Matching thy inference.] That

{s such as you have mentioned in describing the torments

ot' jealously. =20:) Inhere virtue is, these are more virtu-
ous:] An action in itself indifferent, grows virtuous by its
end and application. = 21:) Out of self bounty— ] Self-
bounty for inherent generosity. = 22:) And, when she
seem'd—] This and the following argument of lago ought
to be deeply impressed on every reader. Deceit and false-
hood, whatever conveniences they may for a time promise
or produce, are, in the sum of life, obstacles to hapniness.
Those, who profit by the cheat, distrust the deceiver, and
the act by which kindness is sought, puts an end to con-
fidence. The same objection may be made with a lower
degree of strength against the imprudent generosity of dis-
proportionate marriages. When the lirst heat of passion is
over, it is easily succeeded by suspicion, and the same vio-
lence of inclination, which caused one irregularity, may
stimulate to another; and those who have shewn, that their
passions are too powerful for their prudence, will, with
very slight appearances against them, be censured, as not
very likely to restrain them by their virtue. Johnson. =
23:) To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak,] I he oak
is the moiit close-grained wood of general use lu England.

I Tir.S.[Ph:37.]

NOTES.

1039

Ciotie a» oak, incaiii) rlo$e at the grain of oat. To seel is
■ B rxpri-S!<ioii from I'alcoiiry. = ii:) To grosser issues^] Is-
sues, lor conclusions. = 26:)— a will most rank,] /ft//, is
lor Kilfuluc!'!'. It is so uxed by A^cballl. A rank trill, is
self -will ovtrrgroHii ami exiibcraiit. = 2o:) You fhall by that
■perveice him and his means:] Vou shall discovrr \Uifllier
lie thinks liis best means, his most powerful interest, is by
the solicitatiou of your lady. = il:) — strain his eiiteriain-
menl— ] Press hard his re- admission tu his pay and oflice.
Entertainment was the raililary term for admission of sol-
diers.=28:) Fear nut mij government.] Do not distrust my
ability to contain my passion. = 29:) — tcith a learned sfiirit,]
The construction is, He knows with a learned spirit all
qualities of human dealings. = 30:^ — If 1 do prove her
ba^card,] A haggard hawk, is a wild hawk, a hawk unre-
claimed or irreclaimable. = 31:) Though that her je-->se8
ivere my dear heart-strings,'] Jesses are short straps of
Icdihcr tied about the foot of a hawk, by which she is held
on the list. = 32:) Vd whistle her off^ and let her down
the wind, \\ To prey at fortune.] The lalcouers always let
lly the hawk against the wind; if she flies with the wind
behind her, she seldom returns. If therefore a hawk was
for any reason to be dismissed, she was let down the wind,
and from that time shifted for herself, and preyed at for-
tune. ^ 33:) — chamberers—'j i. e. men of intrigue. = 34:)

— forked plague—] In allusion to a barbed or forked ar-
row, which, once infixed, cannot be extracted. But perhaps
\\tei forked plague is the cuckold's horns. t=35:) — 1 II have
the work ta'eu out,] That is, copied. Her first thoughts are,
to have a copy made of it for her husband, and restore the
original to Desdemoua. liut the sudden coming in of lago,
in a surly humour, makes her alter her resolution, to please

Wiim. = S6:) — to the advantage, A;c.] 1 being opportunely
here, took it up. = 37:) Be not you known off,] i. e. seem
as If you knew nothing of the matter. = 38:) — nor man-
dragora,] The mandraguras or mandrake has a soporific
quality, and the ancients used it when they wanted an opiate
of the most powerful kind. = 35i:) If-'hich thou ow'dst yester-
day] To owe is, in our author, oftener to possess, than to
be indebted, and such is its meaning here. -= 40:) Pioneers
and all.] That is, the most abject aud vilest of the camp.
Pioneers were generally degraded soldiers, appointed to
the oflice of pioneer, as a punishment for misbehaviour. =
41:)"— abandon all remorse,] All tenderness of nature, all
pity; in which sense the word was frequently used in Shak-
speare's time. = 42:) If^ere they as prime as goats,] Prime
is prompt. ^43:) Give me a living reason — j Living, for
speaking, manifest, actual proof. Mr. Malone reads "that
she's disloyal." =44:) — a foregone conclusion;] A conclu-
sion iu Shakspcare's time meant an experiment or trial. =
45:) — hearted throne,] Hearted throne, is the heart on
which thou wast ent/ironed. =4ti:) — swell, bosom, ic] i.e.
swell, because the fraught is of poison. = 47:) — a capable — ]
Capable perhaps signifies ample, capacious. = 48:) The ex-
ecution—] i.e. employment or exercwe. = 49:) let him

command, ]\ And to obey shall be in me remorse, i| What
bloody work soever.] lago devotes himself to wronged
Othello, and says. Let him command whatever bloody busi-
ness, and in me it shall be an act, not of cruelty, but of
tenderness, to obey him: nut of malice to others, but of
tenderness fur him. = 50:) — aud by them answer.] i.e. and
by them, tchen answered, form my ow n auswer to you. The
quaiutness of the expression is in character. ^= 6l:) — cru-
%adoes.] A Portuguese coin, in value three shillings sterling.
So called from the cross stamped upon it. = d2:)— exercise
devout;] Exercise was the religious term. = 53:) — salt
and sullen rheum — ] Sullen, that is, a rheum obstinately
troublesome. = 5^:) And it was died in mummy, i;c.] The
balsamic liquor running from mummies was formerly cele-
brated for its anti-epileptic virtues. We are now wise
enough to know, that the qualities ascribed to it are all
imaginary; aud yet this fanciful medicine still holds a place
in the prinripal shops where drugs are sold; aud it is still
much coveted by painters, as a transparent brown colour
that throws a warmth into their shadows. = 55:) — rash'f]
Is vehement, violent. = 56:)^nrf shut myself up in some
other course, !j To fortune's alms.] Deing discarded from
the militai^y line, he purposes to confine or shut himself
up, as he formernr had, within the limits of a new profes-
sion.^57:) — in favour,] Iti look, in counfenonce. = 58:) —
within the blank of his displeasure,] V> ithin the shot of
his anger. ^= 59:) I have seen the cannon, '] When it hath
blown, k.c.] In lago's speech somethiug is suppressed. He
means to say, i have seen his ranks blown into the air,
aud his own brother pulTd from his side, — and mean while
have seen him eool and unruffled. And can he now be an-
gry'?= 60:) —ao/ne unhatch'd practice,] Some treason that
has not taken effect. = 61:) For let our finger ache, and it
indues — ] 1 believe it should be rather, subdues our other
healthful members to a sense of pain. JaH>soN. = 62:) —
the bridal.] i. e. the nuptial feast: a Saxon worU.^=6S:) —
{unhandsome warrior as I am)—] Unhandsome warrior, is
evidently unfair assailant. ^= 64:) — in a more continuate
time,] A more continuate time is time less interrupted,
time which I can call more my own. =65:) Take me this
work out.] The meaning is not, "Pick out the work, and
leave the ground plain ;" but, "Copy this work in another
handkerchief." = 66:) "Go to, woman." — Malone. =67:)

— 1 must be circumstanc'd.] Kather 1 must give way to
circumstances. =

ACT IV t=l:) It is hypocrisy against the devil r] Hy-
pocrisy against the devil means bypocrisv to cheat the de-
vil. As common hypocrites cheat men, by seeming good,
and yet living wickedly, these men would cheat the devil,
by giving him flattering hopes, and at last avoiding the
crime which he thinks !Ucm ready to commit. Joh>son. =
2:) Boding to all,] The raven was thought to be a constant
attendant on a house, in which there was infection. = 3:)
Convinced or supplied them,] Or. Farmer is of opinion that
supplied has here the same meaning as supplicated. Hut
Mr. Steeveus says, that supplied is the old spelling of irup-
pled, \. e. softened. = 4:) — To confess, and be hanged—]
I'his is a proverbial saying. = 5:) — without some instruc-
tion.] Uthello alludes lo i^iissio's dream, which had been
invented aud_ tnld_ him by lago. When many confused and
very interesting ideas pour in upon the mind all at once,
aud with such rapidity that it has not tiuie to shape or di-
gest them, if it does not relieve itself by tears, (which we
know it often does, >thcther for joy or grief,) it produce*
stupefaction and fainting. Uthello, in broken sentences and
single words, all of which have a reference to the cause
of his jvalousy, shows, that all the proofs are present at
once to his miud, which so overpowers it, that he falls into
a trance, the natural consequence. Sir J. Hkvkolds. = 6:)

— in those uiiproper beds,] Vnproper, for common. = 7:) — ^
in a secure couch,] In a couch iu which he is lulled into a
false security and confidence in his wife's virtue. =8:) —
list.] List, or lists, is barriers, bounds. Keep your temper,
says lago, within the bounds of patience. = 9:) — encave
yourself,] Hide yourself in a private place. =: 10:) Jnd hit
unbookish Jealousy —] Unbookish, for ignorant. = 11:) Do
you triumph, )tomau'< do you triumph YJ Uthello calls him
lioman ironically. Triumph, which was a Homan ceremony,
brought Itoinan into his thoughu. What, (says he,) you art
now triumphing as great as a Uoman'f Joh?(s<». = 12:) —
a customer !] A common woman, one that invites custom.
= 13:) Have you scored me'f] Have you made my reckon-
ing* have you settled the term of my life "J The old quarto
reads — stored vnc'i Have you disposed of rac'i have you
laid me n'pV ^H:)-~ fitchew !] A |>ole-cat. = l 5:)— iVo, mn
heart is turned to stone; 1 strike it, and it hurts my handT]
This thought, as often as it occurs to Shakspeare, is sure
to be received, aud as often counteracts his pathos. ^= 16:)

— And then, of so gentle a condition !] i. e. of so sweet 3
disposition. = 1 7:) — afone them,] .Make them one; reconcile
them. = 18:) 7/ that the earth could teem, kc] Shakspeare
here alludes to the fabulous accounts of crocodiles. Each tear
(says Othello) which falls from the false Desdemoua would
generate a crocodile; the most deceitful of all animals, and
whose own tears arc proverbially fallacious. ^= IV:) Each
drop she falls—] To fall is here a verb active. = 20:) —
garner'd up my heart;] That is, treasured up: the garner
and the fountain are improperly conjoined. = 21:) — turn
thy complexion there! ic] At such an object do thou, pa-
tience, thy.-ielf change colour; at this do thou, even thou,
rosy cherub as thou art, look as grim as hell =22:) — upon
his callet.] Collet is a lewd woman; so called (says Dr.
Grey) from the French calote, which was a sort of head-
dress worn by country girls. = 23:) — such companions — 1
Companion, in the time of Shakspeare, was used as a word
of contempt, in the same sense as fellow is at this day. =
2i:) Speak within door.] Do uot clamour so as to be heard
beyond the house. = 25:) — the seamy side without,] That
is, inside out. := 26:) — and acquittance;] Acquittance is
requital. = 2 7:) — devise engines for my life.] 'I o devise en-
gines, seems to mean, to contrive racks, tortures, kc. =
28:) — and he, she lov'd, prov^l mad,] Mad, iu the present

instance, ought to mean — inconstant. ^= 29:) I have

much to do, ]\But to go hang my head — ] 1 have much ado
to do any thing but hang my head. = 30:) The poor soul,
kc] This song, in two parts, is printed in Dr. Percy's col-
lectiou of old ballads; the lines preserved here dilfer some-
what from the copy discovered by the ingenious collector.
^=31:) / call'd my love, false love ;] This couplet is uot ia
the ballad, which is the complaint, not of a woman forsaken,
but of_ a man rejected. These lines were properly addea
when it was accommodated to a woman. = 32:) — fur a
joint-ring;] Anciently a common token among lovers. =
33:) To the vantage,] i. e. to boot, over and above. = 34:)

— our former having—] Our former allowance of expence.
= 35:) "us so." M^LO^K. =

ACT V. =1:) / have rubb'd this young quat almost to
the sense, !| And he grows angry.] This is a passage much
controverted among the editors. A quat in the midland coun-
ties is a pimple, which by rubbing is made to smart, or is
rubbed to sense. Rodcrigo is called a quat by_ the same
mode of speech, as a low fellow is now termed in low lan-
guage a scab. To rub to the sense, is to rub to the quick.
JoHSsoK. = ?:) — that 1 bobb'd from him,] That i foofd
him out of. A bob formerly signified a mock, or jeer. ^3:)

— in the leg,] lago maims ('assio iu the leg, in consequence
of what he had just heard him say, from which he supposed
that his body was defended by some secret armour. = 4:)
Forth of my heart, Kc] Forth signifies both out and from.
= 5:) — no passage'/] >o passengers^ nobody going by'? =
6:) — a heavy night:] A thick cloudy^ night, iu whicli an am-
bush may be commodiously laid. = v:) — whose noise is this,
that crie* on murder'/] Such was the phraseology of Shak-

1040

NOTES

[M.P:1.] Tii.S,

speare's age. = 8:) "good gentlewoman." — Malone. = 9:)
— or fordoes me guite.] 'lo fordo, is to undo, to ruin, to
destroy. = 10:) It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,—
\\ Let me not name it — ] The abruptness of this soliloquy
makes it obscure. The meaning, 1 think, is this: — I ant
here (says Uthello in his mind) overwiielmed with horror.
What is the reason of this perturbation °; Is it want of re-
solution to do justice"? Is U the dread of shedding blood'?
No; it is not the action that shocks me, but it is the cause,
it is the cause, my soul; let me not name it to you, ye
chaste stars! it is the cause. Johnson. = 11:) I'ut out the
light, and then put out the light:] This is one of the pas-
sages in which, by a modern regulation, our poet's words
have obtained a meaning, which in my opinion was not in
his thoughts. Mr.Lpton was the lir»t person who intro-
duced the conceit in this line, which has been adopted since
his book appeared, by pointing it thus: jfut out the light,
and then — I'ut out the light! iiC. 1 entirely agree with
Dr. Farmer, that this regulation gives a spirit to this pas-
sage that was not inleiicled. 'I'he poet, 1 think, meant
merely to say, — "I will now put out the lighted taper which
1 hold, and then put out the light of life;" and this intro-
duces his subsequent reflection and comparison, just as aptly,
as supposing the latter words of the line to be used in the
same sense as in the beginning of it, which cannot be done
without destroying that equivoque and play of words of
which Shakspeare was so fond Malonk. = 12:) — 1 would
not kill thy soul.] Othello appears to have been a favourite
of his author; for he has bestowed on him that piety which
he had refused to Hamlet. = 13:) A murder, which, I thought
a sacrifice:] This line is diflicult. Thou hast hardened my
heart, und makest me kill thee with the rage of a murderer,
when i thought to have sacrificed thee to justice with the
calmness of a priest striking a victim. 1 am glad that 1
have ended my revisal of this dreadful scene, it is not to
be endured. Johnson. = 14:) — hath ta'en order /or't.] i. e.
has taken measures. = 15:) It is too late.] After this speech
of Othello, the elder quarto adds an invocation from l)es-
demona, consisting only of the sacred name thrice repeated.
As this must be supposed to have been uttered while she
is yet struggling with death, an editor may be excused from
inserting such a circumstance of supererogatory horror,
especially as_ it is found in but one of the ancient copies,
'i'his alteration was probably made in consequence of the
statute of the 3d of James 1. c. 21. which lays a penalty
for the profane use of the jiame of God, ke. in stage-plays,
interludes. May-games, Kc. Such a statute was necessary;
for not only the ancient moralities, but the plays (those of
Chapman in particular) abound with the most wanton and
shocking repetitions of _ a name which never ought to be
mentioned in such an irreverent manner on the stage. =
16:) She turned to folly, and she was a whore.] Folly sig-

niiies here depravity of mind. = 17:) — false as ivater.] As
water that will support no weight, nor keep any impression.
= 18:) — villainy hath made mocks with love!] J illainy
hath taken advantage to play upon the weakness of a violent
passion. := IP:) Thou hast not half the power to do me
harm, \\As I have to be hurt.] She means to say, — 1 have
in this cause power to endure more than thou hast poiver
to inflict. = 20:) I thought so then;] i. e. at the instant
when she gave Desdemona's handkerchief tulago; for even
then Emilia appears to have suspected it was sought after
for no honest purpose, and therefore asks her husband —
"What will you do with if?" Ike. =21:) No, I will speak
as liberal — ] Liberal is free, under no control. = 22T) Are
there no stones in heaven, || But what serve for the thun
der'f] Shakspeare might mean, does heaven reserve its thun-
der only to make a noise'? has it no implements of mischief
to punish as well as terrify? = 23:) — the ice-brook's tem-
per;] This ice-brook was the brook or rivulet called Salo
(now Xalon,) near Bilbilis in Celtiberia. In this the Spa-
niards plunged all their sworda and other weapons while
hot from the forge; and (o the icy qualities of the waters
they were indebted for their stubborn temper. = 24:) — to-
wards his feet ;] To sec if, according to the common opinion,
his feet be cloven. = 25:) — in the practice — ] In the snare,

by the stratagem. = 2 6:) of one, whose hand, \\ Like the

base Jiidean, threw a pearl away, i| Richer than all his
tribe;] The commcntalors are at variance on this passage,
some considering it as an allusion to the story of Herod
and Mariamne, and others to that of a Jew who threw aw ay
a pearl of great worth, because he could not get his price
for it. We shall subjoin a remark of Mr. Steevens, which
vindicates the propriety of an edition like the present.
Either we are partial to discoveries which we make for
ourselves, or the spirit of controversy is contagious; for it
usually happens that each possessor of an ancient copy of
our author is led to assert the superiority of all such read-
ings as have not been exhibited in the notes, or received
into the text of the last edition. On this account our pre-
sent republication *) (and more especially in the celebrated
plays) affords a greater number of these diversities than
were ever before obtruded on the public. A time however
may arrive, when a complete body of variations being
printed, our readers may luxuriate in an ample feast of
thatsaiiA ivhiches ; and thenceforward it may be prophesied,
that all will unite in a wish that the selection had been
made by an editor, rather than submitted to their own
labour and sagacity. =27:) 0 Spartan dog,] The dogs of
Spartan race were reckoned among those of the must
iierce and savage kind, =28:) — the censure^ i. e. the
sentence. =

•) The edition of 1803 in 21 volumes.

NOTES

TO THE

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

I. VENUS AND ADONIS.

= *) — hopeful expectation.] Lord Southampton was
but twenty years old when this poem was dedicated to him
by Shakspeare, who was then tuenly-seven. Mai,one.= 1:)
— the field's chxei flower,] So the quarto 15ii3. Modern edi-
tions hiive— sweet ilowcr. Mai.onk. = 2:) IVature that made
thee, with herself at strife,] With this contest between art
and nature. Urn. 1 believe every reader will be surfeited
before he has gone through the following poems. The lines
under the print of >oah Bridges, engraved by Faithorne,
have the same thought: "Faithorne, with nature at a noble
strife," fiC. It occurs likewise in 'I'imon of Athens. Stkk-
vens. Wc have in a subsequent passage a contest between
art and nature, hut here surely there is none. 1 must also
observe that there is scarcely a book of Shakspeare's age,
whether in prose or verse, in which this surfeiting com-
parison (as It has been called,) may not be found. Maloine.
= 3:) — her 'miss ;] That is, her misbehaviour. Farmek. So,
in Lily's Woman in the Moon, 1597: "Pale be my looks, to
witness my amiss." The same substantive is used in the
35th Sonnet. Again, in Hamlet: "Each toy seems prologue
to some great amiss." Malone. = 4:) — «/je murders witfi a
kiss.] Thus the original copy of 1593, and the edition of
16i.6. So, in king Hichard 111.: "Come, cousin, canst thou
quake, and change thy colour'? JJ '■'Murder thy breath in

middle of a word'?'" The subsequent copies have smothers.
Malone. = 5;) Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and
bone,] To tire is to peck. So, in Decker's Match Me in

London, a comedy, lt)31: " the vulture tires || "Upon

the eagle's heart." =6:) Forced to content,] 1 once thought
that the meaning of the latter words was, tocoutent or sa-
tisfy Venus; to endure her kisses. So, in Hamlet: "— —
it doth much content me to hear him so inclin'd.'. But I
now believe that the interpretation given by Mr. Steevens
is the true one. Content is a substantive, and means ac-
quiescence, 'i'he modern editions read — consent. Malone.
It is plain that Venus was not so easily contented. Forced
to content, I believe, means that Adonis was forced to con-
tent himself in a situation from which he had no means of
escaping. Thus Cassio in Othello: "So shall 1 clothe me
in -A fore' d content." Steevens. =7:) — to a river that is
rank,] Full, abounding in the quantity of its waters. So, in
Julius Caesar: "Who else must be let blood, who else is
rankf" Again more appositely in King John: "We will
untread the steps of damned flight, || "And, like a 'bated
and retired flood, || "Leaving our rankness and irregular
course, || "Stoop low within those bounds we have o'er-
look'd." Malone. = 8.) Her best is bettered—] This is the
reading of the original quarto, 1593. That of 1636, and the
modern editions, read — 6f east. Malone. = 9:) iVitne ej/es are
grey,] What we now call blue eyes, were in Shakspeare's
time called grey eyes, and were considered as emiuently

V.

Tu.S.[M/P:2.]

NOTES.

1041

beautiful. Malone. = 10:) Things {rrowing to themselves
are growth's abuse:] Alluding to twiun'd cherries, apiiles,
pcachf!<, iic. which accidentally grow into each other. Thus
*our author sajs, King Henrj VIll. and Francis 1. embraced
"as they greiD together." Steeve>s. Shakspeare, 1 think,
meant to say no more than this ; ''that those things which
grow only to [or for] themselves," without producing any

Fruit, or benefiting mankind, do not answer the purpose for
which thev were intended. Thus, in a subsequeut passage:
"So in thyself thyself art made away." Again, in our
author's 95th Sonnet : "The summer's Hower is to the sum-
mer sweet, '[ "Though to itself it only live and die." Again,
more appositely in the present poem: "Poor flower! quoth
she, this was thy father's guise, — !| "For every little grief
to wet his eyes; il'To grow unto himself was his desire, ||
"And so 'tis thine—." Malonb. = 11:) Lpon the earth's
increase — ] i. e. upon the produce of the earth. Maloke.
= 12:) — life were done,} i. e. expended, consumed. So, in
Timou of Athens: "\ow Lord Timon's happy hours are
done and past." Malose. = 13:j — unkind.] That is, un-
uatural. Kind and nature were formerly synonymous. Ma-
i,o>E.= 14:) — Aer intendments — ] i. e. intentions. Thus, in
Every Man in his Humour: " — but I, spying his intend-
ment, discharg'd my petronel into his bosom."' Stekveks.
= 13:) Upon his compass'd crest — ] Compass''d is arch'd.
"A compass'd ceiling" is a phrase yet in use. IVIai.o>e.
So, in Troilus and Cressida: " — she came to him the other
day into the compass'd window," i. e. 'the bow window.'
Steevens.^IH:) To bid the wind a base he now prepares,']
To "bid the wind a base," is to 'challenge the wind to a
contest for superiority.' Base is a rustic game, sometimes
termed prison base ; properly prison bars. It is mentioned
by our author in Cymbeliue: — "lads more like to run the
country base, kc. Again, in The Two Gentlemen of Ve-
rona: "Indeed I bid the base for Protheus." Malone. =
17:) ^nd whe'r he run, or fly, they know not whether;]
Whe'r for whether. So, in King John: "\ow shame upon
thee, wher he does or no." Agaiu, iu a poem in praise of
Ladie P— , Epitathcs, Epigrammes, A:c. by G. Turberville,
1567: "I doubt where Paris would have chose || "Dame Venus
for the best." Mai.o>e.= 18:) He vails his tail,] To vail,
in old language, is to lower. Malone. = 19:) .But tfhen the
heart's attorney once is mute, |j The client breaks, &c.] So,
iu King Richard HI.: "Why should calamity be full of
words'^ i "Windy attorneys to their client woes — ." Stke-
VESS. The heart's attorney is the tongue, which undertakes
and pleads for it. Malone. =20:) — had his acts—] His

for tf». So, ii» Hamlet: " the dram of base jj "Doth all

the noble substance of worth dout || "To his owu scandal."
Malone. = 21:) — thy heart my wound;] i. e. thy heart |
wounded as mine is. Malone. = 22:) — *o/t sighs can never ;
grave it:] Engrave it, i. e. make an impression on it. Stee- I
vens. = 23:) My love to love is love but to disgrace it;] \
My inclination towards love is only a desire to render it
contemptible. — The sense is almost lost in the jingle of
words. Malosb.=:24:) — foul flaws— ] i. e. violent blasts of,

wind. Stebvens. = 2 5:) their verdure still endure, || \

To drive infection from the dangerous year!] I have some- '
where read, that in rooms where plants are kept in a grow-
ing state, the air is never unwholesome. Steevens. The
poet evidently alludes to a practice of his own age, when
It was customary, in time of the plague, to strew the
rooms of every house with rue and other stroog smelling
herbs, to prevent infection. Malone. = 26:) — for fear of
slips,] i. e. of counterfeit mouey. See note on Romeo and

Juliet, Act H. Sc. IV.: " V>hat counterfeit did I give

you"? II "JVler. The slip, sir, the Wip," &:c. Steevens. = 27:)
Measure my strangeness — ] i. e. my bashfulncss, my coy-
ness. Malone. = 28:) 2.ooA-, the world's comforter,] i.e. the
. sun. 8o in Timou of Athens: "Thou sun, that comfort'st,
burn!" Again, in a subsequent stanza: "Love comforteth,
like sunshine." Malone. = 29:) — vAosc leave — ] i. e. whose
licentiousness. Steevens. :^ 30:) — Love's master,] i. c. the
master of Venus, the Queen of love. So, in The Two
Gentlemen of Verona : "Let Love, being light, be drowned
if »Ae sink." Again, p. £00. 1.16: "She's Love, she loves,"
kc. Malone. = 31:) As those poor birds that helpless ber-
ries 8au»:] Helpless berries are berries that atford no help,
i. c. nourishment. Steevens. 1 once thought that a dltferent
meaning was intended to be conveyed; but I now believe,
Mr. Steevens is right. So, in The Comedy of Errors: "So
thou— l| "With urging helpless patience would'st relieve
me." Malone. = 32:) ZiAe to a mortal butcher,] Mortal, for
deadly. So, in Othello: "And you, ye mortal engines," &c.
Malone. = 33:)— 6ate-6reerfin«r, kc] So, in The Merry
Wives of VNindsor, Mrs. Quickly observes that John Rugby
is "no tell-tale, no breed-bate." Bate is an obsolete word
signifying strife, contention. Steevens. = 34:) — love's
tender spring,] 1 once thought that love's tender spring
meant, printcmps d' amour. So, in Tarquin and Lucrecc :
'•Luruly blasts wait on the tender spring." Again, in the
present poem: "Love's gentle spring doth always fresh re-
main— ." But I am now of opinion that spring is used
here, as in other places, for a young shoot or plant, or
rather, the tender bud of growing love. So, in The Comedy
of Errors: "Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs
rot." Malone. "This canker, that eats up love's icndir
spring." So, iu Romeo and Juliet: "Full soon the canAer
death eats up that plant." Stkevens. = 36:) The many
musits through the which he goes,] Musits are said by the
lexicographers to be the places through vbich the hare

goes for relief. The modern editions read umfits. "Three
things," says the author of the Choice of Change, 1385,
"are hard to be found : "A hare without a muse ; \\ "A fenne
without a sluse. |i "A whore without a skuse." Coles, in bia
English Dictionary, 1677, renders "the muse of a hare," by
"Arctus leporis per super transitus; leporis lacuna." So, in

Ram Alley, 1611: " we can lind||"Yr wildest paths yr

turnings and returns !j "Yr traces squats, the mussers, forms,
and holes." Malone. A muset is a gap in a hedge. See
Cotgrave's explanation of the French word Trouee. Stee-
i vens. = 36:) — iteej*,] i. e. dwell. This word, which was
formerly common in this sense, is now almost obsolete. It
: is still, however, commonly used at Oxford and Cambridge.
Malone. ^=37:) yrfnd sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;]
Sorteth means accompanies, consorts with. Sort anciently
signitied a troop, or company. Malone. = 38:) Rich preys
make true men thieves;] True men, iu the language of
Shakspeare's time, meant honest men ; and the expression
■ was thus frequently used in opposition to thieves. This
passage furnishes a signal proof of what 1 have had_ fre-
quent occasion to observe, the great value of lirst editions,
every re-impression producing many corruptions. In the
16mo. of 1596, we here find — "Rich preys make ricA men
; thieves ;" a corruption which has been followed in the sub-
: sequent copies. The true reading I have recovered from
' the original quarto 1393. Malone. = 39:) — die forsworn.]
i. e. having broken her oath of virginity. Steevens. = 40:)

— and frenzies wood,] /food, in old language, is frantic.
So in King Henry Vi. Part I.: "How the young whelp of
Talbot's, raging wood, \\ "Did flesh his puny sword in French-
man's blood." Malone. = 41:) — thaw'd, and done,] Done
was formerly used iu the sense of wasted, consumed, des-
troyed. So, in King Henry VI. Part I. : ".\ud now they

: meet, where both their lives are done." In the West of

England it still retains the same meaning. Malone. = 42:)

: — tAe darJl- lawnd — ] So the original copy of 1593, and the

' edition of 1596. Lawnd and lawn were iu old language

' synonymous. The 16mo. of 1600 has — lawnes, which iu

the modern editions became lanes. Malone. = 43:) — «Ae

; coasteth to the cry.] i. e. she advanceth. So, in Troilus

and Cressida: "O these encounterers, so glib of tongue, j|

"That give a coasting welcome, ere it come!" Malone. =

44:)— mortal vigour,] i>eadt«/ strength. Malone. = 45:)

SAe vail'd Aer eye-lids,] She lowered or closed her eye-lids.

So, in Hamlet: "Do not for ever with thy vailed lids \\

"Seek for thy noble father in the dust." Malone. = 46:)

With death she humbly doth insinuate;] To insinuate meant

I formerly, to sooth, to flatter. To insinuate with was the

I phraseology of Shakspeare's time. So, iu Twelfth Kight:

' "Desire him not to flatter with his lord." Malone. = 4 7:)

— because he would not fear Aim;] Because he would not
terrify him. So, in King Henry VI. Part IL: "For War-
wick was a bug that feard us all." Malone.^ 48:) — tAia
is my spite,] This is done purposely to vex and distress
me. Malone. =49:) — to tread the measures;] To dance.
TAc measures was a very stately dance, and therefore was
peculiarly suited to elders, if they engaged at all in such
kind of amusement. Malone. =

II. TARQUIN AXD LUCRECE.

= 1:) — all in post,] So, in Painter's Novel : — "Let 09
take our horse to prove which of oure w ives doth surmount.
Whereuppon they roode to Rome in post." Malone. = 2:)
JFhere mortal stars,] i. e. eyes. Our author has the same

allusion in A Midsummer-\ight's Dream: " who more

engilds the night, || "Than all yon Hry o's and eyes of light."
Again, in Romeo and Juliet: "At my poor house look to
behold this night | '■'■Earth-treading stars, that make dark
heaven light." Malone. = 3:) — which in his liver glows.]
Thus the quarto 15P4. Some of the modern editions have
grows. — 'I'he liver was formerly supposed to be the seat
of love. Malone. = 4:) Thy hasty spring still blasts, and
ne'er grows old.'] Like a too early spring, which is fre
quently checked by blights, and never produces any ripened
or wholesome fruit, the irregular forwardness of an unlaw-
ful passion never gives any solid or permanent satisfaction.
So, ma subsequeut stanza: "I'nruly 6/asts wait on the tender
spring." Again, in Hamlet: "For Hamlet, and the Irifl'ug
of bis favour, II "Hold it a fashion and a toy of blood ;||
"A violet in the youth of p rimy nature, ij '■'■Forward, not jier-
manent ; sweet, notlasting; |i "The perfume and suppliiincc
of a minute: 1 "No more." Again, in hin;; Ricliard IH.:
"SAort summers lightly have a forward sprins." Blasts
is here a neutral verb; it is used by Sir W. Riileiph in the
same manner, in his poem entitled the Farewell: "Tell ajfe,
it daily wasteth; || '■IVII honour, how it alters; || "'lell
beauty^ that it biasteth," k.c. In Venus and Adonis we find
nearly the same sentiment : "Love's gentle spring doth al-
way fresh remain ; j| "Lust"s winter comes ere summer half
be done." Malone.= 5:) f'irtue would stain that o'er irttA
silver white] The original edition exhibits this line Ihus!
"Virtue would stain that ore with silver white." Ore might
certainly have been intended for o'er, (as it is priuted iu
the text,) the word oi'er,' when contracted, having been
formerly written ore. But iu this waythe passage is not
reducible to grammar. V irtue would stain that, i. e. blushes,
o'er with silver white. — The word intended was, perhaps,

r. fi6

1042

NOTES.

[M.P:2.] Tr/. S.

or, i. e. gold, to which the poet compares the deep colour
of a blusk. Thus in Hamlet we find ore used by our author
manifestly iu the sense of or or gold: "O'er whom his very
madness, like some ore || "Among a mineral of metals base,
II "Shows itself pure." Tlie terms of heraldry in the next
stanza seem to favour this supposition: and the opposition
betMven or and the silver white of virtue is entirely in
Shakepeare's manuer. So, afterwards: "VVliicb virtue gave
the gulden age, to gild 1| "Their silver cheeks—." Malone.
Shakspeare delights in opposing the colours of gold and
silver to each otlier. So, in jVlacbeth: "His silver skin lac'd
with his golden blood." We meet with a description, allied

to the present one, in IVIuch Ado About \othing: " I

have mark'd || "A thousand blushing apparitions |j "To start
into her face ; a thousand innocent shames || "In angel white-
ness bear away those blushes." Stekvuns. ::=^ 6:) — in that
white intituleil,] I suppose he means, 'that consists in that
whiteness, or takes its title from it.' Steevens. Our author
has the same phrase iu his 37th Sonnet: "For whether
beauty, birlli, or wealth, or wit, || "Or any of these all, or
all, or more, II "/nttf /ed in their parts, do crowned sit—."
Malone. = 7:) Therefore that praise which Collatine doth
owe,] Jfraise here signilies the object of praise, i. e. Lu-
cretia. To owe in old language means to possess. Maloke.
= 8:) A'or couM she moralize his wanton sight,^ To mo-
ralize here signilies to interpret, to investigate the latent
meaning of his looks. So, in Much Ado About INothiiig:
"You have some moral in this Henedictus." Again, in The
Taming of the Shrew : " and has left me here to ex-
pound the meaning or mora/ of his signs and tokens." JVIa-
liONE. = 9:) Intending weariness with heavy spright ;] In-
tending is pretending. iV1ai,one.=^10:) So that in venVring
ill,] 'I'hus the old copy. The modern editions read: "So

that in vent'ring all ." But there is no need of change.

"In venturing ill," means, 'from an evil spirit of adventure,
which prompts us to covet M'hat we are not possessed of.'
Malone. = 11:) — himself confounds,] i. e. destroys. Ma-
i.owe. = 12:) — soft fancy's slave.'] Fancy, Xot love or affec-
tion. So, in A Midsummer- Night's Dream: "Wishes and
tears, poor /anc»/'« followers." Mai.oke. = 13:) Then my
digression — ] My deviation from virtue. So, in Love's La-
bour's Lost : "I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that
1 may example my digression by some mighty precedent."
Malone. Again, in liomeo and Juliet: "Thy noble shape
is but a foriii in wax, || '•'■JHgressing from the valour of a

man." Stbevens. ^=14:) the scandal will survive, \\

And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ;\\ Some loathsome
dash the herald will contrive,] In the books of heraldry
a particular mark of disgrace is mentioned, by which the
escutcheons of those persons were anciently distinguished,
who "discourteously used a widow, maid, or wife, against
her will." '1 here were likewise formerly marks of disgrace
for him that "revoked a challenge, or went from his word;
for him who tied from his colours," &.c. In the present in-
stance our author seems to allude to the mark lir^it men-
tioned. Malone. "Some loathsome dash the herald will
contrive." So, in King John: "To look into the blots and
stains of right." Again, in Drayton's Epistle from Queen
Isabel to King Richard IL: "i\o bastard's mark doth blot
my conauering shield." This distinction, whatever it was,
was called in ancient heraldry a blot or dillerence. Stee-
VENS. = 15:) Who fears a sentence, or an old man''s saw,
II Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe] In the old
tapestries or painted cloths many moral sentences were
wrought. So, iu If This He not a Good Play, the Devil is
in't, by Decker, I6l2: "What says the prodigal child in the
painted cloth'f" Mai.one.. = lo:) — to have him heard;]
That is, to discover him; to proclaim his approach. Ma-
i.oNE. = 17:) He takes it from the rushes where it lies;]
'i'he apartments in England being strewed with rushes in
our author's time, he has given Lucretia's chamber the same
covering. The contemporary poelw, however, were equally
inattentive to projiriety. 'I'hus Marlowe in his Hero and
Leander: "She fearing on the rushes to be flung, ||"Striv'd
with redoubled strength." Mai,one. = 18:) To add a more
rejoicing to the prime,] That is, a greater rejoicing. So,
in King Richard 11.: "To make a more requital of your
loves.' The prime is the spring. Malone. ^= 1 9:) y^nd him
by oath they truly honoured.] Alluding to the ancient prac-
tice of swearing domestics into service. So, in Cymbeliiie:
"Her servants are all sworn and honourable." STE^;v^;^s.
'I'he matrimonial oath was, I believe, alone in our author's
thoughts. Maloxe. = 20:) And in his will his wilful eye he
tired] This may mean — 'He glutted his lustful eye in the
imagination of what he had resolved to do.' To tire is a
term in falconry. So, in Hey wood's Rape of Lucrece:
"Must with keen fang tire upon thy flesh." Perhaps we
should read — "And on his will," ^c. Steevens. ^= 21:)
Tender my suit:] Cherish, regard my suit. So, in Hamlet:
^'■Tender yourself more dearly." Malone. = 22:) Worse
than a slavixh wipe,] More disgraceful than the brand with
which slaves were marked. MAi.oitiiC. = 23:) — or birth-
hour's blot:] So, in Kiiig John: "If thou that bid'st me be
content, wert grim, || ''ligly and slanderous to thy mother's
uioni6, |l "Full of iinpliasing blots, and sightless stains, — ||
"Patch d with foul moles and eye olfendiiif; marks, || "I
would not care." Again, in A MIdsummer-INight's Dream:
"And the blots of nature's hand^|| "Shall not in their issue
stand ; II "Never mole, hair-lip, nor scar, ||"Xor mark pro-
digious—." It appears that in Shakspeare's time the arms
of bastards were distinguished by some kind of blot. Thus,

in the play above quoted : "To look into the blots and
stains of right." Hut in the passage now before us, those
corporal blemishes with which children are sometimes born,
seem alone to have been in our author's conieniplatiou.
MALO!>iE.= 24:) Like a white hind under the grype's sharp
claws,] So, in King Richard III.: "Ah me! i see the ruin
of my house; |j '■'■The tyger now hath seized the gentle

hind." All the modern editions read: " beneath the

gripe's sharp claws." The quarto, 1694. has : "Like a white
hiiide under the grype's sharp claws — . 'I'he gryphon was
meant, which in our author's lime was usually wriiicii grype,
or gripe. Mai.oine. The gripe is properly the griffin. See
Ootgrave's Dictionary, and Mr. Reed's improved edition of
Dodslry's Old Plays, vol. i. p. 124, where gripe seems to be

used iot vulture: " Ixion's wheele, || "»>r cruell gripe to

gnaw my growing harte." Ferrex and Forrex. It was also
a term in the hermetic art. Thus, in KenJonson's Alchemist:

" let the water in glass E be lilter'd, || "And put into

the gripe's egg." As griffe is the French word for a claw,
perhaps anciently those birds which are remarkable for
griping their prey in their talons, wire occasionally called
gripes." STEEVE>s. = 2d:) — his vulture folly,] Folly is used
here, as it is in the sacred writings, for depravity of mind.
So also, in Othello: "She tiirn'd to folly, and she was a
whore." Malone.=26:) — pretended;] i. e. proposed to thy-
self. So, in Macbeth: "- Alas the dny ! || "What good

could they pretend'f"^ STREvsy>i.^= 2'i:) Soft pity enters at
an iron gale.] Meaning, 1 suppose, the gates of a prison.
Steeveiss. = 28:) Then kings misdeeds cannot be hid in
clay.] The memory of the ill actions of kings will remain
even after their death. So, in the Paradise of Dainty De-
vises, 1580: "Mine owne good father, thou art gone; thine
ears are stopp'd with clay." .^gain, in Kendal's Flowers
of Epigrams, 1677: "The corps clapt fast in clotted clay, ||
"That here cngray'd doth lie." MAi.0NE.=:2y:) — pattern'd
by thy fault,] Taking thy fault for a pattern or example.
So, in the Legend of Lord Hastings, Mirrour for Magistrates,
1587: "Hy this my pattern, all ye peers, beware." M alone.
= 30:) Aot to seducing lust, thy rash relier;] Thus the
tirst copy. The edition of Itilti has — thy rash reply. Dr.
Sewel, without authority, reads: "Xot to seducing lust's
outragesfus fire." Malone.. = 31:) — love's coy touch,] i.e.
the dulicate, the respectful approach of love. Steevbns.
= 32:) 0, that prone lust, iVc] 'I'hus the first quarto. The
edition of IhOO, instiad o{ prone, lias proud. That of lbl6,
and the modern copies, foul. Frone is headstrong, forward,
prompt. In Measure for Measure it is used in somewhat a

similar sense: " in her youth || "There is a prone and

speechless dialect." Malonk. 'I'hus, more appositely, in
(^ymbeline: "I'nless a man would marry a gallows, and
begit young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.' Steevess.
= 33:) For day, quoth she, night-scapes doth open lay;]
So, in King Henry \ 1. Part II.: "I'he gaudy, blabbing, dad
remorseful day." Steevens. A passage in 'I'he Winter's
Tale may serve to ascertain the meaning of night-scapes
here; "Mercy on's, a bariie! a very pretty barne! — Sure
some scape: though 1 am not very bookish, 1 can read wait-
ing gentlewoman in the scape." Esrapium is a barbarous
Latin word, signifying what comes by chance or accident.
Mai,one. = 34:) HIack stage for tragedies—] In our author's
time, 1 believe, the stage was hung with black, when tra-
gedies were performed. The hanging however was, I sup-
pose, no more than one piece of black baize placed at the
back of the stage, in the room of the tapestry which was
the common decoration when comedies were acted. Malone.
= 36:) — noon-fide prick;] So, in King Henry Vl.^ Part HI.:
"And made an evening at the noon-tide prick." i. e. the
point of noon. Again, in Damon and Pythias, 1571: "It
pricketh fast upon noon." Steevkks. Again, in Acolastus
his After-witte, 1600: "Scarce had the sun attain'd his
noon-tide prick." Mai.oise. = 3t:) — {as he is but night's
child,)] The wicked, in scriptural language, are called the
children of darkness. Steeveks. = 37:) Her twinkling
handmaids—] That is, the stars. So, in Trnilus and Cres-
sida: "By all Diana's waiting women yonder, !| "And by
herself, 1 will not tell you whose." Mai.oine. — 38:) — nioy
read the mot afar,] The motto, or word, as it was some-
times formerly called. So, In Pericles, Prince of Tyre,
1600: "I'he word, lux tna vita mihi." Again, in the title
of Nashe's Have With You to Saffron Walden. 1596: "— —
The mott or poBcsie, instead of omne tulit punctum, pads
fiducia nunquam." The modern editors read unintclligiblj :
" may read the mote afar." MAl-o^E. =39:) TAi/ smooth-
ing titles to a ragged name;] Thy flattering titles. So, in

King Lear: " Such smiling rogues as these Ji " — —

smooth eA ery passion || 'That iu the nature of their lords

rebels. Again, in Pericles, Prince of Tyre, 1609:"-

The sinful father || "Seein'd not to strike, but smooth." The
edition of 1616, and all afterwards, read without authority:
"Thy smolh'ring titles—." A ragged name means a con-
temptible, ignominious name. Malone. = 40:) Advice is
sporting while infection breeds;] While infection is spread-
ing, the grave rulers of the state, that ought to guard
against its further progress, are careless and inattentive. —
Advice was formerly used for knowledge and deliberation
So, in The Two Gentlemen of Verona: "How shall 1 dote
on her with more advice, || "That thus without odutcc begin
to love her'f" Mai.one. This idea was probably suggested
to Shakspearc by the rapid progress of the plague in Lon-
don. Steevens =41:) — and thou art well appay'd— ] Ap-
pay'd, is pleased. The word is now obsolete. MAiiOKE.

V.

Th.S.[M.P:2.]

NOTES.

1043

•=42:) — copetmAtc — ] i.e. companion. So, in Hubbard's
Tale: "Till that the foe his copesmate he hail found."
Stbbvk>8. = 4?:) To uniug the wronger till he render
right ;] To punish by the compunctious visiting of con-
science the person uiio has done au injury to another, till
be has made- compeu>uliou. The wrong done in thi!4 in-
stance by Time must be understood in the sense of damnum
line injuria; and in thi:< light serves to illustrate and sup-
port Mr. Tyrwhitt's explanation of a passage in Julius Cae-
sar, even supposing thdt it stood as Ben Joiisou has ma-
liciously representid it: — "Kno«, Casar, doth not wrong,
but wiih just cause," iic. Dr. Farmtr very elegantly uould
read: '*To wring the wronger till he render right." Ma-
l,oi>iE. = 44:) To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,]
As Me have here no invocalion to rime, i su»pect the two
1a>t words of this line to be corrupted, and would read:
"To ruinate proud buildings with their bowers." Stkbvens.
Hours is surely the true reading. In the preceding addrejis
to Opportunity the same words are employed: "Wrath,
envy, treason, rape, and murder's rage?*, jj '■'•Thy heinous
hours wait on them as their pages." So, in our author's

19th Sonnet: "Devouring Time li "O, carve not with

thy hours my love's fair brow." Again, in Davison's Poems,
loil : '■'■Time's young howres attend her still." "To ruinate
proud buildings with thy hours" — is, to destroy buildings
by thy slow and unperceived progress. It were easy to
read — with his hours; but the poet having made Lucretia
address Time per^^onally in tlie two preceding stanzas, and
again a little lower — "\>hy work'st thou mischief in thy
pilgrimage — ." probably was here inattentive, and is him-
seil answerable for the present inaccurary. Mai.o>e.= 45:)
To dry the old oak's sap, and cheri^^h .>-pring8;J The last
two words, if they make any sense, it is such as is directly
contrary to the sentiment here advanced ; which is concern-
ing the decays, and not the repairs, of time. 'I he poet
certainly wrote: "To dry the old oak's sap, and tarish
springs;" i.e. to dry up springs, from the French tarir, or
tarissemcnt, exaref'acere, exsiccatio : these words being pe-
culiarly applied to springs or rivers. VVauburtos. Dr. John-
son thinks Sshakspeare wrote: " and perish springs;"

And Dr. Fanner has proiluced from the Maid's 'I'ragedy a
passage in which the word peri sA is usid in an active sense.
If change were necessary, that word might perhaps have
as good a claim to admission as any other; but I know not
why the text has been suspected of corruption. The opera-
tions of Time, here described, are not all uniform; nor has
the poet conliiied himself solely to its destructive qualities,
in some of the instances mentioned, its /)rogrc«« only is
advened to. Thus we are told, his glory is — "To «ake
the morn, and sentinel the night — ji ''And turn the giddy
round of fortune's wheel." In others, its salutary eilecls
are pointed out: "Tw cheer the ploiignman with increaselul
crops,— II "To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, —
Ij "To wrong the wronger till he render right." l\here
then is the diflicuUy ot the present line, even supposing
that we understand the word springs in its common ac
ceptatiou? It is the otlice of Time (^ays Lucretia) to dry
up the sap of the oak, and to furnish springs with a per-
petual supply; to deprive the one of that moisture which
she liberally bestows upon the other. In the next stanza
the employment of Time is equally various and discordant:
"To make the child a man, the man a child — " to advance
the infant to the maturity of man, and to reduce the aged
to the imbecility of ciiildhood. By springs however may be
understood (as has been observed by Mr. Tollett) the shoots
or buds of young trees; and then the meaning will be, —
it is the oflice of Time, on the one hand, to destroy the
ancient oak, by drying up its sap; on tne other, to cherish
young plants, and to bring them to maturity. So, in our
author's 15th Sonnet: "When 1 perceive that men, as plants,
increase, || ^''Cheered and clieck'd eveu by the self-same
sky — ." 1 believe this to be the true sense of the passage.
Springs has this signiiication in many ancient English books;
and tne word is again used in tne same sense in The
fomedy of Errors: "Even in the spring of love thy love-
springs rot." Again, iu Venus aud Adonis: "This canker,
that tats up love s tender «j)ring." Malose. In Holiusbed's
Description of England, both the contested words iu the
latter part of the verse, occur. "We have manie woods,
forrests, and parks, which cherish trees abundantlie, beside
inlinit numbers of hedge-rowes, groves, and springs, that
arc mainleined," kc. roLi.KT. ■= 4b:) To spoil antiquities
of hammered steel,] The poet was here, 1 believe, thinking
of the costly monuments erected in honour of our ancient
kings and some of the nobility, which were frequently made
of iron, or copper, wrought with great nicety; many of
which had probably even in his time begun to decay. There
are some of these monuments yet to be seen in Westmin-
ster-abbey, and other old cathedrals. Maloke. = 47:) jIs
slanderous death's-man, ic] i.e. executioner. So, in one of
our author's plays: "— — he's dead; I am only sorry i| "He
had no other death'sman." Stekvens. t= 48:) Out, idle
trord*,] Thus the quarto. The octavo 1607, has our idle
words, — which has been followed by that of 1616. Dr.
Sewel reads without authority : O, idle words — . Uut is an
exclamatiou of abhorrence or contempt yet used in the north.
= 49:) For me, I force not argument a straw,'] I do not
value or esteem argument. So, iu The Tragicall Hystory
of Homeus and Juliet, 1562: "But when he, many mouthes,
hopeless of his recure. J| "Had served her, w ho forced not
what payues he did endure — ." Again, iu Love's Labour's

Lost : "Your oath broke once, you force not to forswear."
Ma].o>b. = 60:) A badge of fame to slander's livery ;] lit
our author's time the servants of the nobility all wore sil-
ver badges on their liveries, on which the arms of their
masters were engraved. Mai.oije. = 61:) tyhile thou on
TertHs descant'tt, better skill.] Philomel, the daughter of
Pandion king of .Mhens, was ravish'd by Tereus, the hus-
band of her sister Progne. — According* to 4he fable, she
was turned into a nigutingale, 'I'ereus into a lapwing, and
Progne into a swallow. There seems to be somt thing want-
ing to complete the sense: — iritA better skill, — but this
will not suit the metre. In a preceding line, however, the
preposition trttA, though equnlly wanting to complete the
sense, is omitted^ as iiere: "For day hath nought to do
what's done by night." All the copies have: "While thou
on Tereus descants better skill." This kind of error {des-
cants tor descant'st) occurs in almost every page of our
author's plays. Malone. Perhaps the author wrote, (I say
perhaps, for in Shakslieare's licentious grammar nothing is

very certain): " I II hum on Tarqiiin's ill, !| "While tiiou

on Tereus' descant'st better still.'' Steevers. = 52:) V\ho,
if it wink;'] Shakspeare seldom attends to the last ante-
cedent. The construction is — 'Which heart, if the eye
wink, shall fall,' \.c. Mai,o>e. = 53:) H^'hen life is tham'd,
and death reproaches debtor.'] Reproaches is here, I think,
the Saxon genitive case : — When death is the debtor of
reproach. So, in A Midsummer- IVigiit's Dream: "I do
wander every where |j "Swifter than the moones sphere."
She debates whether she should ii<it rather destroy herself
than live; life being disgraceful in consequence ol her vio-
lation, and her death being a debt which she owes to the
reproach of her_ conscience. Mai.<!>f.. We need not look
for a Saxon genitive here: the genitive of re;)roacA cannot
be prouoiiiiccd without an additional syl'able. Uoswell. =
54:) The homely villein court'sics to tier low;] J'illein has
here its ancient legal signiiication; ihat of a slave. The
term court'sy was formerly applied to men as well as to
women. Malo>e. = 55:) — this pattern of the worn out
age — ] This example of ancient simplicity and virtue. So,
in King Richard 111.: "Behold this pattern of thy but-
ojieries." See also note 29. We meet with nearly the
same expression in our author's 68th Sonnet : "Thus is his
check the map of days out-worn." Malo^e. So, in As
You Like It: " how well in thee appears ,'■ "The con-
stant service of the antique wnrld." Stkevbns. =56:) Be-
fore the which is drawn — ] Tiiat is, before Troy. M4i.ai«E.
Drawn, in this instance, does not signify delineated, but
drawn out into the field, as armies are. So, in King
Henry IV'.: "He cannot draw his power these fourteen
days." STEEVEi>is. = 5 7:) For Helen's rape — ] Rape is used
by all our old poets in the sense of _ ra;)fuii, or carrying
away by force. It sometimes al.so signifies the person forci-
bly carried away. Mai,o>e. = 58:) — deep regard and smil-
ing government.] Profound wisdom, and the complacency
arising from the passions being under the command of rea-
son. The former word [regard] has already occurred more
than once iu the same sense. Mai.ose. = 5S:) Another,
smother'd, seems to pelt and swear;] To pelt meant, 1
think, to be clauiorous, as men are in a passion. So, in an
old collection of tales, entitled Wits, Fiis, and Fancies,
1614: "The young man, all iu a pc/fingr chafe— ." MALoi<iE.
= 60:) Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,] An ariful
delineation, so nicely and naturally executed. Kind and
nature, in old language, were synonymous. MAr,o>B.=:61:)
To break upon the galled shore, and than—] Than tor then.
This licence of changing the termination of words is some-
times used by our ancient potts, in imitation of the Italian
writers. Thus Daniel, in his Cleopatra, 1594: "And now
wilt yield thy streames |i "A_ prey to other reames" i. e.
realms. Again, iu bis Complaint of Rosamond, \:t^Z-. "When
cleaner thoughts my weakness "gau upbray, || "Against my-
self, and shame did force me say ■ — " Again, in Hall's Sa-
tires, 15s9: "As frozen dunghills in a winter's niorne, i| "That
voyd of vapours seemed all beforne, !| 'Sooue as the suu,"
.Vc. Again, ibid.: "His bonnet vail'd, or ever he could
thinke, I] '• The unruly wiinle biowes off his periwinke.'''
Again, in Godrey of Bulloigne, translated by Fairfax, ItOO:
"Time was, (for each one hath his doting time, n "These
silver locks were golden tresses than,) :| "That counirie life
I hated as a crime, !j "And from the forests sweet conteut-
ment ran." Again, in Drayton's Mortimeriados, sign. Q 1.
4to. 16^6: "Out of whose to|» the fresh .springs tremblinr
downe, II "Duly keep time with their harmonious »oirne."
Again, in Songes and Sonnetcs by the earle of Surrey and

others, edit. 1567, f . 61 : " half the paine had never

man l| "Which had this woful Troyan than." Many other
instances of the same kind might be added. See the next
note. Mai.one. Reames, in the lirst instance produced, is
only the French royaumes affectedly anglicized. Steevess.
In Daniel's time the French word was usually written
royaulme. Mai.ot«e. -=62:) To find a face where all distrest
is st*rd.] Thus the quarto, and all the subsequent copies. —
In our author's twenty fourth Sonnet we lind those lines;
"Mine eye hath plav'd the painter, and hath steel'd I " I'hy
beauty's form in table of my heart." This therefore I sup-
pose to have been the word intended here, which the poet
altered for the sake of rhyme. So before — hi Id for Ae/d,

and fAan for fAen. He might, however, have written: "

where all distress is spell'd." i. e. written. So, in The
(7omedy of Errors: "And careful hours with time's deformed
hand II "Have written strange defeatures in By face." Ma-

66*

1044

^ o T E s

[M. P: 3] Th. S.

i.oNE. = 63:) — the ■public, plague of many mo'?] Mo for
more. The vord is now obsolete. iVIalone. r=t)4:) Here manly
Hector faints, here Troilus swoiincls;] In the play of 'I'roi-
lus and Crcstiida, his name is frequently introduced in the
same manner as here, as a dissyllable. 'I'he mere Englitsh
reader still pronounces the word as, 1 believe, Shakspeare
did. Swounds is swoons. Swoon is constantly written tounrf
or swound in the old copies mf our author's plays; and from
this stanza it is probable that the word was anciently pro-
nouiired as it is here written. So also Drayton in his Mor-
tiincriados, 4to. no date: "Thus with the pangs out of this
traunce areysed, '] "As water .sometime vtakeneth from a
swound, — Ij "As when the bloud is cold, we feeVe the wound."
Maloke. = 65:) So sobersad, so weary, and so mild, \\ {As
if with grief or travail he had fainted,) !l To me came Tar-
qiiin arm«d ; so beguiCd || With outward honesty,'] "To me
caineTarquin with the same armour of hypocrisy that^inon
wore." The old copy reads: "To me came Tarquin armed
to bcguild II "With outward honesty," &^c. To must, I think,
have been a misprint for so. BeguiTd is beguiling. Our
author frequently confounds the active and passive partici-
ple. Thus, in Uthello, delighted for delighting : "It virtue
no delighted beauty lack—." Malone. 1 think the reading
proposed is right; and would point thus: "To me came
Tarquin armed; so beguil'd || "With outward honesty, but
yet," &c. So beguil'd is so coverUl, so masked with fraud,
i. e. like Sinon.^ Thus in The Merchant of Venire, Act III.
Sell.: "Thus' ornament is but the guilcd sAore || "To a
most dangerous sea." Steeveiss. = 66:) For every tear he
falls,] He lets fall. So, in Othello: "Each tear she falls
would prove a crocodile." Mai,one. A similar thought oc-
curs in Troilus and Cressida: '■^For every false drop'in her
bawdy veins, ||"A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scru-
ple j| "In her contaminated carrion weight, || "^ Trojan hath
been slain." Steevens. = 6'/:) These water galls in her dim
element —] The v^ater-gall is some appearance attendant
on the rainbow. The Word is current among the shepherds
on Salisbury plain. Steevens.= 6 8:) ^nd then in key-cold
Lucrece'' bleeding stream — ] This epithet is frequently used
by our author and his contemporaries. So, in King Ri-
chard III.: "Poor key-cold figure of a ho\y king." Malonp.
= 69:) The Romans plausibly — ] That is, with acclama-
tions. To express the same meaning, we should now say,
plausively: but the other was the phraseology of Shak-
speare's age. So, in Stowe's Chronicle, p. 1426, edit. 1605;
"This change was very plausible or well pleasing to the
nobility and gentry." Bullokar in his English Expositor,
8vo. 1616, interprets plausible thus: "That which greatly
pleaseth, or rejoiceth.'''' Malose. Plausibly may mean,
with expressions of applause, .Plausibilis, Lat. Stee-
VEKS. =

III. SOKNETS.

= 1:) this glutton be, \\ To eat the world's due, by

the grave and thee.'] The ancient editors of Shakspeare's
works, deserve at least the praise of impartiality. If they
have occasionally corrupted his noblest sentiments, they
have likewise depraved his most miserable conceits; as,
perhaps, in this instance. I read (piteous constraint, to

read such stuff at all!) " this glutton be; || "To eat the

world's due, be thy grave and thee." i. e. be at once thy-
self, and thy grave. The letters that form the two words
were probably transposed. 1 did not think the late IVIr.
Rich had such example for the contrivance of making Har-
lequin jump down his own throat. Steevens. 1 do wit be-
lieve there is any corruption in the text. Mankind being
daily thinned by the grave, the world could not subsist if
the places of those who are taken off by death were not
filled up by the birth of children. Hence Shakspeare con-
siders _ the propagation of the species as the world's due,
as a right to which it is entitled, and which it may demand
from every individual. The sentiment in the lines before
us, it must be owned, is quaintly expressed ; but the ob-
scurity arises chiefly, 1 thinkj from the aukward collocation
of the words for the sake of the rhyme. The meaning seems
to me to be this. — ^Fity the world, which is daily depo-
pulated by the grave, and beget children, in order to sup-
ply the loss ; or, if you do not fulfil this duty, acknowledge,
that as a glutton swallows and consumes more than is suf-
ficient for his own support, so you (who by the course of
naturemust die, and by your own remissness are likely to
die childless) thus "living and dying in single blessedness,"
consume and destroy the world's due; to tlie desolation of
which j'ou will doubly contribute; 1. by thy death; 2. by
thy dying childless.'. Our author's plays, as well as the
poems now before us, affording a sufficient number of con-
ceits, it is rather hard that he should be answerable for
such as can only be obtained through the medium of altera-
tion; that he should be ridiculed not only for what he has,
but for what he has not written. Malonk. =2:) — — ii'hose
un-ear'd womb || Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry 'f]

Thus, in Measure for Measure: "■ her plenteous womb

II "Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry." Steevens.
Unear'd is unploughed. Mai.oke. = 3:) Music to. hear, ic]
O Thou, whom to hear, is music, why, &c. I have some-
times thought Shakspeare might have written — Music to
ear, kc. i. e. thou, whose every accent is music to the ear.

lormeriy synonymous. >o, in hyng Appolyn ot Tyre, 151C
"Certes, madam, 1 sholde iiave great joy yfe ye had sue
a prynce to your make." Again, in The Tragicall Hystor
of Romcus and Juliet, 1562: "Retwixt the amies of me, th

So, in the Comedy of Errors : "That never words were
music to thine ear." Hear has been printed instead of ear
in the Taming of the Shrew; or at least the modern editors
have supposed so. Mai.one. = 4:) — like a makeless wife;]
As a widow bewails her lost husband. Make and mate were
formerly synonymous. ,So,_in Kyng Appolyn of Tyre, 1510:

■ ■ ch
tory
, thy
perlect-loving make." Malone. = 5:) — for store,] i. e. to
be preserved for use. Mai,one. = 6:) Save breed, to brave
him.,] Except children, whose youth may set the scythe of
Time at detiancCj and render thy own death less painful.
Malo>e. = 7:) //'/j/cA husbandry in honour might uphold — ]
Husbandry is generally used by Shakspeare lor economical
prudence. So, in King Henry V. : "For our bad neighbours
make us early stirrers, || "Which is both healthful and good
husbandry." Malone. = 8:) Uy oft predict—] Dr. Sewel
reads — By aught predict; but the text is right. — So, in the
Birth of Merlin, 16o2: "How much the oft report of this
bless'd hermit II "Hath won on my desires!" M alone. 'I'he
old reading may be the true cue. "ijy oft predict" may
mean — 'By what is moat frequently prognosticated.' Stee-
VBins.^9:) If from thyself to store thou would' st convert;]
If thou would'st change tliy single state, and beget a nu-
merous progeny. So, before: "Let those wlMim nature hath
not made for store." Again, in Romeo and Juliet: "O, she
is rich in beauty; only poor, || "That when she dies, with
beauty dies her store." Maloxe. = 10:) Aio should the lines
of life — ] This appears to me obscure. Perhaps the poet
wrote— "the lives of life:" i. e. 'children.' Mai.oine. The
"lines of life" perhaps are 'living pictures,' viz. children.
Anon. This explanation is very plausible. Shakspeare has
again used line with a reference to painting in All's Well
Tliat Ends Well : "And every line and trick of his sweet
favour." Mai,one.= 11:) — my pupil pen,] This expression
may be considered as a slight proof that the ])oeins before
us were our author's earliest compositions. Steevess. =
12:) To give away yourself, keeps yourself still;] To pro-
duce likenesses of yourself, (that is, children,) will be the
means of preserving your memory. Malone. = 13:) Some-
time too hot the eye of heaven, \:c.] That is, the sun. So,
in Romeo and Juliet: "Alow, ere the sun advance his burn-
ing eye—." Again, in King Richard II.: " when the

searching eye of heaven is hid ij "Behind the globe, and
lights the lower world." Again, in Tarquin and Lucr«ce :
"J'/je eye of heaven is out." Malone. = li:) Nor lose pos-
session of that fair thou owcst ;] Of that beauty thou pos-
sessest. i''atrwas,in our author's time, used as a substantive.
To owe in old language is to possess. Maloise. = 15:) —
the master-mistress of my passion ;] It is impossibile to
read this fulsome panegyric, addressed to a male object,
without an equal mixture of disgust and indignation. VVe
may remark also, that the same phrase employed by Shak-
speare to denote the height of encomium, is used by Dryden
to express the extreme of reproach: "That woman, but
more daub'd; or, if a man, || "Corrupted to a woman; thy
man-mistress." Don Sebastian. Let me be just, however,
to our author, who has made a proper use of the term male
varlet, in Troilus and Cressida. See that play, Act V. Sc. I.
Steevens. Some part of this indignation might perhaps
have been abated, if it had been considered that such ad-
dresses to men, however indelicate, were customary in
our author's time, and neither imported criminality, nor
were esteemed indecorous. To regulate our judgment of
Shakspeare's poems by the modes of modern times, is surely
as unreasonable as to try iis plays by the rules of Aris-
totle. Master-mistress does not perhaps mean wian-mistress,
but sovereign mistress. See Mr. Tyrwhitt's note on the
165th verse of the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 197. Malone.
= 16:) y/ man in hue all hues in his controlling,] This line
is thus exhibited in the old copy : "A man in hew all Hews
in his controlling." Hews was the old mode of spelling
hues (colours), and also Hughes, the proper name. Malone.
r=ll:) BuX since she prick'U thee out, Hcc] To prick is te
nominate by a puncture or mark. So, in Julius Csesar:
"These many then shall die, their names are prick'd."
Again, in King Henry IV. I'artll.: "Shall 1 jirtcA- him, Sir
John'' — 1 have given a wrong explanation of this phrase
elsewhere. Steevens. = 1 8:) iUattng- a couplement— ] That
is, an union. So, in .Love's Labour's Lost: "I wish you the
peace of mind, most royal couplement." 1 formerly thought
this word was of our author's invention, but 1 have lately
found it in Spenser's Faery Queene: "Allide with bands of
mutual couplement." Malone. = 19:) That heaven's air in
this huge rondure hems.] Rondure is a round. Rondeur,
Fr. The word is again used by our author in King Henry V.:
'"Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls." Malonb.
:= 20:) — in death's dateless night,] Shakspeare generally
uses the word dateless for endless; having no certain time

of expiration. So, in Romeo and Juliet:"' seal with a

righteous kiss || "A dateless bargain to engrossing death."
Malone. = 21:) The region cloud—] i.e. the clouds of this
region or country. So, in Hamlet: "1 should have fatted
all the region kites || "With this slave's offal." Steevens.
= 22:) Excusing thy sins more than thy sius are:] The
old copy here also *has their twice, instead of thy. The
latter words of this line, whichever reading w« adopt, are
not very intelligible. Malone. "Excusing thy sins more
than thy sins are," I believe, means only this: 'Making the
excuse more than proportioned to the offence.' Stebveks.

Th. S. [M. P: 3.]

NOTES.

1045

= 2 3:) For to thif sensual fault I bring in sense,] Thus
the quarto. The line appears to me unintelligible. Might
we read: "For to thy sensual fault I bring incense — J" A
jingle was evidently intended; but if this word was occa-
sionally accented on the last syllable, (as psrhaps it might
formerly have been,) it would alford it as well as the read-
ing of the old copy. ^Many words that are now accented
on an early syllable, had formerly their accent on one more
remote. Thus, in A Midsummer-.\ight's Dream: "It stands
as an edict in destiny." Again, in Hamlet: "Did slay this
Fortinbras, who by a seal'd compact — ."^ Again, in Mea-
sure for Measure: "This is the hand, which with a vow'd
contract—." Again, in King Henry V.: " 'Tis no sinister,
nor no aukward claim—." Again, in Locrine, a tragedy,
151^5: "Nor my exile can move you to revenge." Again, in
our author's 50th Sonnet : "As if by some instuict the wretch
did iiud— ." Again, in the l28lh Sonnet: "Do I envy' those
jacks that nimble leap — ." Again, inTarquin and Lii-
crece: "With pure aspects did him peculiar duties." Again,
ibid. : "If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage." Again,
ibid.: "But her fore sight could not forestall their will."
Again in Troilus and Cressida: "Peaceful commerce from
dividable shores." Dryden has concluded a line with the
same word, which to our ears sounds as oddly as incense
would : "Instructed ships shall sail to quick commerce."
Malonb. I believe the old reading to be the true one. The
passage, divested of its jingle, seems designed to express
this meaning. — ^Towards thy exculpation, 1 bring in the
aid of my soundest faculties, my keenest perception, my
utmost strength of reason, my sense.'' I think I can ven-
ture to affirm that no English writer, either ancient or mo-
dern, serious or burlesque, ever accented the substantive
incense on the last syllable. Steevkss. = 24:) Though in
our lives a separable spite,] A cruel fate, that spitefully
separates us from each other. Separable for separating.
Malo>e. =25:) So I, made lame by fortune's dearest snite,]
Dearest is most operative. So, in Hamlet: '"Would 1 had
met my dearest foe in heaven." A late editor, Mr. Capell,
grounding himself on this line, and another in the Stth
Sonnet, "Speak of my /amene««, and 1 straight will halt, — "
conjectured that Shakspeare was liierajly lainc: but the ex-
pression appears te have been only iigurative. So again,
111 Coriolanus: "— — I cannot help it now, || "Unless by us-
ing means I lame the foot 'I "Of our design." Again, in As
You Like It: "Which 1 did store to be my foster-nurse, ||
"When service should in my old limbs lie lame." In the
89th Sonnet the poet speaks of his friends imputing a fault
to him of which he was not guilty, and yet, he says, he
would acknowledge it: so, (he adds,) were he to_ be de-
scribed as lame, however untruly, yet rather than his friend
should appear in the wrojiff, he would immediately halt. If
Shakspeare was in truth Tame, he had it not in his power
to halt occasionally for this or any other purpose. The
defect must have been fixed and permanent. The context
in the verses before us in like manner refutes this notion.
If the words are to be understood literally, we must then
suppose that our admired poet was also poor and despised,
fur neither of which suppositions there is the smallest

ground. Malokb. " made lame by fortune's dearest

spite." So, in King Lear: "A most poor man, made tame
to fortune's blows. Steeve>s. = 26:) Entitled in thy parts
do crowned sit,'\ This is a favourite expression of Shak-
speare. So, in King Henry W. Part I. : "And on thy eye-
lids crown the god of sleep." Again, in Twelfth Sight:
,'lt yields a very echo to the seat Ji "VVhere love is throned."
Again, in Timou of Athens: "And in some sort these wants
ol mine are croirn'd, !| "That 1 account them blessings."
Entitled means, I think, ennobled. The old copy reads —
in their parts. The same error, as has been already ob-
servedj has happened in many other places. Malose. "En-
titled in thy parts — ." So, with equal obscurity, in Tar-
quin and Lucrece : "But beauty, in that white intituled, H
"From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair lield." 1 sup-
pose he means, 'that beauty taJces its title from that fair-
ness or white.' Stkevens. = 27:) If I lose thee, my loss
is my love's gain,^ If 1 lose thee, my mistress gains by
my loss. MAto^E. = 28:) — so much of earth and water
wrought,] i. e. being so thoroughly compounded of these
tu o ponderous elements. Thus, in Antony and Cleopatra :

'•■ I am air and fire, my other elements '■{ "1 give to

baser life." Steeveks. Again, in King Henry V. : "He is
pure air and lire; and the dull elements of earth and water
never appear in him." Mai,o>e. = 29:) To 'cide this title
is impanelled — ] To 'cide, for to decide. The old copy
reads — side. Malone. = 30:) Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in
his firy racef^ The expression is here so uncouth, that 1
strongly suspect this line to be corrupt. Perhaps we should
read : "Shall neigh to dull flesh, in his liry race." Desire,
in the ardour of impatience, shall call to the sluggish
animal, (the horse) to proceed with swifter motion. Ma-
LONE. Perhaps this passage is only obscured by the auk-
ward situation of the words no dull flesh. The sense may
be this : 'Therefore desire, being no dull piece of horse-
flesh^ but compo8ed_ of the most perfect love, shall neigh
as he proceeds in his hot career.' ".\ good piece of horse-
flesb'" is a term still cnrrent in the stable. Such a profu-
sion ef words, and only to tell us that our author's passion
was impetuous, though his horse was slow! Steevens. =
31:) Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, !| Since
seldom coming, in the long year set, \\ Like stones of worth,
&G.] So, in King Henry IV. Part 1. : "If all the year were

playing holidays, || "To sp*rt would be as tedious as to
work; jl "But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for
come; ||"And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents." Again.

ibidem: " my state, {{'■'^Seldom, but sumptuous, shewea

like ar feast, '^ "And won by xareness much solemnity." Ma-

i.o>'B. " feasts so solemn and so rare." He means the

four festivals of the year. Steevensv = 32:) Or captain
jewels in the carcanet.] Jewels of superior worth. So, in
Timon of Athens: "The ass more captain than the lion,
and the fellow || "Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge.'
Again, in the t)6th Sonnet: "And captive Good atteiidiog
captain 111." The carcanet was an ornament worn rouna
the neck. Malonb. = 33:) The other as your bounty, &c.]
The foizon, or plentiful season, that is, the autumn, is the
emblem of your bounty. So, in The Tempest: "How doea
my bounteous sister .[I'cresJT' Again, in Antony and Cleo-
patra: " For his ftounfj/, || ','There- was no winter in't;

an autumn 'twas, !| "That grew the more by reaping." Ma-
lose. r= 34:) — the world without-end hour,'] Ihe tedious
hour, that seems as if it would never end. So, in Love'a

Labour's Lost: " a time, methinks, ta« short 1| "To

make a world withoHt-end bargain in." i. e. an everlasting
bargain. Malo>e. = 35:) Show me your image in some
antique book, |{ Since mind at first in character was done.'}
Would that 1 could read a description of you in the earliest
manuscript that appeared after the first use of letter*.
That this is the meaning appears clearly from the next
line : "That I might sec what the old warld could say."

Again: " the wits of former days," itc. We yet use

t& word character in the same sense. Malose. This may
allude to the ancient custom of inserting real portraits
among the ornaments of illumiuated manuscripts, with in-
scriptions under them. Steevess. = 3&.) Nativity once in
the main of light,] In the great body of light. So, the
main of waters. M alone. = 3 7:) jind delves the parallels
in beauty's brow ;] Renders what was before even and smooth,
rough and uneven. So, in the second Sonnet : "When forty

pen." Uur author uses the word parallel in the same sense

inUthello: " How am I then a villain, |1 "To counsel

Cassio to this parallel coiirseT' Malose.=38:) 0 fearful
meditation .' where, alack ! \\ '■'■Shall time's best jewel from
time's chest lie hid'f] 1 once thought Shakspeare might
have written — from time's quest, but am now convinced
that the old reading is right. "Time's best jewel" is the
person addressed, who, the author feared, would not be
able to escape the devastation of time, but would fall a
pray, however beautiful, to his all- subduing power. So, in

his 48th Sonnet: " thou, to whom my jewels trifles

are, !| "Thee have 1 not lock'd up in any chest, \\ "Save where
thou art not, though I feel thou art." This allusion is a
favourite one »f Shakspeare^ for he has introduced it in
several places. Thus again, in King Richard 11. : "A jewel
in a ten-times-harr'd-up chest \\ "Is — a bold spirit in a loyal
breast." Again, in Tarquin and Lucrece: "She wakes her
heart by beating on her breast, i| "And bids it leap from
thence, where it may iind || "Some purer chest, to close so
pure a mind." Again, in King John : "They found him
dead, and thrown into the street, '\ "An empty casket, where
the jewel of life || "By some damn'd villain was robu'd and
ta'en away!" A similar conceit is found in an Epitaph on
Prince Henry, eldest sun of King James I. written in 1613:
"Within this marble casket lies ;; "A matchless jewel of rich
price; '1 "Whom nature, in thie world's disdain, || "But
■ shrew'd, and then put up again." The cAe«t of Time is
the repository where he lays up the most rare and curious
productions of nature; one of which the poet esteemed his

friend. vobis male sit, malx tcnebrse ,\ Orci, qua; omnia

bella devoratis. Catul. Malose. Time's chest is the repo-
sitory into which he is poetically supposed to throw those
things which he designs to be forgotten. Thus, in Troilus
and Cressida: '■'■Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, ||
"Wherein he puts alms for oblivion." Again, in Sonnet Lit.:
"So is the time that keeps you, as my chest." The thief
who evades pursuit, may be said with propriety to lie hid
from justice, or from confinement. Steevess. = 39:) ^nd
lace itself irith his society'^] i. c. embellish itself. So, in

Romeo and Juliet: "• what envious streaks . "Do /ace

the severing clouds — ." Steevens. ^40:) Before the golden
tresses of the dead, || The right of sepulchres, tcere shorn
away, || To live a second- life on second head;] Our author
has again inveighed against this practice in The Merchant
of Venice: "So are tho^e crisped snaky golden locks, \\
"Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, || "I pon
supposed fairness, often kno«n;j"To be the dowry of a
second head, \\ "The skull that bred them in the sepulchre."

Again, in Timon of Attens: " thatch your poor thin

roofs (I "With burdens of the death." So, in Swetuam Ar-

igned by Women, a comedy, 1620: " She'll instruct

em how |] " to- use, l| "The mysteries, painting, curling.

rai£
them

powd'ring, ji "And with strange periwigs, pin-kuots, border-
ings, li "To deck them up, like to a vintner's bush, ii "For
man to gaze at on a midsuminer-oight." In our author's
time, the false hair usually worn, perhaps in compliment
to tbe queen, was of a sandy colour. Hence the epithet
golden. See Hentaier's Account of Queen Elizabeth. Ma-
lone. =41:) The solve is this,] This is the solution. The
quarto reads : "The tolye is this — ." I have not found the

V.

1046

NOTES.

[P.M:3.] Th.S.

word now placed in the text, in any author: but have in-
serted it rather than print what appears tu me uiiiniellif;!-
b!c. VVe meet with a similar seutiuit'iit in the 102d Sonnet:

" gv«eel8 groMn common lo.«e tlieir dear delight." The

modern editions read: "The toil is this — ." IVIai.ose. 1
believe we should read: " I'hc sole is this — ." i.e. here the
only explanation lies-; this is all. STKEVB^s. = 42:) The
ornament of beauty is suspect,] Suspicion or slander isa
constant attendant on beauty, and adds new lustre to it.
Suspect is used as a substantive in King Henry VI. Partll.
Again, by Middleton in A Mad World my Masters, a comedy,
1U)8: "And poize her words i'the ballance of suspect."^ Ma-
l,oisE.= 43:) Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;]
The old copy here, as in many otiier places, reads cor-
ruptly — Tlieir worth, ke. 1 strongly suspect the latter
words of this line also to be corrupt. What idea does worth
woo'd of [that is, by] time, present'? — Perh^ips the poet
means, that however slandered his friend may be at pre-
sent, his worth shall be celebrated in all future time._ Ma-
lone. Perliaps we are to ilisentungle the transposition of
the passage, thus: 'So thou be good, slander, beingwoo'd
of time, doth but approve thy viorih the greater,' i.e. if
you are virtuous, slander, being thp favourite of the age,
only stamps the stronger mark of approbation on your merit.
1 have already shewn, on the authority of Ken Jonson, that
^'■oftime" means, of the t\iKn present one. Stkevens. Might
we not read ^ being wood of time'f taking wood for an
epithet applied to slander., signiiying frantic, doing mis-
chief at random. Shakspeare often uses this old v ord. So,
in Venus and Adnnis: "Life-poisoning pestilence, and fren-
zies wood." I am far from being satisiied with this con-
jecture, but can make no sense of the words as they are
printed. C = 44:) — clean starved for a look;] That is,
wholly starved. So, in Julius Caesar: '■'■Clean from the pur-
pose of the things themselves." MAI..ONE. So, in The Comedy
of Errors: "While 1 at home starve for a merry look."
Steevens.= 4 5:) Of gluttoning on all, or all aivay.] That
is, either feeding on various dishes, or having nothing on
my board, — all being away. M alone. Perhaps, or all away,
may signify, or away with all! i. e. 1 either devour like a
glutton what is within my reach, or command all provisions
to be removed out of my sight. Steevens. := 4t):) — in a
noted «ieeflf,] i. e. in a dress by which it is always known,
as those persons are who always wear the same colours.
Steevens. =: 47:) Of mouthed graves—] That is, of all-
devouring graves. Thus, in King Richard 111.: " in

the swallowing gulph || "Of dark forgetful ness and deep ob-
livion." Again, in Venus and Adonis: "What is thy body
but a swallowing graved" Malone. = 48:) Knoitin^ a better
spirit doth use your name,] Spirit is here, as in many
other places, used as a monosyllable. Curiosity will na-
turally endeavour to find out who this better spirit was,
to whom even Shakspeare acknowledges himself inferior.
There was certainly no poet in his own time with whom
he needed to have feared a comparison ; but these Sonnets
being probably written when his name was but little known,
and at a time when Spenser was in the zenith of his repu-
tation, I iniagine he was the person here aliudt'd to. Ma-
lone. = 49:) Jlnd therefore have I slept in your report,]
And thertfiire 1 have not sounded your praises. MAi.oTfE.

The same phrase occurs in King Henry VHI. : " Heaven

will one day open || "The king's eyes, that so long have
slept upon jj "This bold, bad man." Again, in King Henry IV.

Part 1.: " -hung their eyelids down || '■'■Slept in his face"

Stbevens. = 50:) H^hen others would give life, and bring
a tomb.] When others endeavour to celebrate your character,
while, in fact, they disgrace it by the meanness of their
composition. Mai.one. ^= 5):) Being fond on praise, which
makes your praises worse.] i. e. being fond of such pane-
gyric as debases what is praiseworthy in you, instead of
exalting it. On in ancient books is often printed for of.
It may mean, "behaving foolishly on receiving praise."
Steevens. Fond on was certainly used by Shakspeare for

fond of. So, in Twelfth Night: " my master loves her

dearly ; || "And I, poor monster, fond as much on him."
Again, in Holland's translation of Suetonius, folio, 1l06,
p. 21 : "He was enamoured also upon queenes.'' Malone.
= 62:) — fil'd up his line,] i. c. polish'd it. So, in Hen Jon-
son's Verses on Shakspeare: "In his well-torncd and true-
yi/erflines." Steevens. = 53:) 1 will acquaintance strangle^]
1 will put an end to our familiarity. This expression is

again used by Shakspeare in Twelfth Night: " it is the

baseness of thy fear || "That makes thee strangle thy pro-
priety." Again, in King Henry VIII. : " he has «trang/ed

II "His language in his tears." Again, in The Winter's
Ta'e: ^^Stranglc such thoughts as these with any thing, ||
"That you behold the while." Again, more appositely in
Antony and ('leopatra: "You shall lind the band that seems

vourite with Shaksneare, who uses it again in Macbeth:
"_ — night strangles the travelling lamp" Steevens. r=r
54:) Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less:]
Hy great and small. So, in King Henry IV. Part I.: "The
more and less came in," kc. Mai.o>e. = 5.^:) // like a
lamb he could his looks translate!] If he could change his
natural look, and assume the innocent visage of- the lamb.
So, in Tinion of Athens: " to present slaves and ser-
vants || " Tran«/ate« hi8 rivals." MAhovE. = 56:) Jnd yet

this time reinov'd !] This time in which 1 was remote or
absent from thee. So, in Measure for Measure: "He ever
lov'd the life retnov'd." Again, in King Henry IV. Part I.:

" nor did he think it meet i| "To lay so dangerous and

deara trust || "On any soul removed." Mai.one =57:) The
teeming autumn, big with rich increase, || Bearing the wan-
ton burden of the prime,] So, in A Midsuinmer-!\'ighi,'8

Dream: " The spring, the summer, || "The childing

autumn, angry winter, change || "Their wonted livries; and
the 'inazed world || "By their increase now knows not which
is which." The prime is the spring. Increase is the pro-
duce of the earth. Malone. = 5b:) Could make me any
summer's story tell,] By a summer's story Siiakspeare
seems to have meant some gay fiction. Thus, his comedy
founded on the adventures ol the king and queen of the
tairiesj he calls A Midsummer-^iphi's Dream. On the other
hand, in The Winter's Tale he tells us, "a sad tale's best

for winter." So also, in Cyinbeliiie: " if it be summer

news, II "Smile to it before: if winterly, thou need'st || "Hut
keep that countenance still," Malone. = 59:) The lily I
condemned for thy hand,] I condemned the lily for pre-
suming to emulate the whiteness of thy hand. Malone. =
60:) So thou prevent'st his scythe, kc] i.e. so by anticipa-
tion thou hindercst the destructive etlects of his weapons.

Steevens. = 61:) and death to me subscribes, |i Since,

spite of him, Fit live in this poor rhyme, \\ While he in-
sults o'er dull and speechless tribes.] To subscribe, is to
acknowledge as a superior, to obey. So, in Troilus and
(^ressida: "For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes \\
"To tender objects." Malone. So, in Dr. Young's Busiris:
"Like death, a solitary king I'll reign, || "O'er silent sub-
jects and a rie.'-ert plain." Steevens. = 62:) — in love's
fresh case — ] Hy the case of love the poet means his own
compositions IVIalone. = 63:) And made myself a motley
to the view,] Appeared like a fool (of whom the dress was
formerly a motley coat). Malone. = 64:) Gor'd mine own
thoughts,] 1 know not whether this be a quaintness, or a
corruption. Steevens. Tue text is probably not corrupt,
for our author has employed the same word in Troilus ami
Cressida: "My fame is shrewdly gor'd." The meaning
seems to be, '1 have wounded my own thoiigliis; 1 have
acted contrary to what 1 knew to be right.' Malone. We
meet with the same expression in Hamlet: "Till by some
elder masters, of known honour, || "1 have a voice and pre-
cedent of peace, Ij "To keep my name ungor'd." Bosw ell.
= 6 5:) These blenches gave my heart another youth,] These

starts or aberrations from rectitude. So, in Hamlet: "

I'll observe his looks; ||"I'II tent him to the quick; if he but
6/encA, II"! know my course." Malone. = 66:) TAan j)uft/tc
means, which public manners breeds.] The author seems
here to lament his being reduced tu the necessity of ap-
pearing on the stage, or writing for the theatre. Malone.
See the Preliminary Uemarks. Hoswell. = 67:) Potions
of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection;] Eysell is vinegar.
So, in A Mery Geste of tlie Frere and the Boye: "God
that dyed for us all, || "And dranke both eysell and gall."
Steevens. Vinegar is esteemed very etlicacious in pre-
venting the communication of the plague and other con-
tagious distempers. Mai.one. = 68:) For what care I tvho
calls me well or ill, \\ So you o'er green my had, my good
allow'?] I am inditlerenl tu the opinion of the world, if
you do but throw a friendly veil over my faults, and ap-
prove of my virtues. _The allusion seems to be either to
the practice of covering a bare coarse piece of ground
with fresh green-sward, or to that of planting ivy or jessa-
mine to conceal an unsightly building. To allow, in ancient

language, is to approve. Malone. I would read: " o'er

grieve my bad," i. e. 1 care not what is said of me, so that
jou compassionate my failings, and approve my virtues.
Steevens. = 6i:) That my steel'd sense or changes, right
or wrong] It appears from the next line but one, that «e«»e

is here used for senses. V^'e might better read: " e'er

changes, right or wrong." Malone. "None else to me, nor
I to none ali\ e, || "That my steel'd sense or changes, right
or wrong." The meaning of this purblind and obscure stuff
stems to be — 'You are the only person who has power to
change my stubborn resolution, either to what is right, or

to wtiat is wrong.' Steevens. :n= 7 0:) that my adder's

sense || To critic and to flatterer stopped are.] That my
ears are equally deaf to the snarling censurer, and the
flattering encomiast. Critic for cynic. So, in Love's La-
bour's Lost: ".And critic Timon laugh at idle toys." Our
author again alludes to the deafness of the adder in Troi-
lus and Oessida: " — —ears more deaf than adders to the
voice II "Of any true decision." Malone. = 7 i:) That all
the world besides methinks they are dead.] The quarto has
— "That all the world besides methinks y'are dead." Y'are
was, 1 suppose, an abbreviation for they are or th' are.
Such unpleasing contractions are often lound in our old
poets. Malone. The sense is tin's, — '1 pay no regard to
the sentiments of mankind ; and observe how 1 account for
this my indifference. I think so much of you, that I have
no leisure to be anxious about the opinions of others. I
proceed as if the world, yourself excepted, were no more.
Steevens. = 72:) Doth part his function,] That is, partly
performs his office. Malone. = 7 3:) — ir/iuA it doth latch;]
The old copy reads — it doth lack. The corresponding
rhyme shows that what 1 have now substituted was the
author's word. To latch formerly signified to lay hold of.

So, in Macbeth: " But 1 have words, || "Tliat should

be faowl'd out in the desert air, ^| "Where hearing should

V.

T£r.S.[M.P:4.]

NOTES.

1047

not latch them." Malone. = 74:) The most sweet favour,]
Favour is countenance. Mai.okr. = 75:) — irhat with his
gust in ''greeing,] Tliat is, what is pleasing to the taste of
my mind. MAi.oNB. = 7t):) How have mine eyes out of their
sphere!) been lilted, (| _/n the distraction of this madding
fever.'] How have mine e^es been convuUed during the
frantic yits of my feverous'love ! So, in IVIacbeth: "Then
comes my fit again; 1 had else been perfect, i| "Whole as
-the marble," Kc. The participle fitted, is not. 1 believe,
used by any other author, in the sense in which it is here
employed. In A MidsummeriV'ght's Dream, the same image
is presented: "Made me compare with hiermia's sphery
eyne.''' M\i.oyv.. V>e meet in Hamlet the same image as
here: "Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their
spheres." Stkeve>s.-^= 7 /:) — ftere/;] i. e. crooked; a term
used only, 1 believe, by masons and joiners. Stebvkks. =
78:) That poor retention could not so much hold,] That
poor retention is the table-book given to him by his friend,
incapable of retaining, or rather of containing, so much as
tiie tablet of the brain. MA^o^E. = 7^:) That it nor ^^rows
with heat, nor drowns ti'ith showers.] Though a building
may be drotpn'd, i. e. deluged by rain, it can hardly grow
under the influence of heat. Ivtould read g/owx. Stkkvkks.
Our poet frequently starts from one idea to another. Though
he had compared his alfection to a building, he seems to
have deserved that thought; and here, perhaps, meant to
allude to the progress of vegetation, and the accidents that
retard it. So, in the 15th Sonnet: "When I perceive, that
every thing that grows, \\ "Holds in perfection but a little
moment,— !| "When 1 perceive that men o-m jplants increase,
!|"CAearerf and check'd ex en by the selfsame sty." \.c.
Malosk. ^ 80:) ff'hich is not mix'd witff seconds,] I am
just intormed by an old lady, that seconds is a provincial
term for toe second kitid of jlour, which is collected after
the smaller bran is sifitd. 'Ibat our author's oblation was
pure, unmixed with baser matter, is all that he mtant to

gay. Steevens. = 81:) and they mourners seem \\ At

such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack, || Slandering crea-
tion with a false esteem:] Tlicy seem to mnurn that those
who are not born fair, are yet possessed of an artilicial
beauty, by which they pass fur what they are not, and thus
dishonour nature by their imperfect imitation and false pre-
tensions. Mai.o>e. = 82:) Since saucy jacks so happy are
in this,] He is here speaking of a small kind of spinnet,
anciently called a virginal. So, in Ram Alley, or Merry
Tricks, 1611: "Where be these rascals thiit skip up and
down, II "Like virginal jacks/" STEEVE^s. A virginal was
shaped like a piano forte. Mai,o>K.= 83:) The statute of
thy beauty — ] Statute has here its legal signilication, that
of a security or obligation for money. _ Mai.o>e. ^= 84:)
When my love swears, ^c] This Sonne't is also found (with
some variations) in The Passionate I'ilgrlui, a collection of
verses printed as Shakspeare's in 15^9. It there stands
thus : "W hen my love swears that she is made of truth, !|
"I do believe ht"r, though I know she lies, 1| "That she might
think me some untutor'd youth, || '■''llnskilfull in the world's
false forgeries. \\ "Thus vainly thinking tuat she thinks me
young, II "Although 1 know my ifcars be past the bi-st, || "/
umiling credit her false-speaking tongue, || '•'Out-facing
faults in love with lovers ill rest. || "Hut w herelore says
my love that she is young/ \\ "And wiierefore say not I that
I am old '{ I] "O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue, \\
"And age in love loves not to have years told. || "There-
fore ni lie with lore, and love with ine, H "iSince that our
faults in love thus smother''d be." Malo>e. =85:) But my
five wits, not my five senses can \\ Dissuade— ] That is, but
neither my wits nor senses can, Ke. So, in Measure for
Measure: "More nor less to others paying — ." " I'he wjf*,"
Dr. Johnson observes, "seem to have been reckoned live,
by analogy to the five senses, or the live inlets of ideas.
tPit in our author's time was the general term for the in-
tellectual power." From Stephen Hawes's poem called
Graunde Amour and La Bell Pucel, 1551, cb. 24, it appears
that the five wits were "common wit, imagination, fantasy,
estimation, and memory." Malone.= 86:) Not prizing her
poor infant's discontent ;] !\ot regarding, nor waking any
account of, her child's uneasiness. Mai.one. ^:= 87:) I hate
from hate away she threw, || And sav'd my life, saying —
not you.] Such sense as these Sonnets abound with, may
perhaps be discovered as the words at present stand; but
i had rather read: "/ hate — away from hate she flew,"
&c. Having pronounced the w ords / hate, she left me with
a declaration in my favour. Stekvens. The meaning is —
she removed the words / hate to a distance from hatred;
she changed their natural import, and rendered them ineffi-
cacious, and undescriptive of dislike, by subjoining not you.
Tiie old copy is certainly right. The poet relates what the
lady said; she is not herself the speaker. We liave the
same kind of expression in Tarquiu and Lucrece: "It can-
not be, quoth she, that so much guile l| "(She would have
said) can lurk in such a look; l| "But Tarquin's shape came
in her mind the while, || "And from her tongue can lurk
from cannot took." Maloke. = 88:) Past cure / am, now
reason is past care,] So, in Love's Labour's J*ost : "Great
reason; for past cure is still past care." it was a pro-
verbial saying. See Holland's l^eaguer, a p.imphlet pub-
lished in 1632 : "She has got this adage in her mouth ;
Things past cure, past care. Mai.one. = 89:) — a// tyrant,
for thy sake/] That is, for the sake of thee, thou tyrant.

Perhaps however the author wrote: " when 1 forgot j|

"Am of myself, all truant fur thy sakeT' So, iu the lOlst

Sonnet : "O truant Muse, what shall be my amends {
thy neglect of truth—." Maloke. =

'For

IV. THE PASSIONATE PILGRI>I.

= 1:) Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,] The
line preceding this is lost. Malone. ^= 2:) Sweet rose, &c.]
This seems to have been intended for a dirge to be sung
by Venus on the death of Adonis. Maloke. This note shows
how the clearest head may be led away by a favourite hy-
pothesis. L'nless the poet had completely altered the whole
subject of his poem on Venus and Adonis, which is princi-
pally occupied by the entreaties of the goddess to the in-
sensible swain, how could she bn represented as saying, "I
craved nothing of thee still." The greater part of it is em-
ployed in describing her craving. Boswell. = 3:) — faded
in the spring.'] i'he \erh fade throughout these little frag
uients, ^lc. is alvvays spelt vaded, either in compliance with
ancient pronunriation, or in consequence of a primitive
which perhaps modern lexicographers may feel some reluc-
tance to acknowledge. They tell us that we owe this word
to the French fade ; but I sec no reason why we may not
as well impute its origin to the Latin vado, which equally
serves to indicate departure, motion, and evanescence.
Steevess. =4:) My heart doth charge the watch;] The
meaning of this phrase is not very clear. Steeveks. Per-
haps the poet, wishing for the approach of morning, en-
joins the watch to hasten through their nocturnal duty.
Mai.ose. = 6:) — carA minute seems a moon;] The old copy
reads — each minute seems an hour. The want of rhyme
to the corresponding line shows that it must be corrupt. I
have therefore not hesitated to adopt an emendation pro-
posed by Mr. Steevens — each minute seems a moon; i.e.
month. So, in Antony and Cleopatra: "Which had suiier-
tluoiis kings for messengers, || "Xot many moons gone by."

Again, nitkhello : "• Since these arms had seven years'

pith li "Till now some nine moons wasted — ." In Uomeo
and Juliet our poet describes the impatience of a lover not
less strongly than in the passage before us: "I must hear
from thee every day of the hour, \\ "For in a minute there
are many days." Malotse. "VVcre 1 with her, the night
would posttoo soon ;|i "But now are minutes added to the
hours ;j| "To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;"
Thus, in Dr. \oung's Revenge: "While in the lustre of her
charms I lay, || "VVholc summer suns rolfd unperreiv'd
away; — || "Now fate docs rigidly her dues regain, |' "And
every moment is an age of pain." Dr. Young, however,
was no needy borrower, and therefore the coincidence be-
tween these passages may be regarded as the etfect of ac-
cident. There are, however, certain hyperbolical expres-
sions which the inainnratoes of all ages have claimed as
right of commonage. Steevens. = 6:) Love's denying, kc]
A denial of love, a breach of faith, kc. being the cause of
all these misfortunes. Tiic Passionate Pilgrim and Weel-
kes's book have — Love i« dying, and — Heart's denying.
Tiie reading of the text is found in England's Helicon, ex-
cept that it has — Love is, and Faith is. Renying is from
the French, renier, to forswear. Malone. = 7:) Causer of
this.] Read — 'Cause of this; i. e. Because of this. Stee-
vens. The old copy is right. The word causer is again
used by Shakspeare in Love's Labour's Lost: "And study
too, the causer of your vow." Malone. r= 8:) y/// Tny merry
jigs are quite forgot,] A jig was a metrical composition.
So, in Russy d' Ambois, a tragedy by Chapman, 1607: "'Tis
one of the best jigs that ever was acted." Malone. _ Jig*j
as the word is commonly used, would do as well in this
passage. I cannot help wishing that such jigs or metrical
compositions had been quite forgot, rather than that they
should have been attributed to Shakspeare. Boswell. ^= 9:)
There a nay — ] So The Passionate Pilgrim. Annoy, VVeel-
kes's .Madrigals. Malone. -= 10:) My shepherd's pipe can
sound no deal,] i. e. in no degree, more or less. Thus Fair-
fax: "This charge some deal thee haply honour may."
Steevens. ^= 1 1:^ Through harkless ground,] This is the
reading furnisheJ by Weelkes's copy. The other old edi-
tions have heartless ground. If heartless ground be the
true reading, it means, I think, uncultivated, desolated
ground, corresponding iu its appearance with the unhappy
state of its owiuer. An hjpercritic will perhaps ask, how
can the ground be harkless, if sighs resound/ The answer
is, that no other noise is heard but that of sighs : "The
birds do not sing, the bells ring not," kc. Malone. ^= 12:)
— with filed talk,] VVith studied or polished language. So,
in Ben Jonson's Verses on our author: "In his well tomeu
and true filed lines." Malone. = 13:)^nrf ban and brawl,]
To ban is to curse. So, in Ring Richard III.: "You bade
me ban, and will you have me leave V" Malone. = 14:)
But thou shrieking harbinger, || Foul pre currer of the fiend,
\\ Angur of the fever's end,] So, iu Hamlet: "And even
the like precurse of fierce events, — 1| "As harbingers pre-
ceding still the fates, \\ "And prologue to the omen coming
on— li "Have heaven and earth together demonstrated ||
"IJnto our climatures and countrymen." The shrieking har-
binger here addressed, is the scritch owl, the foul precur-
rer of death. So, in A Midsummer-Night's Dream: "Now
the wasted brands do glow, || "While the scritch owl, scritch-
ing loud, 11 Puts the wretch that lies iu woe, || "In remem-

1048

NOTES

[M.P:5.] T//.S.

brance of a shrowd." = 15:) That defunctive music can,']
That understands funereal music. To con in Saxon signi-
fies to know. Tlie modern editions read : "That defunctive
music ken."' Malone. ^= 16:) That thy sable gender mak'st
II IF'ith the breath thou giv'st and fafc'et,] 1 suppose this
uncouth expression means, that the crow, or raven, conti-
nues its race by the breath it gives to them as its parent,
and by that which it takes from other animals : i. e. by first
producing its young from itself, and then providing for

their support by_ depredation. Thus, in King John : '

and vast confusion waits || "(^« doth a raven on a sick-
fallen beast) II "The imminent decay of wrested pomp."
This is the best 1 ciin make of the passage. Steevens. =
17:) But in them it ivere a wonder.'] So extraordinary a

Ehsenomenon as hearts remote, yet not asunder, iiC. would
ave excited admiration, had it been found any where else
except in these two birds. In them it was not wonderful.
Malone. = 18:) That the turtle saw his right || i'Yamtng in
the phcenix' sight:] 1 suppose we should read light: i. e.
the turtle saw all the day he wanted, in the eyes of the

phoenix. So, Antony speaking to Cleopatra: " O thou

day o'the world, || "Chain my arm'd neck!" Again, in The
Merchant of Venice: '■'■Bass. We should hold day with the
Antipodes, || "7/ you would walk in absence of the sun. \\
'■'■For. Let me give light, but let me not be light." Steb-
VENS. I do not perceive any need of change. The turtle
saw those qualities which were his right, which were pe-
culiarly appropriated to him, in the phosnix. — Light cer-
tainly corresponds better with the word gaming- in the next
line; but Shakspeare seldom puts his comparisons on four
feet. Malone. = 19:) Property was thus appaWd, || That the
self was not ^ the same;] This communication Af appro-
priated qualities alarmed the power that presides over pro-
■perttj. Finding that the self was not the same, he began
to fear that nothing would remain distinct and individual;
that all things would become common. Malone. = 20:) To
themselves yet either neither, Ace] So, in Drayton's Mor-

timeriados, iSHb": " fire scem'd to be water, water flame,

II '•'■Either or neither, and yet both the same." Malone. =
21:) Love hath reason, reason none, || If what parts can so
remain.] Love is reasonable, and reason is folly [has no
reason], if two that are disunited from each other, can yet
remain together and undivided. Malone. = 22:) Where-
upon it made this threne — ] This funeral song. So, in Ken-
dal's poems, 1577: "Of verses, tArenes, and epitaphs, JJ "Full
fraught with tears of teene." A book entitled David's
Threanes, by J. Heywood, was published in 1620. Two
years afterwards it was reprinted under the title of David's
Tears: the former title probably was discarded as obsolete.
For this information 1 am indebted to Dr. Farmer. Malone.
By the kindness of my friend, Sir Mark Masterman Sykes,
the possessor of this singularly rare volume, 1 was fur-
nished with the opportunity of inspecting it, and ascertain-
ing the accuracy with which these verses had been re-
printed. BOSWELL. =

V, A lover's complaint. '

= 1:) — whose concave womb re-worded — ] Repeated;

re-echoed. The same verb is found in Hamlet: " Bring

me to the test, || "And I the matter will re-word.'''' Malone.
= 2:) Storming her world with sorrow''s wind and rain.]

So, in Julius Caesar: " and the state of a man, || "Like

to a little kingdom, suffers then || "The nature of an insur-
rection." Again, in Hamlet: " Remember thee'^lj "Ay,

thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat|| "In this dis-
tracted globe." Again, in King Lear: "Strives in his little
world of man to out-scorn || "The to-and-fro conflicting wind
and rain." Sorrow's wind and rain are sighs and tears.
Thus, in Antony and Cleopatra: "We cannot call lint winds
and waters, sighs and tears." The modern editions read
corruptedly : "Storming her words with sorrows, wind," Ace.
Malone. = 3:) Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd
o^e.] Thus, in the 3d Sonnet: "So thou through windows

epithet applied as here: " my way of lifei|"Is fallen

into the «ear, the yellow leaf." Malone. Shaksneare has
applied this image to a comic purpose in King Henry VI.
Part IL : "He call'd me even now, my lord, through a red
lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the
window: at last 1 spied his eyes; and methought he had
diade two holes in the ale-wife's new-netticoat, and peep'd
through." Steevens. = 4:) Which on it had conceited cha-
racters.] Fanciful images. Thus, in Tarquin and Lucrece :
"Which the conceited painter drew so proud — ." Malonk.
= 5:) Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine || That sea-
son'd icoe had pelleted in tears,] So, in Tarquin and Lu-
crece: '■^Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine."
Laundering is wetting. The verb is now obsolete. To
pellet is to form into pellets, to which, being round, Shak-
speare, with his usual licence, compares falling tears. 'I'lie
wor<l, 1 believe, is found no where but here and in Antony

and Cleopatra: " My brave Egyptians all, || "By the

(iiscandying of this pelleted storm, j| "Lie graveless. la

Julius CsEsar we meet with a kindred thought: " mine

eyes, || "Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, || "Be-
gan to water." Again, in King Henry IV. Part L: "

beads of sweat have trod upon thy brow." Again, in The
Two Gentlemen of Verona: "A sea of melting wear/, which
some call tears." Malone. ^'■Scason''d woe had pelleted in
tears." This phrase is from the kitchen. Pellet was the
ancient culinary term for a forced meat ball, a well-known
seasoning. Steevens. = b:) Sometimes her level'd eyes-
their carriage ride,] The allusion, which is to a piece of
ordnance, is very_ quaint and farfetched. Malone. In The
Merchant of Venice, the eyes of Portia's })icture are re-
presented as mounted on those of Bassanio : "— — Move
thepe eyes'* ||"0r whether, riding on the balls of mine, ||
"Seem they in motion'*" Steevens. =: 7:) — Aer sheav'd
hat,] Her straw hat. Malone. = 8:) Of amber, crystal, and
of bedded jet,] Thus the quarto 1609. If bedded be right,
it must mean, set in some kind of metal. Uur author uses

the word in The Tempest: "• my son i'the ooze is

bedded." The modern editions read — beaded jet, which
may be right; beads made of jet. The construction, 1 think,
is, — she drew from a maund a thousand favours, of amber,
crystal, Ace. Malone. Baskets made of beads were suffi-
ciently common even since the time of our author. I have
seen many of them. Beaded jet, is jet formed into beads.
Steevens. = 9:) Upon whose weeping margent she was
set, — II Like usury, applying wet to wet,] In King Henry VI.
Part 111. we meet with a similar thought: "With tearful
eyes add water to the sea, |] "And give more strength to
that which hath too much." These two lines are not in the
old play on which the Third Part of King Henry VI. is
formed. Again, in Romeo and Juliet: "With tears aug-
menting the fresh morning dew, || "Adding to clouds more
clouds with his deep sighs." Again, in As You Like it:

" Thou mak'st a testament || "As worldlngs do, giving

the sum of more i| "To that which hath too much." Per-
haps we should read: "Lpou whose margent weeping she
was set." The words might have been accidentaily irans-

fiosed at the press. Weeping margent, however, is, I be-
Icve, right, being much in our author's manner. H eeping
for weeped or be-weepcd; the margin wetted with tears.
Malone. To weep is to drop. Milton talks of "Groves
whose rich trees wept od'rous gums and balm." Pope speaks
of the "weeping amber," and Mortimer observes that "rye-
grass grows on weeping ground," i.e. lauds abounding with
wet, like the margin of the river on which this damsel is
sitting. The rock from which water drops, is likewise poe-
tically called a weeping rock: Xnij i;vz' aivaov nhii)]% and
JAKJ'YOEIi:iI^. Stekvens. = 10:) With sleided silk feat
and affectedly — ] Sleided silk is, as Dr. Percy has else-
where observed, untwisted silk, prepared to be used in the
weaver's sley or slay. So, iu Pericles: "Be't, when she
weav'd the sleided silk." A weaver's sley is formed with
teeth like a comb. Feat is, curiously, nicely. Malone. =
11:) With sleided silk feat and affectedly \\ Enswath'd, and
seal'd to curious secrecy.] To be convinced of the propriety
of this description, let the reader consult the Royal Letters,
Ace. in the British Museum, where he will find that anciently
the ends of a piece of narrow ribbon were placed under
the seals of letters, to connect them more closely. Stek-
vens. Florio's Italian and English Dialogues, entitled his
Second Frutes, 1591, confirm Mr. Steevens's ob.«ervation. In
p. 89, a person, who is supposed to have just written a let-
ter, calls for "some wax, some sealing thread, his dust-
box, and his seal." Malone. = 1 2:)— tAot the ruffle knew—]
Rufflers were a species of bullies in the time of Shak-
sneare. "To ruffle in the common wealth," is a phrase in
litus Andronicus. Steevens. In Sherwood's French and
English Dictionary at the end of Cotgrave's Dictionary,
Ruffle and hurliburly are synonymous. Malone. = 1 iJ:)

and had let go by {[ The swiftest hours. Ace] Had passed

the prime of life, whcu time appears to move with his
quickest pace. Malone. = 14:) — this afflicted fancy —J This
afflicted love-sick lady. Fancy, it has been already ob-
served, was formerly sometimes used in the sense of love.
So, in A Midsummer-Night's Dream: ".Sighs and tears,
poor fancy's followers." Malone. = 15:) — his grained
bat,| Soj iu Coriolanus: '■^My grained ash—." His grained
bat is his staff on which the grain oi the wood was visible.
Steevens. A bat is a club. The word is again used in
King Lear: "Ise try whether your costard or my bat be
the harder." Malone. = 16:) — her suffering ecstacy — ]
Her painful perturbation of mind. Malone. =17:) — made
him her place;] i. _e. her seat, her mansion. In the sacred
writings the word is often used with this ?ense. Stekvens.
So, in As You Like It: "This is no place; this house is but
a butchery." Flas in the Welch language signifies a man-
sion-house. Malone. = 18:) What's sweet to do, to do wilt
aptly find:] I suppose he means, things pleasant to be done
will easily find people enough to do them. Stekvens. =
19:) — 171 paradise was sawn.] i. e. seen. This irregular
participle, which was forced upon the author by the rhyme,
IS, I believe, used by no other writer. Malonk. I rather
think the word means sown, i. e. all the flowers sown in
Paradise. This word is still pronounced sawn in Scotland.
BoswELL. The same thought occurs in King Henry V. :
"Leaving his body as a paradise." Again, in Ilomen and
Juliet: "In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh." Steevens.
^=:20:) His phiEnix down —J I suppose he means matchless,
21:)— following where he hAMnted:]

rare, down. Malone.
Where he frequented.

So, iu Uoiueo and Juliet: " herer

Tir. S. [M. P: 5]

NOTES

1049

in the public haunt of men." Malo?sk. r= 22:) Jnd tta* my
own fee-simple,] Had an absolute power over myself; as
large as a tenant in fee has over his estate. Milo>e. r=
23:)— to our blood,] i. e. to our passions. Malo>"E. = 24:)
— the patterns of his foul beguiling ;] The examples of his
fiediirtioii. Malo>b. = 25:) — »n others' orchards grew,]
Orchard and g-arrfen were, in ancient lanpiage, synonymous.

Unr author has a similar allusion in his loth bonnet: "

many maiden gardens yet unset, | "With virtuous wish
would bear you living flowers, '; "Much Jiker than your
painted counterfeit." .Malose. = 26:) JCneip vows irerc crer
brokers to defiling;] !>o, in Hamlet: "Do not believe his
vows; for they arc brokers, '|"Vlccr implorators of unholy
suits." Stkkve>s. a broker formerly signified a pandar.
Malonb. r=27:) jDofe made them not; with acture they
mtty be, || Where neither party is nor true nor kind:'] Thus
the old copy. I have not found the word acture in any
other place, but suppose it to have been used as synonym-
ous with action. \\e have, 1 think, enactures in Hamlet.
His offences that might be seen abroad in the world, were
the plants before mentioned, that he had set in others'
gardens. The meaning of the passage then should seem to
be — My illicit amours were merely the effect of constitu-
tion, and not approved by my reason : Pure and genuine
love had no share in them or in their consequences ; for
the mere congress of the sexes may produce such fruits,
without the affections of the parties being at all engaged.
Malo>e. -=28:) ^:/nrf lo! behold these talents of their hair,
kc.'] These /ocilet«, consisting of hair platted and set in
gold. .Mai.om!. -^=29:) — amorously impleach'd] Impleach'd
IS interwoven ; the same as pleached, a word which our
author uses in Much Ado About Nothing, and in Antony and
('leopatra: " — - !«teal into the pleached bower, || "Where
honey-suckles ripen'd by the sun 1 "Forbid the sun to
enter — ." " — ^with pleached arms bending down 1 ''His
corrigible neck." Malom?. ^= 30:) IFhereto his invis'd pro-
perties did tend ;] Invis'd for invisible. This is, I believe,
a word of Shakspeare's coining. His invised properties are
the invisible qualities of his mind. So, in our author's Ve-
nus and Adonis: "Had 1 no eyes, but ears, my ears would
love 'I "Thy inward beauty and invisible." Malo>e.= 31:)
O then advance of yours that phraseless hand, '] Whose
white weighs down the airy scale of praise ;] So, in Romeo

and Juliet: " they may seize |, "On the white wonder of

dear Juliet's hand." The "airy scale of praise" is the
'scale filled with verbal eulogiums.' Jir is often thus used
by our author. So, in Much Ado About Nothing: "Charm
ache with air, and agony with words." Malone. ■= 32:)
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,] Who lately
retired from the solicitation of her noble admirers. The
word suit, in the sense of request or petition, was much
used in Shakspcare's time. Malo>b. = 33:) Whose rarest
havings made the blossoms date;] Whose accomplishments
were so extraordinary that the flower of the young nobility
were passionately enamoured of her. Malo^e. ^= 34:) For
she was sought by spirits of richest coat,] By nobles ; whose
high descent is marked by the number of quarters in their
coats of arms. So in our author's Tarqoiu and Luerece:
"Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, || "And be an
eye-sore in my golden coat. Malosk. =35:) But 0, my sweet,
what labour is't to leave |! The thing we have not, master-
ing what not strives'f\' Paling the place which did no form
receive ;] The old copy reaifs : '■^Playing the place which
did no form receive, || '■^Flaying patient sports in uncon-

strained gyves." It docs not reqaire a long note to prove
that this IS a gross corruption. How to amend it is the
only question. Flaying in the first line, 1 apprehend, was a
misprint for paling; the compositor's eye 1 suppose glanced
upon the second line, and caught the first word of it in-
stead of the first word of the line he was then composing.—
The lover is speaking of a nun who had voluntarily retired
from the world. — But what merit (he adds,) could she boast,
or what was the difficulty of such an action'? What labour
is there in leaving what we have not, i. e. what we do not
enjoy, or in re-straining desires that do not agitate our
breast? "Paling the place," &c. securing within the pale
of a cloister that heart which had never received the im-
pression of love, — When fetters are put upon us by our
consent, they do not appear irksome, vVc. Such is the mean-
ing of the text as now regulated. In Antony and (3leopatra
the verb to pale is used in the sense of to hem in: "VVhat-
e'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips.Ji "Is thine, if thou wilt
have it." The word form, which I once suspected to be
corrupij is undoubtedly right. The same phraseology is

found in Tarquin and Luerece: " the impression of

strange kinds |! "Is formed in them, [women,] by force, by
fraud, or skill." It is also still more strongly supported
by the passage quoted by Mr. Steevens from 'iSvelflh Night.
Malosk. 1 do not believe there is any corruption in the

words " did no form receive," as the same expression

occurs again in the last stanza but three: " a plenitude

of subtle matter, || "Applied to cautels, all strange forms
receives." Again, in Twelfth Night: "How easy is it for
the proper false |1 "In women's waxen hearts to set their
forms?" Stekvkks. = 36:) My parts had power to charm

a sacred sun,] Perhaps the poet wrote: " a sacred nun."

If sun be right, it must mean, the brightest luminary of

the cloister. So, in king Henry Mil.: " When these

sunsV "(For so ihey phrase them) by their heralds challeng'd
II "The noble spirits to arms, they did perform |! "Beyond
thought's compass." Malone. In Coriolanus, the chaste
Valeria is called "the moon of Rome." Stekve>s. = S 7:)
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, kc] I suspect our
author wrote : "Love's arms are proof 'gainst rule, &c.
The meaning, however, of the text as it stands, may be —
The warfare that love carries on against rule, sense, &c.
produces to the parties engaged a peaceful enjoyment, and
sweetens, kc. The construction in the next line is perhaps
irregular. — Love's arms are peace, &c. and love sweetens — .
Mai.ose. Perhaps we should read: "Love aims at peace —
II "Yet sweetens," ke. Steevens. =38:) gate the glow-
ing roses'.' That flame— ] That is, procured for the glowing
roses in his cheeks that flame, A;c. Gate is the ancient
perfect tense of the verb to get. Malone. = 39:) 0 cleft
effect.'] O divided and discordant effect! — O cleft, ke. is
the modern correction. The old copy has — Or cleft effect,
from which it is difficult to draw any meaning. Malotve.
= 40:) — a/irf civil fears;] Civil formerly signified gr<M»e,
decorous. So, in Romeo and Juliet: " — —Come, ctrt'f
night, !' "Thou sober-suited matron all in black." Maloxe.
= iU) Applied to cautels.] Applied to insidious purposes,
with subtilty and cunning. So, in Hamlet: "Perhaps he
loves you now; — ]i "And now no soil of cautel dotn be-
smirch |' "Jhe virtue of his will." Malone. — 42:) — that
borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd,] That passion which he
copied from others so naturally that it seemed real and his
o»rn. Ow'd has here, as in any other places in our author's
works, the signification of owned. Maloke. =

VI.

G

OSS

R

Abate : to depress, sink, subdue.
ABC-book: a Ctitechism.
Ahjecls: servile persons.
Ahle: to qualify or uphold.
Abortive: issuing before its time.
Absolute : highly accomplished,

perfect.
Abused: deceived.
Abi/: to pay dear for.
Abysm: abyss.
Accuse: accusation.
Achieve: to obtain.
Acquittance: requital.
Action: diiection by mute signs,

charge or accusation.
Action-faking: litigious.
Additions: titles or descriptions.
Address: to make ready.
Addressed, or addrest: ready.
Advance: to prefer, to raise to

honour.
Adversity : contrariety.
Advertisement: admonition.
Advertising: attentive.
Advice: consideration, discretion,

thought.
Advise: to consider, recollect.
Advised: not precipitant, cool,

cautious.
Afeard: afraid.
A feet: love.
Affectioned: affected.
Affections: passions, inordinate

desires.
Affeered: confirmed.
Affied: betrothed.
Affined: joined by affinity.
Affront: to meet or face.
Affy: to betroth in marriage.
Aglet baby: a diminutive being.
Agnize: acknowledge, confess.
A good: in good earnest.
Aiery: the nest of an eagle or

hawk.
Aim: guess, encouragement, sus-
picion.
Alder-liefest : beloved above all

things.
Ale: a merry meeting.
Allow: to approve.
Allowance: approbation.
Amaze: to perplex or confuse.

Ames-ace: the lowest chance of
the dice.

Amort: sunk and dispirited.

An: as if.

Anchor: anchoret.

Ancient: an ensign.

Anight: in the night.

Answer: retaliation.

Anlhropophaginian : a cannibal.

Antic: the fool of the old farces.

Antiquity: old age.

Antres: caves and dens.

Apparent: seeming, not real, heir-
apparent, or next claimant.

Appeal: to accuse.

Appeared: rendered apparent.

Apply: to attend to, consider.

Appointment: preparation.

Apprehension: opinion.

Apprehensive: quick to understand.

Approbation: entry on probation,
proof.

Approof: proof, approbation.

Approve: to justify, to make good,
to establish, to recommend to
approbation.

Approved: felt, experienced, con-
victed by proof.

Approvers: persons who try.

Aqua-vita: strong waters.

Arbitrate: to determine.

Arch: chief.

Argentine: silver.

Argier: Algiers.

Argosies: ships of great burthen,
galleons.

Argument: subject for conver-
sation, evidence, proof.

Arin: to take up in the arms.

Aroint: avaunt, be gone.

Arow: successively, one after
another.

Art: practice as distinguished from
theory, theory.

Articulate: to enter into articles.

Articulated: exhibited in articles.

Artificial: ingenious, artful.

As: as if.

Aspect: countenance.

Aspersion: sprinkling.

Aisay : test.

Assinego: a he-ass.

Assurance : conveyance or deed.

Assured: affianced.

VI.

Astringer: a falconer.

Ates: instigation, from Ate, the
mischievous goddess that incites
bloodshed.

Atomies : minute particles discern-
ible in a stream of sunshine that
breaks into a darkened room,
atoms.

Atone: to reconcile.

Attasked: reprehended, corrected.

Attended: waited for.

Attent: attentive.

Attorney: deputation.

Attorneyship : the discretional
agency of another.

Atlornied: supplied by substitu-
tion of embassies.

Attributive: that which attributes
or gives.

Avaunt: contemptuous dismission.

Averring: confirming.

Audacious: spirited, animated.

Audrey: a corruption of Kthel-
dreda.

Augurs: auguries or pi-»<jnostica-
tions.

Authentic: an epithet applied to
the learned.

Awkward: adverse.

Awful: reverend, worshipful.

Awless: not producing awe.

B.

Baccare: stand back, give place.

Bale: misery, calamity.

Baleful: baneful.

Balked: bathed or piled up.

Balm: the oil of consecration.

Band: bond.

Bandog: village dog or mastiff.

Bank: to sail along the banks.

Banning: cursing.

Banquet: a slight refection, a des-
sert.

Bans: curses.

Bar: barrier.

Barbed: caparisoned in a warlike
manner.

Barful: full of impediments.

Barm: yeast.

Harn or bairn: a child.

Barnacle: a kind of shell fish.

Base: dishonoured.

Th. S.

GLOSSARY.

1051

Bane: a rustic game called pri-
son-base.

Bases: a kind of dress used by
knights on horseback.

Basilisks: a species of cannon.

Basta: Spanish, 'tis enough.

Bastard: raisin wine.

Bat: a club or staff.

Bute: strife, contention.

Bate: to flutter as a hawk.

Batlet: an instrument used by
washers of clothes.

Batten: to grow fat.

Battle: army.

Bavin: brushwood.

Bawcock: a jolly cock.

Bay: the space between the main
beams of a roof.

Bay-window: bow window, one
in a recess.

Beak: the forecastle, or the bolt-
sprit.

Beard: to oppose in a hostile
manner, to set at defiance.

Bearing: carriage, demeanour.

Bearing- cloth: a mantle used at
christenings.

Beat: in falconry, to flutter.

Beating : hammering , dwelling
upon.

Heaver: helmet in general.

Beck: a salutation made with the
head.

Becomed: becoming.

tieetle: to hang over the base.

Being: abode.

Belongings : endowments.

Be mete: be-measure.

Be-moiled: be-diaggled, be-mired.

Bending: unequal to the weight.

Benefit : beneficiary.

Bent: the utmost degree of any
passion.

Benumbed: inflexible, immoveable.

Beshrew: ill befall.

Best: bravest.

Bestowed: left, stowed or lodged.

Bestr aught: distraught or dis-
tracted.

Beteem: to give, to pour out, to
permit or suffer.

Bewray: betray, discover.

Bezonian : a term of reproach.

Bid: to invite, to pray.

Biding: place, abiding.

Bigging: a kind of cap.

Bilberry: the whortleberry.

Bilbo: a Spanish blade of peculiar
excellence.

Bilboes: a species of fetters.

Bill: a weapon carried by watch-
men; articles of accusation.

Bird bolt: a species of arrow.

Bisson: blind.

Blank: the white mark at which
an arrow is shot.

Blast: burst.

Blear: to deceive.

Blench: to start off.

Blent: blended, mixed.

Blind-worm: the slow-worm.

Btittered: puffed out like blisters.

Blood: ancestry, high spirits, true
metal, passions, natural pro-
pensities.

Blood-boltered: daubed with blood.

Blown: puffed or swollen.

Blows: swells.

Blunt: stupid, insensible.

Board: to accost, to address

Bobb : to trick, to make a fool of.

Bodged: boggled, made bungling
work.

Bodkin: a small dagger.

Bold: confident, to embolden.

Boldness: confidence.

Bolted: sifted, refined.

Bolting hutch: the receptacle in
v\hidi the meal is bolted.

Bombard, or bumbard: a barrel.

Bombast: the stuffing of clothes.

Bona-robas: strumpets.

Bond: bounden duty.

Book: paper of conditions.

Boot: profit, advantage, something
over and above.

Bore: demeaned.

Bore: the caliber of a gun, the
capacity of the barrel.

Bores: stabs or wounds.

Bosky: woody.

Bosom: wish, heart's desire.

Bots: worms in the stomach of a
horse.

Bourn: boundary, rivulet.

Bow: yoke.

Brace: armour for the arm, state
of defence.

Braid: crafty or deceitful.

Brake: a thicket, furze-bush.

Brave: to make fine or sp!endid.

Bravery: showy dress.

Brawl: a kind of dance.

Breach: of the sea, breaking of
the sea.

Breast: voice, surface.

Breath: breathing, voice.

Breathe: to utter.

Breathed : inured by constant
practice.

Breathing : complimentary.

Breeching: liable to school-boy
punishment.

Bridal: the nuptial feast

Brief: a short account, letter, or
enumeration.

Bring: to attend or accompany.

Brize : the gad or horse fly.

Broached: spitted, transfixed.

Brock: a badger.

Broke: to deal with a pander.

Broken: toothless.

Broker: a matchmaker, a pro-
curess or pimp.

Brooch: an ornamental buckle.

Broached: adorned as with a
brooch.

Brotherhoods : confraternities or
corporations.

Brow: height.

Brownist: the name of a sect.

Bruit: noise, report.

Bruited: reported with clamour.
VI.

Brush: detrition, decay.

Buckle: to bend, to yield to pres-
sure.

Rugs: bugbears, terrors.

Bulk: the body.

Bumbard. See Bombard.

Bunting: a bird outwardly like a
skylai k.

Burgonet : a kind of helmet.

Burst: broken.

Bury: to conceal, to keep secret.

Bush: the sign of a public-house.

Busky: woody. See Bosky.

But: only, unless, except.

Butt shaft: an arrow to shoot at
butts with.

Buxom: obedient, under good
command.

By: according to, by means of.

By'rlakin : by our lady kin or little
lady.

Caddis: a narrow worsted gilloon.

Cade: a barrel.

Cadent: falling.

Cage: a prison.

Cain-coloured : yellow.

Calculate: to foretell or prophesy.

Calicer: a species of musket.

Call: to visit.

Callet: a lewd woman.

Calling: appellation.

Calm: qualm.

Canary : a sprightly nimble dance.

Cantle-waisters : those who sit up

ail night to drink.
Canker : the dog-rose.
Canslick: cindiestick.
Cantel or Cantle: acorneror piece

of any thing.
Cantons: cantos.
Canvas: to sift.
Canvas-climber: a sailor who

climbs to adjust the sails.
Cap: the top, the principal.
Cap: to salute by taking off the

cap.
Capable: perceptible, intelligent,

quick of apprehension, ample,

capacious.
Capitulate : to make head.
Capon: metaphor for a letter.
Capricious : lascivious.
Captious: capacious or recipient.
Carack: a ship of great bulk.
Carbonadoed: scotched like meat

for the gridiron.
Card: perhaps a sea-chart.
Care: to make provision, to take

care.
Care: inclination.
Careires: the motion of a horse.
Carkanet: necklace or chain.
Carl: clown or husbandman.
Carlot: peasant.
Carper: a critic.
Carriage: import.
Carried: conducted or managed.
Carry: to prevail over.
Cart: a chariot.

1052

GLOSSARY.

Th.S,

Case : conteinptuousiy for skin, out-
side-garb.

Case: to strip naked.

Casques : helmets.

Cassock: a horseman's great-coat.

Cast: to empty, as a pond, to
dismiss, or reject.

Cast: cast up, reckoned.

Castilian: ail opprobrioiis term.

Castiliano vulgo: a cant term, of
contempt.

Cataian: some kind of sharper.

Catling: a small lute-string made
of catgut.

Cavaleroes: airy, gay fellows.

Caviare: a delicacy made of the
roe of sturgeon.

Cautelous: insidious, cautious.

Cease: to decease, die, stop.

Censure: judgment, opinion.

Censure: to judge.

Censured : sentenced, estimated.

Ceturies: companies of an hun-
dred men each.

Ceremanies : honorary ornaments,
tokens of respect.

Ceremonious: superstitious.

Certes: certainly, in truth.

Cess: measure.

Ckace: a term at tennis.

Chair: throne.

Chamber: ancientname for London.

Chamber: a species of great gun.

Chamberers : men of intrigue.

Champion: an open country.

Chance: fortune.

Changeling : a child changed.

Channel: a kennel.

Character : description, hand-writ-

Character : to write, to infix
strongly.

Charactery : the matter with which
letters are made.

Chares; task-work.

Charge: to put to expence.

Charge: commission, employment.

Charge-house: the free-school.

Chariest: most cautious.

Chariness : caution.

Charitable : dear, endearing.

Charles's- wain: the constellation
called the Bear.

Charneco: a sort of sweet wine.

Charter: a privilege.

Chaudron: entrails.

Cheater: escheatour, an officer in
the exchequer, a gamester.

Check: command, controul.

Check: to object to, to rebuke.

Checks: probably for ethicks.

Cheer: countenance.

Cherry-pit: a play with cherry-
stones.

Cheveril: soft or kid leather.

Chew: to ruminate, consider.

Chewet: a noisy chattering bird.

Chide: to resound, to echo, to
scold, to be clamorous.

Chiding: sound.

Chiding: noisy.

Child: a female Infant.

Childing: unseasonably pregnant.

Chopin: a high shoe or clog.

Chough: a bird of the daw kind.

Christom: the white cloth put on
a new baptised child.

Chrystals: eyes.

Chuck : chicken, a term of endear-
ment.

Chuff: rich, avaricious.

Cicatrice: the scar of a wound.

Circumstance: detail of an argu-
ment, ciifbumlocution.

Cital: recital.

Cite : to incite, to show, to prove.

Civil: grave or solemn.

Civil: human creature, any thing
human.

Clack-dish: a beggar's-dish.

Claw: to flatter.

Clear: pure, blameless, innocent,
quite, fully, perfectly.

Clearest: purest, freest from evil.

Clear story: a species of windows
in a church, &v.

Cleave: to unite with closely.

Clerkly: like a scholar.

Cliff: a key in music.

Cling: to shrink or shrivel up.

Clinquant: glittering, shining.

Clip : to embrace, to infold.

Closely : secretly, privately.

Clout: the white mark at which
archers take aim.

Clown : a licensed jester in families.

Clubs: a popular cry on a street
(juarrel.

Clutched: grasped.

Coach-fellow : one who draws with
a confederate.

Coasting: conciliatory, inviting.

Cobloaf: a crusty, uneven loaf.

Cock: cock-boat.

Cockle: a weed.

Cockled: inshelled like a cockle.

Cock shut- time : twilight.

Codling: anciently an iouaature
apple.

Coffin : the cavity of a raised pie.

Cog: to falsify, to lie, to defraud.

Cognizance: the badge or token.

Coigne: corner.

Coil: bustle, stir.

Cold: naked.

Collect: to assemble by obser-
vation.

Collection : corollary, consequence.

Collied: black, smutted with coal.

Collier: formerly a term of the
highest reproach.

Colour: pretence.

Colourable: specious.

Colours : appearances, deceits.

Colt: to fool, to trick.

Co-mart: a joint bargain.

Combinate: betrothed.

Combine: to bind.

Combined: bound by agreement.

Comforting: aiding.

Commence: to give a beginning.

Commended: committed.

Commission: authority, power.

Commodity : interest, profit.
VI.

Commonty: a comedy.

Compact: made up of.

Companion: fellow.

Company: companion.

Comparative: a dealer in compari-
sons.

Compare: comparison.

Compassed: round.

Compassionate : plaintive.

Competitors: confederates or as-
sociates.

Complements: accomplishments.

Complexion: humour.

Comply: to compliment.

Compose: to come to a compo-
sition.

Composition: contract or bargain,
consistency, concordancy.

Composture: composition, com-
post.

Comptible: submissive.

Con: to know.

Conceit : fanciful conception,
thought.

Concent: connected harmony in
general.

Conclusion : determination, reso-
lution.

Conclusions : experiments.

Concupy: concupiscence.

Condition : temper, character, qua-
lities, art, vocations or incli-
nations.

Condolement: sorrow.

Conduct: conductor.

Coney-catched : deceived, cheated.

Coney- catcher : a cheat or sharper.

Confession: profession.

Conject: conjecture.

Conjecture: suspicion.

Confound : to destroy, to expend,
to consume.

Confounded: worn or wasted.

Consent: to agree.

Consent: conspiracy, will, assent,
united voice. .

Consigned: sealed.

Consist: to stand upon.

Consort: company.

Consort: to keep company with.

Constancy : consistency, stability.

Constant: firm, determined.

Constantly : certainly , without
fluctuation.

Contemptible : contemptuous.

Continent: the thing which con-
tains.

Continents: banks of rivers.

Continuate: uninterrupted.

Contraction : marriage contract.

Contrarious: different.

Contrive : to spend and wear out.

Control: to confute.

Convent: to serve or agree.

Couvented: cited, summoned.

Conversation: familiar intercourse,
conduct, behaviour.

Converse: interchange.

Conversion: change of condition.

Convertite : convert.

Convey : to perform slight of hand,
to manage artfully.

Th.S.

GLOSSARY.

1053

Conveyance: theft, fraud.

Convince: to overpower, subdue,
convict.

Convicted: overpowered, baffled.

Convive: to feast.

Cope: to encounter, to engage.

Cope: covering.

Copped: rising to a cop,, or head.

Copy: theme.

Cor agio: an exclamation of en-
couragement.

Corinthian: a wencher.

Corky: drj', withered, husky.

Corners: bje-places.

Corollary: surplus.

Coronet: a crown.

Corrigible: corrected.

Coitard: the head.

Coster -monger: meanly mercenary.

Cote: to overtake.

Coted: quoted, observed, or re-
garded.

Cotsale: Cotswood in Gloucester-
shire.

Count: to make account, to reckon
u|)on.

Count Confect: a specious noble-
4nan.

Countenance : false appearance,
hypocrisy.

Counterfeit: a likeness, a porti ait.

Counterpoints : counterpanes.

County: count, earl.

Covered: hollow.

Cower: to sink by bending the
hams.

Cowl-staff: a staff for carrying a
large tub.

Coy: to soothe or stroke.

Coyed: condescended unwillingly.

Coy sir il: a coward cock, a mean
or drunken fellow.

Cozier: a tailor or botcher.

Crab : a wild apple.

Crack: dissolution.

Crack: a boy or «hild, a boy-child.

Cranks: windings.

Crants: chants.

Crare: a small trading vessel

Craven: a degenerate, dispirited
cock.

Craven : mean, cowardly, to make
cowardly.

Create: compounded or made up.

Credent: creditable, credible.

Credit: account, information, cre-
dulity.

Credit: a great light set upon a
beacon.

Cressive : increasing.

Crest: the top, the height.

Creslless: those who have not right
to urms.

Crisp: curling, winding, curled,
bent, hollow.

Critic: cynic.

Critical: censorious.

Crone: an old worn-out woman.

Crosses: money stamped with a
cross.

Crow: to exult over.

Crow-keeper: a scare-crow.

Crown: to conclude.

Crowned: dignified, adorned.

Crownet: last purpose.

Cry: a troop or pack.

Cue: in stage cant, the last words
of the preceding speech.

Cuisses: armour for the thighs.

Cutlion: a despicable fellow.

Cunning: sagacity, knqwledge.

Curb : to bend or truckle.

Curiosity: finical delicacy, scru-
pulousness or captiousness.

Curious: scrupulous.

Curled: ostentatiously dressed.

Currents: occurrences.

Cursed: under the influence *f a
malediction.

Curst: petulant, crabbed, shrcwd-
ish or miscliievous, severe,
harsh, vehemently angry.

Curstness: ill-humour.

Curtail: a cur of little value.

Curtal: a docked horse.

Curtle-ax: or cutlace, a broad-^^
sword.

Custard-coffin t the crust of a cus-
tard or pie.

Customer: a common woman.

Cut a horse.

Cyprus: a transparent stuff.

D.

Daff or doff: to do off, to put

aside.
Dally: to play or trifle.
Damn: condemn.
Danger: reach or controul.
Dank: wet, rotten.
Danskers: natives of Denmark.
Dare: to challenge or incite.
Dark-house : a house made gloomy

by discontent.
Darkling: in the dark.
Darraign : to arrange, put in or-
der.
Daub: to disguise.
Daubery : falsehood and imposition.
Day-bed: a couch.
Day-light: broad day.
Day-woman: dairy-maid.
Dearn: lonely, solitary.
Death-tokens : spots appearing on

those infected by the plague.
Deboshed: debauched.
Decay.: misfortunes.
Deceivable : deceptious.
Decline: to run through from first

to last.
Declined: the fallen.
Deem: opinion, sunuise.
Defeat: destruction.
Defeatures: features, chaage of

leatures for the -worse.
Defence: art of fencing.
Defend: to forbid.
Defensible : furnishing the means

of defence.

VI.

Defiance: refusal.

Deformed : deforming.

Deftly: dexterously, with adroit-
ness.

Defy: to refuse, to disdain.

Degrees: steps.

Delay : to let slip.

Demerits: merits.

Demise: to grant.

Demurely: solemnly.

Denay: denial.

Denied: disbelieved or contemned.

Denier: the twelfth part of a
French sous.

Denotements: indications or dis-
coveries.

Deny: to refuse.

Depart: to part.

Departing : separation.

Depend: to be in service.

Deprive: to disinherit.

Deracinate: to force up by the
roots.

Derogate: degraded, blasted.

Descant: a term in music.

Desert: merit.

Deserved: deserving.

Design: to mark out.

Despatched : bereft.

Desperate: bold, adventurous.

Detected: charged or guilty.

Determined: ended.

Dibble: an instrument used by
gardeners.

Dich: dit or do it.

Dickons familiarly for Richard.

Die: gaming.

Diet: regimen.

Diet: to oblige to fast.

Diffused: extraviigant, irregular.

Digress : to deviate from the
right.

Digression : transgression.

Dint: impression.

Direction: judgment, skill.

Disable: to undervalue.

Disappointed: unprepared.

Disclose: to hatch.

Discontenting : discontented.

Discontents: malcontents.

Discourse: reason.

Disdained: disdainful.

Disease: uneasiness, discontent.

Diseases: sayings.

Disgrace: hardship, injury. ,

Dislimns: unpaints, obliterates.

Dispark: to destroy a park.

Disponge: discharge as a sponge.

Dispose: to make terms, to settle
matters.

Disposition: frame.

Disputable : disputatious.

Dispute: to talk over.

Dissemble: to gloss over.

Dissembling: putting dissimilar
things together.

Distaste: to corrupt, to change to
a worse state.

Distemper: intoxication.

Distemperature : perturbation.

Distempered: ruffled, out of hu-
mour.

1054

GLOSSARY.

Tir. S.

Distracliom : detachments, sepa-
rate bodies.

Distraught: distracted.

Diverted: turned out of the course
ot nature.

Dividahle: divided.

Division: the pauses or parts of
musical composition.

Divulged: spoken of.

Doctrine: skill.

Doff, see Daff.

Dole : lot, allowance.

Dolphin: the Dauphin of France.

Don: to do on, to put on.

/>««c; expended, consumed.

Dotant: dotard.

Double: full of duplicity.

Doubt: to fear.

Dout: to do out, extinguish.

Dowh: a feather.

Down-gyved: hanging down like
what confines the fetters round
the ancles.

Drab : whoring.

Draught: the jakes.

Drawn: embowelled, exenterated.

Dread: epithet applied to kings.

Drew: assembled.

Dribbling : a term of contempt.

Drive: to fly with impetuosity.

Drollery: a show performed bj'
puppets.

Drugs: drudges.

Drumble: to act lazily and stu-
pidly.

Drt/: thirsty.

Ducdame: due ad me, bring him
to me.

Dudgeon: the handle of a dagger.

Due: to endue, to deck, to grace.

Dull: melancholy, gentle, soothing,

Dull: to render callous, insensible.

Dullard: a person stupidly uncon-
cerned.

Dump : a mournful elegy.

Dup: to do up, to lift up.

E.

Eager: sour, sharp, harsh.

Eanlings: lambs just dropt.

Ear: to plough.

Easy: slight, inconsiderable.

Eche: to eke out.

Ecstacy: alienation of mind, mad-
ness.

Effects: affects, or affections,
actions, deeds effected.

EJlest: deftest, readiest.

Egypt: a gypsey.

Eld: old time, or persons.

Element: initiation, previous prac-
tice.

Embossed: inclosed, swollen, puffy.

Embowelled: exhausted.

Embraced : indulged.

Eminence: high honours.

Empery : dominion, sovereign com-
mand.

Emulation : rivalry, envy, factious
contention.

Emulous: jealous of higher au-
thority.

Encave: to hide.

Enfeoff: to invest with possession.

Engine: instrument of war, mi-
litary machine, the rack.

Engross : to fatten, to pamper.

Engrossments : accumulations.

Enkindle: to stimulate.

Enmew : to coop up.

Ensconce: to protect as with a
fort.

Enseamed: greasy.

Enshield: shielded.

Kntertain: to retain in service.

Entertainment: the pay of an army,
admission to office.

Entreatments : the objects of en-
treaty.

Envy: hatred or malice.

Ephe-ian : a cant term f jr a toper.

Equipage : stolen goods.

Ere while: just now.

Erring : wa ndering.

Escoted: paid.

Eaperance : the motto of the Percy
family.

Espials : spios.

Essential: existent, real.

Estimate: price.

Estimation : conjecture,

Eterne: eternal.

Even: calm, equable, temperate,
equal, fellow.

Even : to act up to.

Examined : questioned, doubted.

Excrement: the beard.

Excrements : the hair, nails, fea-
thers of birds, &c.

Execute: to employ, to put to use.

Execution: employment or exer-
cise.

Executors : executioners.

Exempt: excluded.

Exercise: exhortation, lecture, or
confession.

Exhale: hale or lug out.

Exhibition : allowance.

Exigent: end.

Exorcist: a person who can raise
spirits.

Expect: expectation.

Expedient : expeditious.

Expiate: fully completed.

Expostulate : to enquire or discuss.

ExpoHture : exposure.

Express: to reveal.

Expuhed: expelled.

Exsujfiicate: contemptible, abo-
minable.

Extend: to seize.

Extent: in law, Tiolence in ge-
neral.

Extern: outward.

Extirped: rooted out.

Extracting: that which draws
away from every thing but its
own object.

Extravagant: wandering.

Extremes: extravagance of con-
duct, extremities.

VI.

Eyases: young nestlings.
EyaS'inuskel: infant lillipntian.
Eye: a small shade of colour.
Eyliads : glances, looks. See Oei-

liads.
Eyne: eyes.

F.

Face: to carry a foolish appear-
ance.

Faced: turned up with facings.

Facinorous: wicked.

Fact: guilt.

Factious : active.

Faculties: medicinal virtues, of-
fice, exercise of power.

Fudge: to suit or fit.

Fading: the burthen of a song.

Fain: fond.

Fair : beauty, complexion, fairness.

Fair-betrothed : fairly contracted,
honourably affianced.

Faith: fidelity.

Faithful: not an infidel.

Faithfully: fervently.

Faitors: traitors, rascals.

Fall: to let fall, to drop.

Fall: an ebb.

False: to make false.

Falsely : dishonestly, treacherously.

Falsing: falsifying.

Familiar: a daemon.

Fancy: love.

Fancy-free : exempt from the
power of love.

Fang: to seize or gripe.

Fanged: possessed of fangs.

Fantastical : creatures of fancy.

Fap: drunk.

Far: extensively.

Farced: stuffed.

Fashions: farcens or farcy.

Fast: determined, fixed.

Fat: dull.

Fate: an action predetermined by
(ate.

Favour: countenance, features,
indulgence, pardon, appearance.

Fear: the object of fear, danger.

Fear: to intimidate.

Feared: frightened.

Fearful: timorous, formidable.

Feat: ready, dexterous.

Feat: an exploit.

Feated: formed, made neat.

Feature: beauty in general, cast
and make of the face.

Federary : a confederate.

Fee-grief: a peculiar sorrow.

Feeder: an eater, a servant.

Feere or Pheere : a companion, a
husband.

Feet: footing.

Fell: skin.

Fell-feats: savage practices.
Fellow : companion.
Fence: the art of or skill in de-
fence.
Feodary: an accomplice, a con-
federate.

Th.S.

GLOSSARY.

1055

Fetter: to corrupt.
Feslinately : hastily.
Festival terms: splendid phraseo-
logy.
Fet: fetched,

Few: ill short, in few words.
Fico: a fig.

Fielded: in the field of battle.
Fierce: proud, hasty, vehement,

rapid.
Fig: to insult.
Fights: clothes hung round a ship

to conceal the men from the

enemy.
File: a list.
Filed: defiled.

Filed: gone an equal pace with.
Fills: the shafts.
Filths: common sewers.
Fine: the conclusion.
Fine: full of finesse, artful.
Fine: to make showy, or specious.
Fineless: boundless, endless.
Firago : for Virago.
Fire-drake: will-o'the-wisp, or a

fire-work.
Fire-new : bren-new, new from

the forge.
Firk: to chastise.
First: noblest, most eminent.
Fitchew: a polecat.
Fitly : exactly.
Fives : a distemper in horses.
Fliip-dragon : a small inflammable

substance, which topers swal-

lo^v in a glass of wine.
Flap-jacks : pan-cakes.
Flask: a soldier's powder-horn.
Flatness: lowness, depth.
Flaw: a sudden violent gust of

wind.
Flayed: stripped.
Flecked: spotted, dappled, streaked.
Fleet: to float.
Fleeting: inconstant.
Fleshment: first act of military

service.
Flewed: having the flews or chaps

of a hound.
Flickering : fluttering like the

motion of a flame.
Flight: a sort of shooting.
Flourish: ornament.
Flute: wave.
Flush : mature, ripe.
Foeman: an enemy in war.
Fuin: to thrust in fencing.
Foizon: plenty.
Folly: depravity of mind.
Fond: foolish, or prized by folly.
Fonder: more weak or foolish.
Fojidly: foolishly.
Foot-cloth : a housing covering the

body of the horse, and almost

reaching to the ground.
For: for that, since, because.
Forbid: under interdiction.
Force: power.
Force: to enforce, to urge.
Force: to stufi".
Forced: false.

Fordid: destroyed.

Fordo: to- undo, to destroy.

Foredone : overcome.

Fore/ended: prohibited, forbidden.

Foreign : employed in foreign em-
bassies.

Forepast: already had.

Fore-slow : to be dilatory, to loiter.

Forestall: to prevent by antici-
pation.

Forgetive: inventive, imaginative.

Forked: horned.

Formal: not out of form, regular,
sensible, in form, in shape.

Former: foremost.

Forspent: wasted, exhausted.

Forspoke : contradicted , spoken
against.

Forthcoming: in custody.

For wearied: worn out.

Foul: homely, not fair.

Fox: a cant word for a sword.

Foxship: mean cunning.

Frampold: peevish, fretful, or
cross.

Frank: a sty.

Franklin: a little gentleman or
freeholder.

Free: artless, free from art, ge-
nerous.

Fret: the stop of a musical instru-
ment, which regulates the vi-
bration of the string.

Friend: a lover, a term applicable
to both sexes, a paramour.

Friend: friendship.

Friend: to befriend.

Frippery : a shop where old
clothes were sold.

Prize: a cloth made in Wales.

From: in opposition to.

Fronted: opposed.

Frontier: forehead.

Frontlet: a forehead cloth.

Froth: a trick played with beer.

Frush: to break or bruise.

Frustrate: frustrated.

Fulfilling: filling till there be no
room for more.

Full: complete.

Fullams: loaded dice.

Fullest: most complete and perfect.

Fumiter: fumitory.

Furnished: dressed.

G.

Gabardine: a loose felt cloak.

Gad: a pointed instrument.

Gain-giving : misgiving.

Gainsay: to unsay, deny, contra-
dict.

Gait: way or steps.

Galliard: an ancient dance.

Galliasses : a species of galHes.

Galhwglasses : heavy nrincd foot.

Gallow: to scare or frighten.

Gallymawfry: a medley.

Game: sport, jest.

Gamester: a frolicsome person,
a wanton.

VI.

Gaping: shouting, or roaring.
Garhoils: commotion, stir.
Garish : gaudy, showy.
Garner: to treasure up.
Gasted: frightened.
Gaudy: a festival day.
Gawds: baubles, toys.
Gaze: attention.
Gear: a general word for things

or matters.
Geek: a fool.
General: generality.
General: compendious.
Generation: children.
Generosity: high birth.
Generous: most noble.
Gentility: urbanity.
Gentle: noble, high-minded, be-
longing to gentry.
Gentry: complaisance.
German: a-kin.

Germins: seeds begun to sprout.
Gest : a stage or journey.
Gih: a cat.
Gifts: endowments.
Giglot: a wanton wench.
Gilder : a coin valued at 1 «. 6 d.

or i!«.
Gilt: gilding, golden money.
Gimmal: a ring or engine.
Ging : a gang.

Gird: a sarcasm or gibe, emotion.
Gleek: to joke or scolf, to beguile.
Glimmering: faintly illuminated

by the stars.
Gloze: te expound, to comment

upon.
Glut: to englut or swallow up.
Gnarled: knotted.
Good-deed: indeed, in very deed.
Good-den : good evening.
Good-life: of a moral or jovial

turn.
Good-jer: gougere, morbus gal-

lirus.

Gorbellied : fat and corpulent.

Gossips: tattling women who at-
tend lyings-in.

Gossomer: the white cobweb-like
exhnl itions that fly about in hot
sunny weather.

Government: evenness of temper,
decency of manners.

Gourds : a species of dice.

Gouts: drops.

Grace: acceptableness, favour.

Grace: to bless, to make happy.

Gracious: graceful, lovely.

Grained: furrowed, like the grain
of wood, died in grain or in-
dented.

Gramercy: grand mercy, great
thanks.

Grange: the farm-house of a mo-
nastery.

Gratillity: gratuity.

Gratulate : gratifying, acceptable.

Grave: to entomb.

Graves, or greaves : armour for
the legs.

Greasily: grossly.

Greek: a bawd, or pander.

1056

GLOSSARY.

Th.S.

Green: unripe, not fully formed.

Greenly: awkwardly, unskilfully.

Greets: pleases.

Grief: pain, grievances.

Griefs: grievances, wrongs.

Grievances : sorrows, sorrowful af-
fections.

Grieve: to lament for.

Grise: a step.

Grossly: palpably.

Groundlings: the frequenters of
the pit in the playhouse.

Growing : accruing.

Guard: defence.

Guard: to fringe or lace.

Guarded: ornamented.

Guards: badges of dignity.

Guerdon: reward.

Guerdoned: rewarded.

Guiled: treacherous.

Guinea-hen: a prostitute.

Gules: red, a term in heraldry.

Gulf: the swallow, the throat.

Gun-stones : cannon-balls.

Gurnet: a fish resembling a piper.

Gust: taste, rashness.

Gyve: to catch, to shackle.

Gyves: shackles.

H.

Hack: to become cheap and vul-
gar.
Haggard: a species of hawk.
Haggard: wild.
Hair: complexion or character.
Happily : accidentally, fortunately.
Happy : accomplished.
Hardiment: bravery, stoutness.
Harlocks: wild mustard.
Harlot: a cheat.
Harp: to touch on a passion.
Harrow : to conquer, to subdue.
Harry : to use roughly, to harrass.
Having: estate or fortune, pro-
motion, allowance of expence.

Haviour: behaviour.

Haught: haughty.

Haughty: high, elevated.

Haunt: company.

Hay : a term in the fencing-school.

Head: the source, the fountain.

Head: body of forces.

Heart: the most valuable or pre-
cious part.

Heal: heated.

Heat: violence of resentment.

Heavy: slow.

Hehenon: henbane.

Hefted: heaved.

Hefts: heavinga.

Hell: an obscure dungeon in a
prison.

Helmed: steered through.

Hence: henceforward.

Henchman: a page of honour.

Hent: seized or taken possession
of.

Hereby: as it may happen.

Hermits: beadsmen.
Hest: behest, command.

High-fantastical : fantastical to

the height.
High-repented: repented to the

utmost.
Hight: called,

Hilding: a paltry cowardly fellow.
Hint: suggestion, circumstance.
Hiren: a harlot.
His: often used for its.
Hit: to agree.
Hoist: hoisted.
Hold: to esteem.
Holla : a term of the manege.
Holy: faithful.

Home: completely, in full extent.

Honest: chaste.

Honesty : liberality.

Honey-stalks: clover flowers.

Honour: acquired reputation.

Hoop: a measure.

Hope: to expect.

Horologe: clock.
i Hox: to ham-string.

Hull: to drive to and fro upon
the water, without sails or
rudder.

Humorous: chargeable, humid,
moist.

Hungry: sterile, unprolific.

Hunt-counter : base tyke, worth-
less dog.

Hurly: noise.

Hurtling: merry with impetuosity.

Husbandry: thrift, frugality.

Huswife: a jilt.

Ice-brook: a brook of icy quali-
ties in Spain.

f fecks: in faith.

Ignomy : ignominy.

Ill-inhabited: ill-lodged.

Ill-nurtured: ill-educated.

Images: children, representatives.

Imaginary : produced by the power
ot imagination.

Imbare: to lay open or display
to view.

Immanity: barbarity, savageness.

Immediacy : close connection.

Imp: to supply.

Imp : progeny.

Impair: unsuitable.

Impartial: for partial.

Impawned: wagered and staked.

Impeach: to bring inr,o question.

Impeachment : reproach or impu-
tation, hinderance.

Imperious : imperial.

Imperseverant : perseverant.

Impelicos: to inipettiuoat or^im-
pocket.

Importance : importunacy.

Importance: the thing imported.

Importing: implying, denoting.

Impose: injunction, command.

I Impositions : commands.

I Impossible : inci'edible or incon
ceivable.
Impress: to compel to serve.
Impress: a device or motto.

VI

Impugn : to oppose, to controvert.

Incapable: unintelligent.

I near nar dine: to stain of a red

colour.
Incensed: incited, suggested.
Inclining: compliant.
Inclip : to embrace.
Include: to shut up, to conclude.
Inclusive : inclosed.
Incony, or kony : fine, delicate.
Incorrect: ill-regulated.
Increase: produce.
Indent: to bargain and article.
Index: something preparatory.
Indifferent: different, impartial.
Indite: to convict.
Induction: enti'ance, beginning,

preparations.
Indiirance: delay, procrastination.
Infinite: extent or power.
In gaged: for uningaged.
Ingraft: rooted, settled.
Inliabitable: not habitable.
Inherit: to possess.
Inhibit : to forbid.
Inhooped: inclosed, confined.
Inkhorn-male : a book-mate.
Inkle: a kind of tape, crevvell or

worsted.
Inland: civilized, not rustic.
Insane: that which makes insane.
Insconce: to fortify.
Insculped: engraven.
Inseparate: inseparable.
Instance: example, proof.
Instances: motives,.
Insuit: solicitation.
Intend: to pretend.
Intending : regarding.
Intendment: intention or dispo-
sition.
Intenible: incapable of retaining.
Intention: eagerness of desire.
Intentively : with full attention.
Interessed : interested.
Intergatories : interrogatories.
Intermission: pause, intervening

time.
Intrenchant : thaj which cannot

be cut.
Intrinse : intrinsicate.
Invention : imagination.
Inwardness: intimacy, confidence.
Iron: clad in armour.
Irregulous: lawless, licentious.
Issues: consequences, conclusion.
Iteration: citation, or recitatioiu

Jack: a term of contempt.

Jack a-lent: a puppet thrown at
in Lent.

Jack guardant: a jack in office.

Jaded : treated with contempt,
worthless.

Jar: the noise made by the pen-
dulum of a clock.

Jauncing : jaunting.

Jesses : straps of leather by vyhich
the hawk is held ou the fist-

Th.S.

GLOSSARY

1057

Jett: to play a part in a mask.

Jet: to strut.

Jovial: belonging to Jove.

Journal: daily.

Jump : to agree with, to put into

agitation.
Jump: hazard, to venture at.
Jump: just.

Jutticer: justice, judge.
Jut: to encroach.
Jutly: to project.
Juvenal: a young man.

K.

Kam: awry, crooked.

Keech: a solid lump or mass.

Keel: to cool.

Keep: to restrain, to dwell, to
reside.

Keisar: Caesar.

Kemet: light-armed Irish foot.

Key: the key for tuning; a tun-
ing-hammer.

Kickty-wicksy : a wife.

Kiln-hole: a place into which coals
are put under a stove.

Kind: nature, species.

Kindless: unnatural.

Kindly: naturally.

Kindly: kindred.

Kinged: ruled by.

Kinsman: near relative.

Kirtle: part of a woman's dress.

Knave: servant.

Knife: a sword or dagger.

Knots: figures planted in box.

Know: to acknowledge.

Know of: to consider.

Lahras: lips.

Laced mutton: a woman of the
town.

Lackeying: moving like a lackey
or page.

Lag: the meanest person.

Lances: lance-men.

Land-damn: to destroy in some
way.

Lands: landing places.

Lapsed: time suffered to slip.

Large: licentious.

Lass-lorn: forsaken of his mis-
tress.

Latch: to lay hold of.

Latched, or letched: licked over.

Late: lately.

Lated: belated, benighted.

Latten: thin as a lath.

Lavoltas: a kind of dances.

Laund: lawn.

Lay: a wager.

Leaguer: the camp.

Leasing: lying.

Leather-coats: a species of apple.

Leave: to part with, to giveaway.

Leech: a physician.

Leer: feature, complexion.

Leet: court-leet, or court of the
manor.

Legerity: lightness, nimbleness.

Leges: alleges.

Leiger: resident.

Leman: lover, mistress.

Lenten : short and spare.

L' envoy: moral or conclusion of
a poem.

Let: to hinder.

Let be: to desist.

Lethe: death.

Lewd: ignorant, idle, wicked.

Lewdly: wickedly.

Lihbard, or lubbar: a leopard.

Liberal: licentious or gross in
language.

Liberty : libertinism.

License: an appearance of licen-
tiousness.

Lie: to reside, to be imprisoned.

Liefest: dearest.

Lieger: an ambassador at a fo-
reign court.

Lifter: a thief.

Light 0' love: a dance tune.

Lightly: commonly, in ordinary
course.

Lightness: levity.

Like: to compare.

Likelihood: similitude.

Likeness: specious or seeming
virtue.

Liking: condition of body.

Limbeck': a vessel used in distil-
ling.

Lime : bird-lime.

Lime: a trick played with sack.

Lime: to cement.

Limed: entangled or caught, as
with bird-lime.

Limit: appointed time.

Limited: appointed, regular, or-
derly.

Limits: estimates, calculations.

Line: genealogy.

Lined: delineated.

Link: a torch of pitch.

Linstock: the staff to which the
match is fixed when ordnance
is fired.

List: the bound or limit.

Lither: flexible, yielding.

Little: miniature.

Livelihood : appearance of life.

Livery: a law phrase belonging
to the feudal tenures.

Living: estate, property.

Living: speaking, manifest, actual.
I Loach: a small fish.

Lob: looby, a term of contempt.

Lockram: some kind of cheap
linen.

Lode-star: the leading or guiding
star.

Lodged: laid by the wind.

Loffe: to laugh.

Longing: longed for.

Longly: longingly.

Loof: to bring a vessel close to
the wind.

VI.

Loon, or town: a base fellow.

Lop: the branches.

Lot: a prize.

Lottery: allotment

Lover: a mistress.

Lawn. See Loon.

Lowted: treated with contempt

Lowts: clowns.

Lozel: worthless, dishonest

Lubbar. See Libbard.

Lunes: lunacy, frenzy.

Lurch: to win.

Lure: a thing stuffed to tempt

the hawk.
Lush: rank, luscious.
Lust: inclination, will.
Lustic: lusty, chearful, pleasant.
Lusty: saucy.
Luxurious : lascivious.
Luxuriously: wantonly.
Luxury: lust.
Lym: a species of dog.

M.

Mace: a sceptre.

Mad: wild, inconstant

Made: enriched.

Magnificent: glorying, boasting.

Magnifico : a chief man or grandee
at Venice.

Mailed: wrapped up, covered
with.

Main-top : top of the mainmast.

Make: to bar, to shut

Makest: dost.

Malkin: a scullion, a coarse
wench.

Mall: Mrs., alias Mary Frith, or
Moll Cutpurse.

Mallecho: mischief.

Mammering: hesitating.

Mammets : puppets.

Mammock: to cut in pieces.

Man: to tame a hawk.

Manacle: a handcuff.

Manage: conduct, administration.

Mandrake: a root supposed to
have the shape of a man.

Mankind: masculine.

Marches: the borders, limits, or
confines.

Marchpanes : a species of sweet-
meat.

Martial-hand : a careless scrawl.-

Martlemas: the latter spring.

Match: an appointment, a com-
pact.

Mate: to confound.

Mated: amated, dismayed.

Meacock: a dastardly creature.

Mealed: sprinkled or mingled.

Mean: the tenor in music.

Mean: the middle.

Means: interest, pains.

Measure: the reach.

Measure: a stately solemn dance.

Measure: means.

Meazels: lepers.

Medal: portrait.

Meddle: to mix with.

Medicine: a she-physician.

67

1058

GLOSSARY.

Th.S.

Meed: reward.

Meed: merit, desert, excellence.

Meet: a match.

Meiny: people, domestics.

Memories : memorials, remem-
brances.

Memorized: made memorable. .

Memory: memorial.

Mephistophilus : the name of a
spirit or familiar.

Mercatante : a merchant.

Mere: exact, entire, absolute.

Mered: mere.

Mermaid: syren.

Metal: temper.

Metaphysical: supernatural.

Mete-yard: measuring-yard.

Mewed: confined.

Micher: a truant, a lurking thief.

Miching: playing truant, skulk-
ing about.

Mien: countenance.

Mince: to walk with affected de-
licacy.

Minding: calling to remembrance,
reminding.

Mineral: a mine.

Minnow : a small river-fish, a term
of contempt.

Minstrelsy : office of minstrel.

Misconceived : misconceivers.

Miscreate: ill-begotten, illegiti-
mate.

Misdoubt: to suspect.

Miser: a miserable creature.

Misery: avarice.

Mispris ed : mistaken.

Misprising: despising or under-
valuing.

Missives : messengers.

Mistaken: misrepresented.

Mistempered : angry.

Misthink: to think ill.

Mistress: the jack in bowling.

Mobled, or mabled: veiled, grossly
covered.

Mode : the form or state of things.

Model: image, representative, copy.

Modern: trite, common, meanly,
pretty.

Modesty: moderation.

Module: model, pattern.

Moe, or mowe: to make mouths.

Moiety: a portion.

Mollification: pacification, soften-
ing.

Mome: a dull stupid blockhead.

Momentany : momentary.

Month's mind: a popish anniver-
sary.

Mood: anger, resentment, manner.

Moody: melancholy.

Moon-calf: an inanimate shapeless
mass.

Moonish: variable.

Mope: to appear stupid.

Moral: secret meaning.

Morisco: Moor or Moorish, or
morris.

Morris-pike: Moorish pike.

Mortal-staring: that which stares
fatally.

Mortified: ascetic, religious.

Most: greatest.

Motion: a kind of puppet-show.

Motion: divinitory agitation.

Motion: desires.

Motions : indignation.

Motive: assistant or mover, that
which contributes to motion.

Mould: earth.

Mouse: to mammock, to tear to
pieces.

Mouse: a term of endearment.

Mouse-hunt: a weasel.

Mowe. See Moe.

Moy : a piece of money or a mea-
sure of corn.

Much: strange, wonderful.

Muck-water: drain of a dung-hill.

Muffler: a kind of dress for the
lower part of the face.

Muliters: muleteers.

Mulled: softened and dispirited.

Multiplied: multitudinous.

Multiplying: multiplied.

Mundane: worldly.

Mure: a wall.

Murky: dark.

Murrain: a plague in cattle.

Muse: to admire, to wonder.

Must: a scramble.

Mutine : to rise in mutiny.

Mutinea: mutineers.

N,

Napkin : handkerchief.

Napless: threadbare.

Native: formed by nature.

Nature: natural parent.

Nay-word: a watch-word or bye-
word.

Neat: finical.

Neb, or nib: the mouth.

Neeld: needle.

Neif: fist.

Nephew: a grandson or any lineal
descendant.

Nether-stocks: stockings.

Newness: innovation.

Newt: the eft.

Next: nearest.

Nice: silly, trifling.

Nick: reckoning or count.

Nick: to set a mark of folly on.

Night: made dark as night.

Night-rule: frolic of the night.

Nine men^s morris: a game.

Nobility: distinction, eminence.

Nobless: nobleness.

Noddy: fool, a game at cards.

Noise: music.

Nonce: on purpose, for the turn.

Nook-shotten: that which shoots
into capes.

Northern mans vir borealis, a
clown.

Note : notice, information, remark.

Novice: a youth.

Novum: some game at dice-

Nourish: to nurse.

Nowl: a headi

VI.

Nurture: education.
Nuthookt a thief.

O.

Obligations: bonds.

Observed: paid respective atten-
tion to.

Observing: religiously attentive.

Obsequious : serious, as at funeral
obsequies, careful of.

Obsequiously : funereally.

Obstacle: obstinate.

Occupation : men occupied in busi-
ness.

Occurrents: incidents.

Oe: a circle.

Oeiliad: a cast or glance of the
eye. See Eyliads.

O^erdied: died too much.

Overlooked: slighted.

O'er-parted: having too consider-
able a part.

O'er-raught: over-reached.

Oer-wrested: wrested beyond the
truth.

Of: through.

Offering: the assailant.

Office: service.

Offices : culinary or servants'
apartments.

Old: frequent, more than enough.

Old age: ages past.

Once: sometime.

Oneyers: accountants, bankers.

Opal: a precious stone of almost
all colours.

Open: publicly.

Operant: active.

Opinion: obstinacy, conceit, cha-
racter.

Opposite: adverse, hostile, adver-
sary.

Opposition: combat.

Or: before.

Orbs : circles made by the fairies
on the ground.

Orchard: a garden.

Order: measures.

Ordinance: rank.

Orgulous: proud, disdainful.

Osprey: a kind of eagle.

Ostent: show, ostentation.

Ostentation: shew, appearance.

Overblow : to drive away, to keep
off.

Overture: opening or discovery.

Ounce: a small tiger, or tiger-cat.

Ouph: fairy, goblin.

Ousel-cock: the cock black-bird.

Out: be gone.

Out: full, complete.

Outlook: to face down.

Outvied: a terra at the game of
gleek.

Outward: not in the secret of
affairs.

Owe: to own, possess, govern.

Ox-lip: the great cowslip.

Th.S.

Pack: to bargain with.

Pack: combined, an accomplice.

Packing : plotting, underhand con-
trivance.

Paddock: toad.

Pagan: a loose Tidoos person.

Paid: punished.

Pain: penalty.

Pains: labour, toiL

Palabras: words.

Pale: to empale, encircle with a
crown.

Pall: to wrap, to invest.

Palled: vapid.

Palmers: holy pilgrims.

Palmy: victorious.

Palter: to juggle or shuffle.

Paper: to write down, or appoint
by writing.

Paper: written securities.

Parcel-gilt: gilt only on certain
parts.

Parish-top: a large top formerly
kept in every village to be
whipped for exercise.

Paritor: an apparitor, an officer
of the bishop's court.

Parle: parley.

Parlous: perilous.

Parlous: keen, shrewd.

Part: to depart.

Partake: to participate.

Partaker: accomplice, confederate.

Parted: shared.

Parted: endowed with parts.

Participate: participant, partici-
pating.

Partizan: a pike.

Parts: party.

Pash: a head.

Pash: to strike with violence.

Pashed: bruised, crushed.

Pass : to decide , to assnre or
convey.

Pass: to exceed, to go beyond
common bounds.

Passed: excelling, passed all ex-
pression or bounds.

Passes: what has passed.

Passing: eminent, egregious.

Passion: suffering.

Passionate: a prey to mournful
sensations.

Passioning: being in a passion.

Passy-measure: a dance.

Pastry: the room where pastry
was made.

Patch: a term of reproach.

Patched: in a particoloured coat.

Path: to walk.

Patheticalt deeply affecting.

Patient : to make patient, to com-
pose.

Patine : a dish used with the cha-
lice, in the administration of the
Eucharist.

Pattern: instance, example.

Pavin: a dance.

Paucat! few.

GLOSSARY.

Pay: to beat, to hit.

Peat: a word of endearment.

Pedascule: a pedant.

Peer: to come out, to appear.

Peevish: foolish.

Peize : to balance, to keep in sus-
pense, to weigh down.

Pelting: paltrj', pettv, inconsider-

! able.

Pennons: small flags.

Penthesilia: Amazon.

Perch: a measure of five yards
and a half.

Perdurable: lasting.

Perdy: par Dieu, a French oath.

Perfect: certain, well informed.

Perfections : liver, brain, and heart.

Perjure: a perjured person.

Periapts: charms sewed up and
worn about the neck.

Perspectives : certain optical glas-
ses.

Pervert: to avert.

Pew-fellow: a companion.

Pheere. See Feere.

Pheeze : to teaze or beat, to comb
or curry.

Pia mater: the membrane cover-
ing the substance of the brain.

Pick: to pitch.

Picked: nicely dressed, foppish.

Pickers: the hands.

Picking: piddling, insignificant.

Pickt-hatch: a place noted for
brothels.

Piece: a word of contempt for a
woman.

PieTd: shaven.

Pight: pitched, fixed.

Pitcher: a pilche, the scabbard.

Pilled: pillaged.

Pin and web : disorders of the eye.

Pinnace : a small ship of burthen.

Pix: a small chest in which the
consecrated host was kept.

Placket: a petticoat.

Plague: to punish.

Plain song: the cfaaunt, in piano
cantu.

Plainly: openly.

Plaited: complicated, involved.

Plancked: made of brands.

Plant: the foot.

Platforms: plans, schemes.

Plausive: gracious, pleasing, po-
pular.

Pleached: folded together.

Plot: piece or portion.,

Point: a metal hook fastened to
the hose or breeches.

Point: the utmost height.

Point-de-vice: with the utmost
possible exactness.

Points: tags to the laces.

Poize: weight or moment.

Polled: bared, cleared.

Pomander: a ball made of per-
fumes.

Pomewater: a species of apple.

Poor-John : hake dried and salted.

Popinjay: a parrot.

Popularity: plebeian intercourse.
▼1.

1059

Port: external pomp, figure.

Port: a gate.

Portable: bearable.

Portance: carriage, behaviour.

Possess: to inform, to make to
understand.

Possessed: acqnunted with, fully
informed.

Possessed: afflicted with madness.

Potch: to push violently.

Potents: potentates.

Pouncet-box : a small box for per-
fumes.

Power: forces, an army.

Practice: unlawfid or insidioos
stratagem.

Practise: to employ unwarrant-
able arts.

Practisants : confederates in stra-
tagems.

Prank: to adorn, to dress osten-
tatiously, to plume.

Precedent: original draft.

Precept: a justice's warrant.

Precisian: a great pretender to
sanctity.

Prefer : to recommend, to advance.

Pregnancy : readiness.

Pregnant: ready, plain, evident,
apposite.

Pregnant enemy t the enemy of
mankind.

Premised: sent before the time.

Prenominate: already named.

Pre-ordinanee: ordinance already
established.

Presence: the presence-chamber,
a public room.

Presence: dignity of mien, form,
figure.

Prest: ready.

Pretence: design, intention.

Pretend: to intend, design.

Pretended: purposed or intended.

Prevent: to anticipate.

Prick: the point on the dial.

Prick*: prickles, skewers.

Pride: haughty power.

Prig: to filch.

Prime: youth, the vigour of life.

Prime: prompt.

Primer: more urgent, more im-
portemt.

Primero: a game at cards.

Principality: the first or prind-
pal of women.

Principals: rafters of a building.

Princox: a coxcomb, or spoiled
child.

Probal: probable.

Process: summons.

Procure: to bring.

Prodigious: portentous, ominous.

Prof ace : much good may it do you.

Profane-: love of talk, gross of
language.

Profession: end and purpose of
coming.

Progress : a royal journey of state.

Project: to shape or form.

Prompture: suggestion, temptation.

Prone: perhaps humble.
67*

1060

GLOSSARY.

Th.S.

Prone: forward.

Proof: confirmed state of man-
hood.

Propagate: to advance or improve.

Propagation : getting.

Proper: well-looking, handsome.

Proper-false : proper or fair, and
false or deceitful.

Propertied: taken possession of.

Properties: incidental necessaries
to a theatre.

Property: due performance.

Property : a thing quite at disposal.

Propose: to image, to imagine.

Proposing : conversing.

Propriety: regular and proper
state.

Prorogue : to lengthen or prolong.

Provand: provender.

Provincial: belonging to one's
province.

Provost: sheriff or gaoler.

Prune: to plume.

Puck: or hobgoblin in fairy my-
thology.

Pugging: thievish.

Pun: to pound.

Purchase: stolen goods.

Purchased: acquired by unjust
methods.

Pursuivants: heralds.

Put to know: compelled to ac-
knowledge.

Putter-on: one who instigates.

Putter-out: one who places out
money at interest.

Putting- on: spur, incitement.

Puttock: a degenerate species of
hawk.

Q.

Quail: to faint, limguish.
Quaint-mazes : a game running the

figure of eight.
Quaked: thrown into trepidation.
Qualify: to lessen, moderate.
Quality : confederates.
Quality: profession, condition of

life.
Quarrel: a quarreller, the cause

of a quarrel.
Quart d'ecu: fourth part of a

French crown.
Quarter: the allotted posts, station.
Quat: a piinple.

Queasy: squeamish, delicate, un-
settled.
Quell: to murder, to destroy.
Quench: to grow cool.
Quern: a hand-mill.
Quest: inquest or jury, search,

expedition.
Question : conversation.
Questrist: one who goes in search

of another.
Quests: reports.
Quick: lively, spritely, living.
Quicken: to animate.
Quiddits : subtilties.
Quillets: law chicane.
Quips: reproaches and scoffs.

Quire: to play in concert.
Quit: quitted.

Quit: to requite or answer.
Quittance: return of obligations.
Quiver: nimble, active.
Quote: to observe.

R.

Rahato: an ornament for the neck.

Rabbet-sucker: a sucking rabbit.

Race: original disposition, inborn
qualities, a smack or flavour.

Rack: to exaggerate.

Rack: to harass by exactions.

Rack: the fleeting away of the
clouds.

Racking: in rapid motion.

Rag: an opprobrious epithet.

Ragged: rugged.

Rake: to cover.

Rank: rate or pace.

Rank: grown up to a great height
and strength.

Rapt: rapturously affected.

Rapture: a fit.

Rarely: curiously, happily.

Rascal: applied to lean deer.

Rash: heady, thoughtless, quick,
violent.

Rash remonstrance : premature
discovery.

Rated: chided.

Ravin: to devour eagerly.

Ravin: ravenous.

Ravined: glutted with prey.

Raught: reached.

Raw: ignorant, unripe, unskilful.

Rawly: young and helpless.

Rayed: bewrayed.

Rear-mouse: a bat.

Reason: discourse.

Reason: to talk, to argue for.

Rebeck: an old musical instrument.

Receiving: ready apprehension.

Receipt: receptacle.

Recheate: a sound by which the
dogs ai'e called back.

Reck: to care for, to mind, to
attend to.

Reckless: careless, heedless.

Recollected : studied or often re-
peated.

Record: to sing.

Recorder: a kind of flute or flage-
let.

Recure: to recover.

Red- lattice: the sign of an ale-
house.

Reduce: to bring back.

Reechy: discoloured by smoke,
smoky, greasy.

Re fell: to refute.

Refer: to reserve to.

Regard: look.

Regiment : government, authority.

Regreet: exchange of salutation.

Reguerdon: recompense, return.

Relative: nearly related or con-
nected.

Remembered: remembering.

Remembrance: admonition.

VI.

Remorse : pity, tenderness of heart.

Remotion: removal or remoted-
ness.

Removed: remote, sequestered.

Render: to describe.

Render: a confession, an account.

Renege: to renounce.

Repair: to renovate.

Repeal: to recall.

Reports: reporters.

Reproof: confutation.

Repugn: to resist. ^

Reputing: boasting of.

Requiem: a mass for the soul of
a person deceased.

Resolve: to be firmly persuaded,
satisfied.

Resolve: to dissolve.

Respect: consideration, caution.

Respective : respectable, respect-
ful, formal.

Respective: cool, considerate.

Respectively : respectfully.

Retailed: handed down.

Retire: to draw back.

Reverb : to reverberate.

Revolts: revolters.

Rib : to inclose.

Rid: to destroy.

Rift: split.

Riggish: wanton.

Right: just, even.

Right-drawn: drawn in a right
cause.

Rigol: a circle.

Ringed: environed, encircled.

Ripe: come to the height.

Rivage: the bank or shore.

Rivality: equal rank.

Rivals: partners.

Rive: to burst, to fire.

Road: the haven where ships ride
at anchor.

Rogues: vagrants.

Romage: rummage.

Ronyon : a scurvy woman.

Rood: the cross.

Rook: to squat down.

Ropery: roguery.

Rope-tricks: abusive language.

Round: a diadem.

Round: rough, unceremonious.

Rounded: whispered.

Rounding: whispering.

Roundel: a country-dance.

Roundure: circle.

Rouse: a draught of jollity.

Royal: due to a king.

Royalize: to make royal.

Royalty: nobleness, supreme ex-
cellence.

Roynish: mangy or scabby.

Ruddock: the redbreast.

Ruff: the folding of the tops of
boots.

Ruffle: to riot, to create disturb-
ance.

Ruffling: rustling.

Ruin: displeasure producing ruin.

Rule: a method of life.

Ruth: pity, compassion.

Th.S.

GLOSSARY.

1001

Sacred: accursed.

Sacrificial: worshipping.

Sad: grave or serious.

Sadly: seriously.

Sadneis: seriousness.

Safe: to render safe.

Sagg, or twagg: to sink down.

Salt: tears.

Sanded: of a sandy colour.

Satisfy: rest with satisfaction.

Savage: sylvan, uncultivated, wild.

Savagenets : wildness.

Saucy: lascivious.

Saw: anciently, not a proverb, but
the whole tenor of any dis-
course.

Stay: silk.

Say: a sample, a taste or relish.

Scaffoldage: the gallery part of
the theatre.

Scald: a word of contempt, poor,
filthy.

Scale: to disperse, to put to flight.

Scaled: over-reached.

Scaling: weighing.

Scall: an old word of reproach.

Scumble: to scramble.

Scan: to examine nicely.

Scant: to be deficient in, to con-
tract.

Scantling: measure, proportion.

Scapes of wit: sallies, irregulari-
ties.

Scared: frightened.

Scarfed: decorated with flags.

Scath: destruction, harm.

Scath: to do an injury.

Scathful: mischievous, destructive.

Scone: a petty fortification.

Sconce: the head.

Scotched: cut slightly.

Scrimens: fencers.

Scrip: a writing, a list.

Scroyles: scabby fellows.

Sculls: great numbers of fishes,
swimming together.

Scutched: whipt, carted.

Seal: to strengthen or complete.

Seam: lard.

Sear: to stigmatize, to close. See
Sere.

Season: to temper, to infix, to
impress.

Seasoned: established or settled
by time.

Seat: throne.

Seated: fixed, firmly placed.

Sect: a cutting in gardening.

Securely: with too great confi-
dence.

Seel: to close up.

Seeling: blinding.

Seeming: specious, hypocritical.

Seeming: seemly.

Seen: versed, practised.

Seld: seldom.

Self-bounty : inherent generosity.

Semblably: in resemblance, alike.

Seniory: seniority.

Sennet: a flourish or sounding.

Sense: reason, natural afl'ection,
feeling, sensual passion.

Sensible: having sensation.

Septentrion: the north.

Sequestration: separation.

SerCf or sear: dry.

Sergeant: a bailiff or sherifi;'s of-
ficer.

Serpigo: a kind of tetter.

Serve: to fulfil.

Serve: to accompany.

Set: seated.

Setebos : a species of devil.

Several: separated, appropriated.

Sewer: an officer \>ho placed the
dishes on the table.

Shame: to disgrace.

Shame: modesty.

Shard-borne: born by shards or
scaly wings.

Shards: the wings of a beetle.

Shards : broken pots or tiles.

Sharked: picked up as a shark
collects his prey.

Shten: shining, splendour, lustre.

Sheer: pellucid, transparent.

Shent: scolded, rebuked, shamed,
disgraced.

Shent: to reprove harshly.

Sheriff's post : a large post set up
at the door of that officer for
affixing proclamations, &c.

Shive: a slice.

Shot: shooter.

Shovel- board: a game.

Shoughs: shocks, a species of dog.

Shouldered : rudely thrust into.

Shrewd: having the qualities of
a shrew.

Shrift: confession.

Shrive: to confess, to call to con-
fession.

Shut-up: to conclude.

Side-sleeves : long sleeves.

Siege: stool, seat, rank.

Sight: the perforated part of a
tielmet.

Sightless: unsightly.

Sign: to show, to denote.

Silly: simple or rustic.

Silly: sooth, plain, simple truth.

Sincere: honest.

Sinew: strength.

Single: weak, debile, small, void
of duplicity or guile.

Sink-a-pace: cinque-pace, a dance.

Sir; the designation of a parson.

Sir-reverence : a corruption of
save-reverence.

Sith : since.

Sithence: thence.

Sizes: allowances of victuals.

Skains-mates : loose companions.

Skirr: to scour, to ride hastily.

Slack: to neglect.

Slave: to treat as a slave.

Sleave: the ravelled knotty part
of the silk.

Sledded: riding in a sled or sledge.

Slights: arts, subtle practices.

Slips : a contrivance of leather, to
start two doga at the same time.
VI.

Sliver: to cut a piece or slice.
Slops : loose breeches, or trowsers,

tawdry dress.
Slough: the skin which the serpent

annually throws off.
Slower: more serious.
Slubber: to do any thing care-
lessly, imperfectly, to obscure.
Smilingly: with signs of pleasure.
Smirched: soiled or obscured.
Smoothed: to stroke, to caress, to

fondle.
Sneap : to check or rebuke, a re-
buke.
Sneaping: nipping.
Sneck-up : a cant phrase, "go hang

yourself."
Snuff: hasty anger.
Snuffs: dislikes.
Soil: spot, turpitude, reproach.
Solely: alone.
Solicit: courtship.
Solicit: to excite.
Soliciting : information.
Solidares: an unknown coin.
Sometimes: formerly.
Sooth: truth.
Sooth: sweetness.
Sorriest: worthless, vile.
Sorry : sorrowful or dismal.
Sort: to choose out.
Sort: a company, a pack, ranks

and degrees of men.
Sort: to happen, to agree.
Sort: the lot.

Sort and suit: figure and rank.
Sot: a fool.

Soul-fearing: soul-appalling.
Sound: to declare or publish.
Sound: soundly.
Sowl: to pull by the ears.
Sowter: perhaps the name of a

hound.
Spanned: measured.
Specialty: particular right.
Sped: the fate decided.
Speed: event.
Sperr: to shut up, defend by

bars, &c.
Spleen: humour, caprice, spirit,

resentment.
Spleen : violent hurry, tumultuous

speed.
Spleens: inclination to spiteful

mirth.
Spot: stain or disgrace.
Spotted: wicked.
Sprag: or spackt, apt to learn.
Spread: to stand separately.
Sp righ ted: h au nted.
Sprights: spirits.
Springhalt: a disease incident to

horses.
Springing: blooming, in the spring

of life.
Sprightly: ghostly.
Spurs: the longest and largest

roots of trees.
Square: to quarrel.
Square: regular, equitable, just,

suitable.

1062

GLOSSARY.

Tir.S.

Square: compass, comprehension,
or complement.

Squarer: a quarrelsome fellow.

Squash: an immature peasecod.

Squiny: to look asquint.

Squire: a square or rule.

Staggers: delirious perturbation.

Stale: a bait or decoy to catch
birds.

Stale: a pretence.

Stale: to allure.

Stand: to withstand, to resist.

Standing bowls: bowls elevated
on feet.

Stannyal: the common stonehawk.

Star: a scar of that appearance.

Stark: stiff.

Starkly: stiffly.

Starred: destined.

State: a chair with a canopy
over it.

State: standing.

State: official state, dignity.

States: persons of high rank.

Station: the act of standing.

Statist: statesman.

Statue: a portrait.

Staves: the wood of the lances.

Stead: to assist, or help.

Sticking-place: the stop in a ma-
chine.

Sticklers : arbitrators , judges,
sidesmen.

Stigmatical: marked or stigma-
tized.

Stigmatic: one on whom nature
has set a mark" of deformity.

Still: constant or continual.

Stilly: gently, lowly.

Stint: to stop, to retard.

Stith: an anvil.

Stoccata: a thrust or stab with
a rapier.

Stock: a term in fencing.

Stock: stocking.

Stomach: passion, pride, stubborn
resolution, constancy, resolution.

Stoop: a measure somewhat more
than half a gallon.

Stover: a kind of thatch.

Stoup : a kind of flaggon.

Strachy: probably some kind of
domestic office.

Straight : immediately.

Strain: descent, lineage.

Strain: difficulty, doubt.

Strait: narrow, avaricious.

Straited: put to difficulties.

Strange: odd, different from.

Strange : alien, becoming a stran-
ger, a stranger.

Strangely : wonderfully.

Strangeness: shyness, distant be-
haviour.

Stranger: an alien.

Strangle: to suppress.

Stratagem : great or dreadful
event.

Strict: hard.
Strive: to contend.

Stuck: a thrust in fencing. See
Stoccata. Stock.

Stuff: baggage.

Stuff: substance or essence.

Stuffed: plenty, more than enough.

Subscribe : to agree to.

Subscribe : to yield, to surrender.

Subscription : obedience.

Submerged : whelmed under water.

Subtilty : deception.

Subtle: smooth, level.

Success: succession.

Successive: belonging to the suc-
cession.

Successively t by order of suc-
cession.

Sudden: violent.

Sufficiency: abilities.

Suggest: to tempt, to prompt, to
instigate.

Suggestion: hint.

Suggestions : temptations.

Suited: dressed.

Sullen: obstinately troublesome.

Summer - sw elling s that which
swells or expands in summer.

Summoners : summoning officers.

Sumpter: a horse that carries
necessaries on a journey.

Superfluous : over-clothed.

Superstitious : serving with super-
stitious attention.

Supposed: counterfeited, imagined.

Sure: safe, out of danger, surely.

Sur-reined: over-worked, or rid-
den.

Suspire: to breathe.

Swaggerer: a roaring, fighting
fellow.

Swart, or twarth: black, or dark
brown.

Swarth, or swath : as much grass
or corn as a mower cuts down
at one stroke of his scythe.

Swashing: noisy, bullying.

Swath: the dress of a new-bom
child.

Sway: the whole weight, mo-
mentum.

Sweeting: a species of apple.

Swift : ready.

Swinge- bucklers : rakes, rioters.

Swoop: the descent of a bird of
prey.

Table: the palm of the hand ex-
tended.

Table: a picture.

Tables: table-books, memoran-
dums.

Tabourine : a small drum.

Tag: the lowest of the populace.

Tainl: to throw a slur upon.

Take: to strike with a disease,
to blast.

Take in: to conquer, to get the
better of.

Take up : to contradict, to call to
an account.

Take up: to levy.

Tall: stout, bold, courageous.
VI.

Tallow-keech: i\\Q fat of an ox
or cow.

Tame: ineffectual.

Tame snake: a contemptible fel-
low.

Tamed: fiat, spiritless.

Tarre : to stimulate, to excite,
provoke.

Tartar: Tartarus, the fabled place
of future punishment.

Task: to keep busied with scru-
ples.

Tasked: taxed.

Taurus: sides and heart in me-
dical astrology.

Tawdry: a kind of necklaces
worn by country girls.

Taxation: censure or satire.

Teen: sorrow, grief.

Temper: to mould like wax.

Temper : temperament, constitu-
tion.

Temperance: temperature.

Tempered : rendered pliable.

Tend: to attend upon, to wait for.

Tender: to regard with affection.

Tendering: watching with ten-
derness.

Tent: to take up residence.

Tercel: the male hawk.

Termagant: the god of the Sa-
racens.

Termagant: furious.

Tested: brought to the test.

Testern: to gratify with a tester,
or sixpence.

Tetchy: touchy, peevish, fretful.

Tharborough : thirdborough , a
peace officer.

Theme: a subject.

Theoric: theory.

Thewes: muscular strength.

Thick: in quick succession.

Thick-pleached : thickly inter-
woven.

Thill: the shafts of a cart

Thirdborough. See Tharborough.

Thought: melancholy.

Thrasu^iical: boastful, bragging.

Thread: fibre or part.

Thread: to pass through.

Threeman-beetle : an implement
used for driving piles.

Three-pile: rich velvet.

Thrift: a state of prosperity.

Throes: emits as in parturition.

Thrum: the extremity of a wea-
ver's warp.

Thrummed: made of coarse mtooI-
len cloth.

Tib: a strumpet.

Tickle : ticklish.

Tickle-brain: some strong liquor.

Tight: handy, adroit.

Tightly: cleverly, adroitly.

Tilly-valley : an interjection of
contempt.

Tilth: tillage.

Timeless: untimely.

Tinct: tincture.

Tire: head-dress.

Th.S,

GLOSSARY.

1063

Tir*t to fasten, to fix the ta-
lons on.

Ttrei to be idly employed on.

Tired: adorned with ribands.

To: in addition to.

Tod: to yield or produce a tod,
or twenty-eight pounds.

Tokened: spotted as in the plague.

Toll: to enter on the toll-hook.

Tolling: taking toll.

Tombot/: a masculine, forward
girl.

Tople$$t that which bais nothing
above it; supreme.

Topple: to tumble.

Touch: sensation, sense or feeling.

Touch: exploit or stroke.

Touch: a spice or particle.

Touch: touchstone.

Touches: features.

Touched: tried.

Toward: in a state of readiness.

Toys : rumours, idle reports, fan-
cies, freaks of imagination.

Toze: to pull or pluck.

Trace: to follow.

Trade t a custom, an established
habit.

Tradition: traditional practices.

Traditional: adherent to old cus-
toms.

Trail: the scent left by the pas-
sage of the game.

Traitress: a term of endearment.

Tranect: a ferry.

Translate: to transfer, to explain.

Travel: to stroll.

Traverse: a term in military ex-
ercise.

Traversed: across.

Tray -trip: some kind of game.

Treachers: treacherous persons.

Trenched: cut, carved.

Trick: trick of the times.

Trick : peculiarity of voice,
face, dec.

Trick: smeared, painted, in he-
raldry.

Tricking: dress.

Tricksy: clever, adroit.

Triumphs: masques, rerela, pub-
lic exhibitions.

Trojan: cant word for a thief.

Troll: to dismiss trippingly from
the tongue.

Trol-my-damett a game.
Trossers: trowsers.
Trows to believe.
True: honest.
Truth: honesty.

Tucket, or tucket sonnuance: a
flourish.

Turlygoodf or turlupim a species
of gypsy.

Turn: to become acescent.

Turquoise: a precious stone.

TiD angling: an expression of con-
tempt.

Tteigging: wickered.
Tyed: limited, circumscribed.

Type: distinguishing mark, show

or emblem.
Ty thing: a division of a place, a

district.

Vailt to condescend to look, to
let down, to bow, to sink.

Vailing: lowering.

Vain: vanity.

Vain: light of tongue, not vera-
cious.

Valance: fringed with a beard.

Validity: value.

Vanity: illusion.

Vantage : convenience, opportu-
nity, advantage.

Tantbrace: armour for the arm.

Variety a servant or footman to
a warrior.
I Vastt waste, dreary.

Vaunt: the avant, what went be-
fore.
I Vawardt the fore-part.

Velure: velvet.

Venew: a bout, a term in feocing.

Vengeance: mischief.

Vent: rumour, matter for dis-
course.

Ventages: the holes of a flute.

Venys: hits in fencing.

Verbal: verbose, full of talk.

Verify: to bear true witness.

Very: immediate.

Via: a cant phrase of exultation.

Vice: the fool of the old morali-
ties.

Vice: to advise.

Vice: grasp.

Vie: to contend in rivalry.

Vied: bragged.

Viewless: unseen, invisible.

Virginalling: playing on the vir-
ginal, a spinnet.

Virtue: the most efficacious part,
valour.

Virtuous: salutiferous.

Virtuous : belonging to good-
breeding.

Visamentsi advisements.

Vixen: or fixen, a female fox.

Voluntary: voluntarily.

Votarist: supplicant.

Voucher: a law phrase.

Vouchsafed: vouchsafing.

Vox: tone or voice.

Vulgar: common.

Vulgarly: publicly.

u.

Umbert a dusky yellow coloured
earth.

Umbered t discoloured by the
gleam of fire.

Unaccustomedt unseemly, inde-
cent.

fjnaneled: without extreme unc-
tion.

Unavoided: unavoidable.

Unbarbed: untrimmed, unshaven.
VI.

Unbated: not blunted.

Unbolt: to open, explain.

Unbolted: coarse.

Unbookish: ignorant.

Unbreathed: unexercised, unprac-
tised.

Uncapet to dig out, a term in
fox-hunting.

Uncharged: unattacked.

Unclew: to draw out, to exhaust.

Uncoined: real, unrefined, un-
adorned.

Unconfirmed t unpractised in the
ways of the world.

Under generation: the antipodes.

Undergo: to be subject to.

Under skinker: a tapster, an un-
der-drawer.

Undertaker : one who takes upon
himself the quarrel of another.

Underwrite: to subscribe, to obey.

Under-wrought : under - worked,
undetermined.

Undeserving: undeserved.

Unearned: not deserved.

Uneath: scarcely, not easily.

Unexpressives inexj)ressible.

Unhappy: mischievously waggish,
unlucky.

Unhidden: open, clear.

Unhoused: free from domestic
cares.

Unhouseled I not having received
the sacrament.

Unimproved: not guided by know-
ledge or experience.

Union: a species of pearL

Unkind: contrary to kind or na-
ture.

Unmastered: licentious.

Unowed: that which has no owner.

Unpregnant : not quickened.

Unproper: common.

Unqualitied: unmanned, disarmed
of his faculties.

Unquestionable: unwilling to be
conversed with.

Unready: undressed.

Unrespective : inattentive to con-
sequences.

Unrest: disquiet.

Unrough : smooth - faced , un-
bearded.

Unsisted: untried.

Unsisting: always opening, never
at rest.

Unsmirched: clean, not defiled.

Unsquared: unadapted to their
subject.

Unstanched : incontinent.

Untempering: not tempering, not
- softening.

Untraced: singular, not in com-
mon use.

Untrimmed: undressed.

Untruth: disloyalty, treachery.

Unvalued: invaluable.

Upon: but for.

Up-spring: upstart.

Urchins: hedge-hogs, or perhaps
fairies.

Usance t usury.

1064

G L O S S A H Y.

Tff.S,

Use: practice. long countenanced

by custom.
Use: to make a practice of.
Use: interest.
Used: behaved.
Usurping: false.
Utis: a merry festival.
Utter: to vend by retail.

w.

Waft: to beckon.

Wage: to fight, to combat, to
prescribe to.

Waist : the part between the quar-
ter-deck and the forecastle.

Waist: the middle.

Walk: a district in a forest.

Wannion: vengeance.

Ward: posture of defence.

Warden: a species of pears.

Warder: guard, qgntinel.

Warn: to summon.

Wassels : meetings of rustic mirth.

Watch: a watch -light.

Water-work : water-colours.

Wax: to grow.

Waxen: increase.

Wealth: advantage, happiness.

Wear: the fashion.

Wee: little.

Weeds: clothing.

Ween: to think, to imagine.

Weet: to know.

Weigh: to value or esteem, to
deliberate.

Welkin: the colour of the sky,
blue.

Well found: of acknowledged ex-
cellence.

Well-liking : plump, embonpoint.

Wen: swollen excrescence.

Wend: to go.

Whelked: varied with protuber-
ances.

Whe'r: whether.

Where: whereas.

Whiffler: an officer who walks
first in processions.

Whiles: until.

Whip: the crack, the best.

Whipslock : a carter's whip.

Whirring : whirring away.

White: the white mark in archery.

White death: the chlorosis.

Whiting -time: bleaching time,
spring.

Whitsters : the bleachers of linen.

Whittle: a species of knife.

Whooping : measure or reckoning.

Wide: remotely from, wide of the
mark.

Wilderness : wildness.

Will: wilfulness.

Wimple: a hood or veil.

Winter-ground: to protect against
the inclemency of winter.

Wis: to know.

Wish: to recommend.

Wit: to know.

Witch: to charm, to bewitch.

Wits: senses.

Witlol: knowing, conscious of.

Witty: judicious, cunning.

Woe: to be sorry.

Woman : to aiTect suddenly and
deeply.

Woman-tired: hen-pecked.

Wondered : able to perform won-
ders.

Wood: crazy, frantic.

Woodman: an attendant on the
forester.

Woolward: a (unexplained) phrase
appropriated to pilgrims and
penitentiaries.

Words: dispute, contention.

Work: a term of fortification.

Workings : labours of thought.

Worldf to go to the: to be mar-
ried.

Worm: a serpent.

Worship: dignity, authority.

Worth: wealth or fortune, the
value, full quota or proportion.

Worts: cabbage.

Wot: to know.

Wound: twisted about.

Wreak: resentment.

Wreak: to i-evenge.

Wrest: an instrument for tuning
the harp.

Wrested: obtained by violence.

Writ: writing, composition.

Writhled: wrinkled.

Wrongs : the persons who wrong.

Wrongs: injurious practices.

Wroth: misfortune.

Wrought: worked, agitated.

Wrung: pressed, strained.

Y.

Yarely: readily, nimbly.
Yearns: grieves or vexes.
Yeasty, or yesty : foaming or

frothy.
Yeild: to inform of, condescend to.
Yeild: to reward.
Yellowness: jealousy.
Yeoman: a bailifTs follower.
Yesty. See Yeasty.

z.

Zany : a buffoon, a merry Andrew.

ERRATA,

>^k

Page.

Col.

Line.

Errors.

Corrections.

Page.

Col.

Line.

Errors.

Corrections

7

1

28

conteiititioiis

contentious

227

1

32

militairist

militarist

20

2

14

where

were

368

1

57

Oo

On

30

2

2.3

will

well

371

1

2

Hot.

Host.

157

S

5

devise :

devise

391

2

18

esion

action

195

1

63

winte

winter

612

2

14

I weary

I am weary

208

1

Xi

daiigther

daughter

607

2

67

plaintain

plantain

214

1

9

l)y my

be my

828

2

12

ingrossing

engrossing

▼I.

UNiyERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
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